“In fact,” Valko continued, “that is why I’ve invited Nicolai today. His father was a champion in the Five Years’ War. I was a child at the time, but I know my history well. Count Rostav the First rose in the ranks to become a lieutenant-general. Many believe his actions changed the tide of battle and gave us the winning edge over the ‘undefeatable’ Shenglin. If you remember, brother”—Valko cast a haughty glance at Anton—“Riaznin proved to be a marvel then as we drove out our intruders and reestablished our border.” The emperor sat down in his chair, his aura greedy as he focused on the count. It scraped the lining of my stomach with pangs of endless appetite. “Perhaps he shared with you some of his tactics,” he said to Nicolai.
Everyone turned to the count, who paled a further shade. Two seats beside him, General Lazar flared his nostrils and my skin prickled with gooseflesh. No doubt the general didn’t appreciate someone else giving the emperor advice in his stead, for that was surely what Valko had implied Nicolai should do—assist him in battle strategy.
The count proceeded to mumble a rushed account of the Five Years’ War and his father’s victorious moments, surely nothing Valko didn’t already know himself. It was clear Nicolai was holding back. I felt it in his aura, the heightened sense of confinement and anxiety in him, like the world was shrinking in from all sides until we balanced on the pinnacle of a mountaintop. One slip in the wrong direction would be fatal.
Strangely, Valko wasn’t frustrated by the count’s lack of forthcomingness. In fact, the opposite was true. A smug grin tickled the corner of his lip every time he shot a glance at Anton. The prince remained silent for the rest of the meeting, his brows drawn tight as he regarded the count, a member of his trusted circle.
I regarded Nicolai. What part was he playing in Anton’s revolution? I hadn’t thought to ask the prince last night about the count’s involvement—or Yuri’s or Feliks’s. I’d been too concerned that Anton was devising a people’s revolution at all. And now he’d asked me to participate, me to perform the most critical and impossible task of convincing the emperor to abdicate his throne. I hadn’t told him I would—or even that I could, for that matter—but did he still expect it of me?
I tested the energy between us and gave the prince a long look, one he didn’t return. He couldn’t. Not here. As for my daring, I only hoped the emperor would interpret my motive as my incredulous opinion of his brother.
In truth, I wasn’t daring at all, nor did I think Anton’s concerns for the Riaznin’s future far-fetched. Perhaps I surpassed Nicolai in cowardice. Like him, I also hadn’t defended the prince this afternoon. Is that what Anton wanted me to do? Use my ability to slowly curb the emperor’s fixation on Shengli and his indifference to those meant to be sacrificed for his vision of grandeur? Was I to do this here, publicly in front of the emperor’s councilors? I could scarcely conceive of controlling Valko, let alone manipulating the emotions of everyone present.
When the meeting was over and I was dismissed, I walked back to my rooms and opened the casements to let in some much-needed fresh air. As the conflicting auras in that stained-glass room left my body and I returned solely to my own thoughts and feelings, my shame lifted somewhat. I remembered my other reasons for not committing to Anton: his lack of complete faith in me and my qualms at the prospect of stripping Valko of his freedom.
I entered my antechamber and passed through its riches to the bare solace of my bedchamber. I pulled Tosya’s book of poetry out from beneath the mattress of the box bed and read several passages. When I still felt undecided about helping Anton, I knelt before the windowsill as if at the foot of an altar. Yuliya’s statue of Feya, goddess of Auraseers, looked down at me from the simple wooden planes of her face. I didn’t touch the blood spatter, I prayed with a devoutness that was foreign to me. I had been raised by the Romska to believe a common energy bound all souls together, not any deities. Still, I prayed. All I had known was energy—aura—and I needed something more to guide me now.
I tried to quiet my mind and prayed until the sun went down, but no answers reached my heart. I was still undecided.
Someone knocked on my outer door. The noise startled me to my feet. Lenka would come any time now, but she always entered without invitation. I crossed through my antechamber and paused in front of the door. Curiosity and anticipation tingled through my skin and brought a smile to my face. Only one person could make me feel happiness so easily. I pulled open the latch. “Hello, Pia.”
“Hello.” She gave a mischievous grin. In her arms, she balanced a tray laden with bread, cheese, and a steaming bowl of soup garnished with spring herbs.
I arched a brow. This was more than her usual evening snack. “Did the kitchen staff not tell you we had dinner served in the council room?”
Her smile broadened and she giggled. “Who says this is for you?” She glided inside and set the tray on my tea table. “I’m always hungry when there’s something salacious going on.”
I shut the door. “What are you talking about?”
She sat and patted the spot to her right. I joined her, distrusting the sly giddiness dancing along my nerves. Her anticipation was more than what customarily preceded her usual snatches of gossip.
She dug into her apron pocket and procured a letter. The sealing wax was flat with no embossment. She waved it in front of me and waggled her eyebrows.