I stepped to the edge of the dais and yearned to follow the Esten girl, but my shoulders fell when I realized I couldn’t. She had left to attend Floquart and Valko in the treasury, and the emperor said I was not welcome. With a heavy sigh, I returned to my stool with all the grace of a toad landing on a mushroom.
As the music and dancing resumed, I fought to remember my duty as sovereign Auraseer. It might help the time pass more quickly until the Esten girl returned. I had so many questions for her. She was in the service of Floquart de Bonpré—a nobleman, but not royalty. Was it true, then, that Auraseers in her country didn’t belong to the crown? Were they really sold like slaves to the highest bidder? I gave a dismal laugh. So much for Estengarde’s praised culture. And what about Floquart’s offhand remark about harlotry? Was the Esten girl also abused in that regard? I shuddered to think of it.
My eyes found Anton—dancing, yet again. This time with a raven-haired lady, Riaznian, though her amber eyes lifted in the corners like the Shenglin. What did the prince think of the way the Esten Auraseers were treated? Our lot in Riaznin was bad enough. You couldn’t have attained freedom no matter what you went through, the prince had once told me. He’d spoken like the empire was as unjust as I knew it to be. And that unjustness had led to my daunting and obligatory role of sovereign Auraseer.
Once again, I tried to focus on my responsibility tonight. Whether or not it was compulsory didn’t matter. If I failed in my duties, Dasha and Tola would be forced to take them up in my stead.
Resolved to do my best, I lowered my guard to the guests in the ballroom as I tried to ascertain what they were feeling. Once my defenses were down, their auras leapt at me like cats waiting to pounce. I gave a little jolt, and my hand flew to the pearls. The sting helped me draw back some of my barriers, and with the remaining gap I left open, I first studied the foreign diplomats. With Valko absent, I dared to leave the confines of the dais and walk through the midst of the people.
The Shenglin whispered among themselves, their distress palpable but not as strong as before. As for the Abdarans, they mingled near a bowl of aqua vitae. An alluring Abdaran lady sipped from a cup, working around the veil concealing her nose and mouth. When I reached for her emotions or those of her party, my mind felt fuzzy. Perhaps they had drunk away their frustrations with our empire.
After I’d checked the diplomats, I drifted off to other parts of the room to observe the Riaznian nobles. They were also slightly numbed with the detached sensation of too much drink. Once I felt satisfied their auras were safe, as far as the emperor was concerned, my eyes, of their own accord, found their way back to Anton.
Dance after dance, I watched him, my ribs squeezing tight as I compared myself to every other female in the ballroom. All of them had basked in the prince’s attention. Perhaps that was an exaggeration. But at least nine ladies and counting had taken a turn twirling in Anton’s arms. Those nine felt like a thousand. Never once did he stop to converse with the amethyst-ringed man or even Yuri. Never once did his gaze turn toward me, not even with the emperor absent. His eyes simmered only for the ladies before him.
Their jewel-toned dresses collided in my vision. Their auras combined and ganged up on me until they formed a blend of perfection I could never attain. They knew the art of teasing a smile from the prince’s lips. How to keep up a stream of lively banter. How to lean forward in such a way that made his hand spread farther across their backs.
I could no longer endure it.
When the orchestra reached a crescendo at the end of a minuet, I strode across the ballroom just as the girl Anton danced with—surely younger than myself—curtsied in parting. The moment she walked away, I asked the prince, “Would you care to dance?” My words were a tumbled, undignified mess, and a few surrounding ladies tittered at my forwardness. But I lifted my chin and owned my request.
Anton’s jaw contracted. He smoothed the end of his kaftan and finally looked at me, though only at my nose, a trick he’d mastered as we’d journeyed together in the troika—surely another method to keep me distanced. “Auraseers do not dance, Sonya. Not in Torchev.”
“They do now. The emperor himself made me promise one.”