Burning Glass
them was the memory of the convent in flames.
    Think of something else. Think of anything else.
    My childhood home. No, that wasn’t a vivid enough recollection.
    The scent of my mother’s hair. Rosemary and . . . I couldn’t remember.
    Think of me. I blinked, recalling Anton’s words from this afternoon. “Think of me,” he had said when I was on the verge of completely losing all control among the commoners in the square. Anton had done what I couldn’t do on my own. He’d distracted me. More than that, he’d brought me back to myself.
    I lifted my gaze to the massive domed ceiling in the great hall. Think of Anton.
    The ceiling was painted a robin’s-egg blue and embellished with swirling golds, indigos, and reds—intricate and interwoven like living embroidery. I saw what wasn’t there: the prince’s buttery-brown eyes in the wintry light of Torchev.
    As I focused on his image, the buzz of the nobles’ auras softened inside me as if a conductor had hushed his orchestra. I took an astonished breath. This is working.
    I kept my sight on the ceiling, wishing I could run my fingers over the places where it shimmered in the light of thechandeliers. Remembering Anton’s touch, a warm sensation spread across my back where he had placed his steadying hand.
    Exhaling, I lowered my gaze and walked deeper into the great hall. Two long tables ran the length of the room, their surfaces draped in midnight-blue cloth and bedecked with evergreen boughs and glowing candles.
    I pictured Anton in profile as he snapped the reins of the sleigh, the way his head tipped back in admiration to watch the sun glint off the snow-capped hills on our journey, or when the light shone a spectrum of color along the crystalline branches of a frozen weeping willow.
    I advanced three more steps. Porcelain plates, crystal goblets, and gold utensils beckoned the nobles to sit on high-backed, velvet chairs. A string quartet added to the enchantment. The courtiers practically waltzed to their designated seats, the ladies in their jeweled headdresses and tiaras, the men in their polished boots and gold-buttoned kaftans.
    I remembered how Anton had dismounted from the white mare once we reached the palace, how his cape had billowed as he turned away and left me in a veritable lion’s den.
    The prince’s spell over me broke. In its place came a torrent of dizziness as the nobles’ auras pried their way inside my body. In came their pangs of gluttonous hunger as they eyed the first course of the feast. Their tingles of dark passion. Their scraping hatred past the strain to smile. I caught the furtive glance a noblewoman cast to a man who wasn’t the one she laid her gloved hand on. Behind her, two men whispered, eyesnarrowed, as one inhaled snuff powder from his knuckle. At the nearest table, a gray-haired woman traced a finger down her age-spotted neck while she stared at the milky skin of the lady seated across from her.
    The room began to tilt. My faintness grew stronger. So much for trying to use Anton as my anchor. Legs shaking, I glanced around me. I needed to sit down, though I didn’t know where.
    The quartet went silent. The nobles who had been sitting, stood. The ladies lowered their fans. The men angled their bearded faces to the doors behind a third table—this one on a dais at the head of the room. Two liveried servants advanced onto the raised platform in unison and reached for the ivory handles of the doors. On impulse, I stepped behind a tall nobleman and hid like a child who had broken her mother’s favorite teacup.
    The silence stretched for an unbearable length. My head prickled from holding my breath. The clip of shoes—the emperor’s?—and another one or two pairs echoed into the curve of the dome above me. I searched inside myself for any new feeling, for a spark of something austere or dramatic or even cruel. Nothing so exciting happened. In fact, I couldn’t place why moments ago I’d been on the verge of

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