Some part of his lightheartedness rang falsely. I kept swiping my tears, amazed and furious that his aura—which I’d first absorbed so easily—was now distant and strange. I couldn’t relate to his humor. His mother had just died and been buried. Why wasn’t he despondent, when that emotion was so largely what I felt? Could all this suffering be my own?
The swan flesh lingered like poison in my bloodstream and only made my mourning intensify. How could I laugh like the emperor when I knew a convent’s worth of Auraseers had burned to death behind doors I’d locked? Did I really think if Valko forced a smile, I would as well?
Then I realized—perhaps the emperor’s sentiment wasn’t humor. Perhaps it was a mask. A mask for his own mourning. And perhaps a small part of his deception was meant to disguise his bafflement over me. A mere girl was now sovereign Auraseer, a position more important than all the ranks of guards standing in perfect formation outside the windows of this room.
A bit of peace descended on me, a bit of power. I clung to it. I didn’t spare Valko or Anton another glance. And later, after the emperor had retired for the night and as I crossed the great hall at the beckoning of a nobleman who wanted to meet me, the prince stepped in my path to finally acknowledge my existence. His brows were hitched together as if in pain. All I thought of was the way he’d left me at the palace porch, how he hadn’t intervened on my behalf when the emperor’s meat was brought before me.
“Sonya . . . ,” Anton began, not quite knowing what to say.
I startled with exaggerated surprise, as if I’d just noticed him. “Oh, forgive me, Your Imperial Highness! I had no idea you were here, nor indeed that you were still living.”
His eyes narrowed in offense, then he released a heavy sigh. “You should understand that—”
I walked around him, cutting him off. I didn’t care to listen to all the reasons why I was too lowly to be publicly acquainted with him.
I marched out of the great hall, and I didn’t look back.
CHAPTER TEN
THAT NIGHT, AFTER MY MAIDS LEFT, I STOOD AT THE THRESHOLD between my antechamber and bedchamber and debated on which room I should sleep in. The box bed seemed to stare like a dark creature waiting to devour me whole. I could always lie down on one of my couches. But then all the gilding and ornamentation in my antechamber might suffocate me just as surely as the cramped interior of my bed. At length, I gathered my blankets and pillows and arranged them on the floor beneath my window. Perhaps the winter clouds would relent and permit me a glimpse of the hidden starlight.
Removing Yuliya’s figurine of Feya from the travel satchel, I set it on the windowsill and said a prayer, not out of faith, but because it would please my friend. The swan’s death still trickled remnants of sorrow through my body. I supposed I should be grateful. That agony had done more to ground me among the nobles’ auras than any thoughts of Anton or musings over the emperor. This was why the Auraseers at the convent chose a painful form of emotional release, why the ceiling of the box bed was gouged with Izolda’s claw marks. Nothing cut to the core of things like physical suffering.
I smoothed the ends of the black ribbon tied around my wrist. Yuliya’s burial rites would be tomorrow. Hers and everyone else’s. I would miss them. My heart beat a mournful rhythm.
I glanced at the blood spatter on the base of the wooden Feya. I had been careful not to touch it thus far. But now I wouldn’t resist its call. Still on my knees from prayer, I reached up and closed my fingers around my friend’s dried blood.
Blinding pain tore through me. I cried out and doubled over onto the cool planks of my bedroom floor. Gasping for breath, I stared at the knots in the grain as racking sensations worked their way through my body. Once I recovered, I sat up, gritted my teeth, and touched the statue again.
I shook and whimpered and forced myself to hold it longer. When Yuliya’s pain began to ebb to euphoria, I let go. Perspiration wetted my brow as I gripped the idol a third time.
On and on I repeated this, only allowing myself to feel the darkest parts of my friend’s death. If I touched her blood enough times, perhaps I’d feel a small measure of the pain every Auraseer and sestra endured as they died.
I never saw the starlight. Hours later, I lay splayed on my side, my breath faint, my heart slowed. My limbs tingled and mimicked Yuliya’s blood loss. Tears pooled from my eyes as I reached once more for Feya. She rested toppled over, an arm’s length from me. I stretched out, fingers trembling, almost touching her. Blackness crowded my vision. I caught the edge of the statue with my fingertip, but then my hand fell and the goddess rolled away. My eyes fluttered shut.
I didn’t dream of Yuliya or the burning convent. I dreamed I failed the emperor. As I was marched to the chopping block, Tola stood on the palace porch dressed in the too-large robes of the sovereign Auraseer. When the ax arced down for my head, my last glimpse of the world was Anton’s dusk-blue cape, billowing as he turned away.