Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(15)
CHAPTER SIX
A TICKLE OF SNOW ON MY NOSE AWAKENED ME. THE SHARP winter light bled through my eyelids, and when I peeked them open, I found I was alone in the sleigh. The horses’ heads lowered as they chomped on hay scattered across the frozen ground. I pulled myself into a sitting position. My body ached from hours spent tucked up at an odd angle.
Where was Anton?
A cottage to my right shaded me. Beyond it was a stable—too small for the troika. In the distance, a little village sprawled over the glistening snow. Wisps of smoke curled from every chimney. I imagined a comfortable inn. A warm meal. A soft bed. Why hadn’t we gone any farther? Why stop here?
I stood—Anton was mistaken if he expected me to remain in the sleigh for who knew how long—and a blanket fell off of me. I stared at it, bunched at my feet. It was wool and mossy green, embroidered at the ends with bright flowers. It wasn’t one of the thin blankets I had wrapped around my shoulders, those I brought with me from the convent. I had the sneaking suspicion it was the blanket Anton had been sitting on as he drove the troika last night, though I hadn’t taken great pains to notice it in the darkness.
He must have laid it on me after I’d fallen asleep.
Some compulsion came over me to touch the shining threads of embroidery. As soon as did, I gasped. A flood of powerful emotions washed through me. One of the flowers I’d brushed was a deeper shade of red than the others. Its darkness bloomed beyond its careful stitching. My stomach tightened. It must be blood. At the corner of the blanket, “K.O.” was monogrammed in silver lettering.
Katerina Ozerova. The dowager empress. Anton’s mother.
His murdered mother.
I recoiled. I didn’t want to touch the blanket again, but I couldn’t leave it on the floor of the sleigh. It somehow felt a disgrace to the deceased woman. Careful not to graze the blood-dried flower, I folded the blanket and returned it to Anton’s half of the seat.
After stepping down from the sleigh, I skirted quietly around the cottage. Some instinct warned me to be covert. Thankfully the snow wasn’t packed here like it was in Ormina. My footfall whispered along as if I walked in nothing more than dusting sugar. Approaching the corner of the house, I peered along its far outer wall.
Several feet away, Anton stood outside an open door, which blocked whomever he spoke to at its threshold. A small and callused hand extended to the prince and gave him a satchel. Another hand followed, belonging to a third person—a man’s, judging by the size, and a noble’s, by the amethyst ring that sparkled from his smallest finger. He passed Anton a folded piece of paper. The prince gave a determined nod and concealed the paper in the inner breast pocket of his cape.
I leaned forward and reached for the pull of emotion that might tell me what Anton and the others were feeling, but my hand slipped on the icy slats of the house. I made a small peep, fearing I might stumble over. Anton’s head jerked in my direction, and I thrust myself behind the wall.
My heart raced. My chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Had he seen me? I twisted my hands together. What did it matter if he had seen me? Why would I have assumed that I was intruding or that anything he was doing might be secretive?
Only one answer made sense: the guarded feeling came from him. Which confirmed he didn’t want me to witness the exchange. I thought over what I’d seen. Even with only their hands to judge them by, I concluded that one person—a woman—lived in this humble place, while another—a noble—did not. Were they having a forbidden tryst? If so, why did Anton bother to protect them from someone like me? Then again, I wasn’t just someone anymore. I was the sovereign Auraseer, the sixth sense of the emperor.
Anton’s footsteps drew nearer. They were rough, heavy. He didn’t pretend at being cautious anymore. Neither would I.
Commanding a show of confidence, I strolled around the corner and feigned a look of surprise. “There you are.” I smiled, which was a mistake. If he hadn’t suspected me before, he would now.
His eyes narrowed, and he gave me a curt nod of greeting. I’d probably offended him again by not dipping into a curtsy. I would need to learn the habit. The emperor would surely be less patient than his brother.
“Have we stopped to rest here?” I asked, acting as if I couldn’t see the satchel in his hands. There must be food wrapped inside, which meant we weren’t staying. “The emperor can’t expect you to make this journey round-trip without pausing to sleep. At the very least, the horses could use some time to regain their strength.”
Anton’s fine aristocratic eyes were dulled by shadowy half-circles. When was the last time he’d slept?
“If there were time to rest, I would have let you bury your friends,” he replied, his voice neither cold nor warm. A rush of sorrow stole my breath as I thought of Yuliya lying in her infirmary bed, stiff and silent, awaiting her plot in the ground.
The prince’s gaze moved past me without meeting my eyes and fastened on the troika. “There’s a little food here if you’re hungry.” He handed me the satchel and walked around me to the sleigh.
I followed him. “That’s very kind of whoever lives here.” I bit my lip. “Do you know them?”
His shoulders broadened as he inhaled a large breath. “I thought it wiser to stop here and pass the village entirely. I”—he cleared his throat—“might be recognized, and that would only slow us down.”