“How do you know?” Councilor Ilyin asked, as if condescending to a child.
I stepped closer to Anton. “I spent two days with this man fresh after the death of his mother. I had every opportunity to see into the depths of him, just as I see into you now. Prince Anton did not kill the empress, nor seek to harm the emperor. Neither does he wish to take his brother’s crown.”
The words tumbled out of my mouth, fierce and unyielding, whether I knew the truth of my latest claim or not. I wasn’t sure why I insisted on defending Anton, only that I felt in my bones that he needed to live. I wouldn’t have anyone endangering him.
“Young though I may be,” I said, “I am the emperor’s Auraseer, and you must learn to trust my word.”
In my periphery, I felt Anton’s gaze, solemn and amazed.
Councilor Ilyin’s aged lips pursed, but he didn’t badger me any further. The emperor, the prince, and I awkwardly took our seats, while everyone did a masterful job of pretending nothing had gone awry. The meeting continued, moving on to the issue of immigrants from Abdara and the question of yet again raising the taxes on imported goods. The cord of tension was still taut between the two brothers, but at least more flexible.
I spent the rest of the meeting under the weight of the emperor’s stare. I wondered how he saw me now—in painted light, golden dust motes floating above my head, as I had seen his brother, or as a new threat to his throne and a new ally to Anton? From the way my skin flushed with fire and ice, from how my heart beat quickly then seized up in my chest, I feared I wasn’t merely one simple thing any longer. I wasn’t a girl to be forgotten, a girl dismissed to a corner.
I’d captured the keen interest of the emperor, for better or for worse. And only time would tell if I’d made a mistake by coming out of hiding.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“THEY THINK I’M AN IMBECILE.” PIA SHOVED THE LAST FORKFUL of apple sharlotka in her mouth. We both sat on the floor of my antechamber so we wouldn’t spill any dusting sugar on my velvet couches. Instead, it sprinkled from our plates into the weave of my nightgown and Pia’s apron. She’d surprised me with the late-night treat just as I was on the brink of my nightly penance with the statue of Feya.
“I’m sure that isn’t true.” I licked a morsel of cooked apple off my finger.
“It is! You don’t understand. Even Yuri’s mother can read. Her husband taught her.”
Pia had spent the last half hour rehashing her ill-fated visit to meet Yuri’s parents earlier this afternoon when she had a rare day off of work. Apparently Yuri’s father was a tutor in Torchev for a nobleman’s three daughters. The eldest was Pia’s age and also smitten with Yuri. Her father promised to pay for Yuri’s commission to become a second-ranking colonel in the infantry, a rise in station that would make him eligible for the nobleman’s daughter’s hand. This offer was exceptional to Yuri’s humble parents, but Yuri remained adamant in his plans to court Pia, who was convinced his parents saw her as only a lowly kitchen maid.
She sighed and scraped her fork against her empty dish. “I should have brought the whole cake.”
Taking her plate away, I squeezed her hands. “If they could feel a tenth of who you really are, they would have no reservations about you marrying their son.”
“Yes, well, do me a favor and sneeze on them. Maybe some of your ability will transfer and they’ll see me as more than an illiterate tart.”
“Tart?” I laughed and tilted my head. Then I quickly sobered. “Do you mean . . . ? Have you and Yuri—?”
“No!” she said, quickly glancing away. Her aura warmed, and the heat rose to my cheeks the same time hers stained red.
I studied her, while I failed to suppress a grin. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not!” She pulled back so our hands were no longer touching. Her energy waned at the broken connection, but from the strong urge I had to tuck my knees to my chest and burrow into myself, I sensed she was concealing something.
“I can feel what you’re feeling, you know.” I wiggled my fingers in the air like I was working dark magic.
She managed to simultaneously giggle and groan with exasperation. “It’s impossible to be your friend!” Her dimples deepened, and she gave me a playful shove in the shoulder. “I can’t hide anything from you.”
“Friends don’t hide things,” I replied, as if this was the root of all wisdom. “Or at least they go about hiding them together. Friends share secrets.”
She groaned again and buried her face in her hands. Some of her hair tumbled loose from her kerchief.
I nudged her leg as I felt some of her humor give way to trepidation. “It’s all right, I won’t tell anyone.”
She looked up, rubbing her still-flushed cheeks. “Very well. But you must never let Yuri know.”
I frowned. “You mean it wasn’t him?”