I didn’t acknowledge his fury. I didn’t let the edges of his fury so much as nick at my skin. I turned away. Shoulders erect, I strode down the long corridor, the trailing tongue of the dragon that would never ensnare me again.
With the brass key pressed to my breast, I left the corridor without a backward glance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THE DUNGEONS WERE EMPTY OF GUARDS. EVERY ABLE MAN must have been recruited to defend the palace. I opened the heavy oak door leading to the solitary cell, which took all my remaining strength.
Anton and Tosya sprang to their feet and brushed straw from their trousers. Anton’s eyes rounded as they swept over my bloody hand and slashed-open sleeve. “Are you all right?” His voice was heavy with concern.
I nodded and straightened my back. But as I came nearer, my legs shook, each step more difficult than the last. I had let all the people’s auras go. Now I felt I was nothing but a common girl, exhausted at the end of a very long day.
Nevertheless, from the folds of my skirt, I brandished a shining brass key.
Tosya laughed, his hand covering his mouth.
Anton’s body stilled. He smiled softly, his gaze unwavering on mine. “I never doubted you.”
Tears threatened to fall again. I held them in check. All I wanted was to feel his arms around me. With trembling hands, I set the key to the lock and turned it over. The tumblers clanged with a beautiful sound. I pulled against the barred door and gave a small cry of frustration when it opened only a handbreadth. The jail master’s dead body blocked its path. I had no muscle to move him. Tosya lowered himself to the ground and pushed the man away with his feet. As soon as the door spread wide, I stepped over the poet’s legs and threw myself at Anton. His warmth embraced me, and at last I allowed myself to sob.
I’d never felt more wonderful.
“Shhh.” He stroked my hair. “Talk to me. What has happened?”
I steadied my breathing and looked up at him. I wanted to smile, to laugh, but only succeeded in spilling more tears. “You are no longer a prince.” His brows drew together. “The emperor has abdicated,” I said, answering his silent question. “The people have the government. They have liberty, Anton.”
He searched my eyes. After a moment, he asked, “Truly?” It was a mark of his profound amazement that his deep and resonant voice achieved a genuine whisper.
I nodded. “There is only one problem.”
“What is that?”
“They are still outside the gates.” I finally managed a smile. It radiated within me, brighter than the glow of the legion of auras. “I’d like to let them in.” I slid my uninjured hand in his. “And I’d like you to come with me.”
Anton and I emerged from the darkness below, our arms full of gathered food from the kitchen pantries. Past the destruction of the amber lobby, we greeted the night sky. The smoke had lifted. The stars glittered above us, countless as the Riaznians waiting beyond the palace gates.
Tosya remained behind. He felt it his duty to take the jail master’s keys and free the other prisoners from the dungeons.
Now, with a retinue of willing servants trailing behind us and carrying baskets laden with breads, cheeses, cured meats, and dried fruits, Anton and I descended the palace steps and wove through the guards. Many had already removed their military coats. As the masses of peasants saw us approach with our offerings, they quieted and helped their injured comrades to their feet. Some shot narrowed glances at the Ozerov prince, but when their gazes fell to our joined hands, a portion of their worry abated. Whispers darted among them.
“It’s the girl from the balcony.”
“The sovereign Auraseer.”
“She was with the emperor when he abdicated.”
Anton and I crossed the gravel and came closer. The peasants’ wariness heightened, as if they worked to piece together what my role had been in the critical hour of battle—if I was a reluctant supporter of the revolution or genuinely on their side.
“It’s all right,” I assured them, and halted a few feet away. “I stand with your former prince. He is the benefactor of Tosya Pashkov and the secret leader of this revolution. He is the bringer of your freedom.”
At that moment, Tosya appeared on the palace porch with a bedraggled entourage of prisoners.
“Tosya is a prisoner no more,” I added, watching the peasants’ eyes rivet to the poet and take fresh courage. “Neither are you the slaves to tyranny.” I turned to Tosya and prompted him with a nudge of my brows. If he was truly the face of this revolution, now was the moment to stake his claim.
He gave me a wry look, like he couldn’t believe I was making him do this. Drawing a deep breath, he shouted, “The mighty isn’t one, but many!”