And the gods weep to see the children of the dove in a closed nest.
And they rend their holy robes that the birds will never see the skies.
“Yes.”
Break apart the thatch, O children.
Unfurl your downy wings.
“Come in.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ANTON DREW TWO CHAIRS NEAR HIS TILED FURNACE. SPRINGTIME in Riaznin was lovely enough during the daytime, but the cold still bit at night. I traced the gilded lettering of Tosya’s book while the prince tended to a copper samovar, which whistled with uncanny timing. He poured two servings for us in glasses lodged inside pewter casings, not delicate Shenglin porcelain like the emperor used. The aroma of briar tea filled the air.
“Jam?” Anton asked. I nodded and watched him spoon something of the rose leaf variety into my glass. In his own, he tipped a dash of rum. Perhaps he needed something to settle his nerves—perhaps some of the anxiety dancing through my veins belonged to him. This was going to be a night of answers. I felt it. My mind whirred with what they might be.
He set the tea glasses on a small mahogany table between our chairs. The wood matched the other varnished furnishings in the room and complemented the earthy colors of the upholstery, bedding, and curtains. Several candles were lit. Again, I wondered if he’d anticipated my visit, if he knew, somehow, enough time had passed for me to finish the book and be ready for him.
My gaze drifted over his clothing—a loose shirt tucked into breeches and tall black boots. The only time I’d caught him wearing less was the night he’d just finished bathing. I began to wonder if he slept wearing those boots. I twirled the soft ends of corded belting on my night robe. Perhaps he slept wearing nothing at all.
Blood warmed my cheeks and I took a sip of tea, but the hot liquid only made my blush bond to my skin. The wood crackled behind the grate of the furnace. It was altogether too stifling in here.
“Are you all right?” Anton brought his glass to his mouth. The tea made his lips glisten.
I stood and looked away. “Yes,” I answered a little breathlessly, then shook my head. “That is, no. Valko—I mean, His Imperial Majesty—was quite impossible today.”
Anton stilled. “What has he done to you?”
Fire raced up my spine at the prince’s altered mood. I eyed him. He must be imagining the worst—me swept up in another violent fit of his brother’s passion. “Nothing like that, I assure you. He was gentlemanly enough.”
Anton’s scowl told me he doubted it.
I smoothed my robe. “The night of the ball I was able to comfort Valko in the loss of his alliance. When he stayed locked in his rooms these past days, I thought . . .” I shrugged, realizing how mistaken I’d been. “I thought it was over . . . that he’d humbled himself and seen the error of his ways.”
The prince looked down and thumbed the rim of his glass. “But my brother’s thirst for power emerged stronger than ever?”
I nodded and launched into a recap of the entire morning: Valko’s plans to utilize the Torchev military, lower the draft age to include mere boys, and then march against Shengli—all to plunder our neighbor and enslave its citizens, who more likely had the might to conquer the whole of Riaznin.
Anton seemed disturbed, but not surprised. “And you think your efforts to persuade him were not sufficient?”
“I thought they were the night of the ball, but I was wrong. And what I said today never reached his ears.”
He inhaled a long breath. “You may be right.”
I folded my arms, feeling cold now. Disappointment iced over my limbs with the fear that Anton had lost his confidence in any positive influence I could have upon his brother. But it was the truth. Nothing could be done to rein in the emperor, and I wasn’t sure I could endure a life in his shadow while I watched my homeland canker in ruination.
“One thing can be certain, however,” the prince said. “You do have the power, when you truly wish it, to persuade him. I’ve seen it. It isn’t enough to control him long-term, but we don’t need that. We simply need him tempered for one critical, well-timed moment.”
I shifted on my feet as caution and excitement—even hope—fluttered inside me. “What do you have in mind?”
He took a deep drink and placed his glass on the table. “Sit down.”
I lowered myself into the chair, my hands tucked beneath my thighs until I forced them onto my lap in a show of confidence. This was it. I was on the cusp of receiving the answers I’d been waiting for. Anton needed to see I was ready to hear them.
“What did you think of Tosya’s book?” he began.
My gaze fell on the volume beside the tea glasses. “Tosya is brilliant.”