He opened his eyes again. For months, Zivon had tried to prove who he was. He had tried to forge a new path. He had tried singlehandedly to save his brother, his people, his country. But the truth whispered now through his soul.
I am thy salvation.
27
Lily paid no attention, for once, to the way the sunlight glinted over the buildings, through the trees, onto the path in Hyde Park. She’d risen at the first breath of dawn this morning, dressed, and spent a few minutes in prayer. Then a few more studying the photographs she’d made duplicates of.
He meant to leave her. Soon. Though Zivon hadn’t so much as strayed into her neighborhood, Daddy and Blinker had kept her updated on all he was doing. Putting affairs in order here. Saying his farewells to everyone else. Booking passage on an ocean liner to America.
She’d had an hours-long conversation with her parents last night, in which she looked them squarely in the eye and declared she meant to go with him, wherever he went. To America, to the Arctic, back to Russia—it didn’t matter where. She’d have to convince him to marry her first, of course, but she could do it. If he’d just talk to her . . .
That was probably why he’d been avoiding her.
Her parents hadn’t exactly been pleased with her determination to leave England at his side, but instead of arguing with her, they’d focused on devising ways to get him to stay. And oh, how she prayed one of them would work. Not for her own sake, but for his. So much of his life had been in chaos for the last year. He needed a resting place.
For that to be England, though, they had to clear his name. Which meant they needed the original photographs used to create the fakes.
Which meant, in turn, that they must find his brother and the Nadya woman. The admiral had his best people on it, so surely they’d soon be found.
In the meantime, Zivon.
She spotted him with Daddy and Hall, talking, gesturing, and she held back. Whatever they were discussing, she wasn’t going to intrude. Better to wait until they’d finished. So she slipped around them, thinking to get closer to the entrance he always used when he came and went.
So many times she’d come and gone on these paths too. With Ivy. With Zivon. With her parents. Was this the last time she’d walk here?
It should have been a sad thought. But when she blinked, she saw Ivy’s laughing eyes. Full of innocence. Full of mischief. Her sister would think this a grand adventure.
And she’d be right. Love always was. It would require sacrifice—but the best adventures always did.
Hurried movement caught her eye, stealing her focus from the future. She frowned when she realized it wasn’t a squirrel, but rather a woman who was even now rising from a crouch, swaying a bit on her feet, and pressing a hand to her stomach. Had Ivy done the same on the way home that day? Ill and desperate, but with no one to help her?
Her feet started her forward, even before the face registered.
She’d never seen it before. Not in person. But she had in a photograph—the one with . . . he keeps written on the back. The one with Evgeni in a crowd of Bolsheviks, smiling down at a smaller soldier.
Only this morning had she realized the recipient of his smile was a woman. This woman. Nadya.
Nadya. Here.
Lily glanced back over her shoulder. She was too far now from the men to get their attention quietly, though they might hear her if she shouted.
The woman would too, though, and would be gone before they could get here. Lord? What do I do?
Never in her life had she felt such clear direction in her spirit. It wasn’t a word, but it was an urgency pressing down on her. One that clearly said, Go.
She went, keeping enough of a distance that the blonde wouldn’t see her without turning around to look.
Footsteps sounded, running, a moment before Barclay Pearce appeared at her side with an exasperated look. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”
The urgency didn’t relent, though it felt a bit more optimistic now. “Barclay. Perfect. Once we see where she’s going, you can run back for help while I get the album from her.”
He looked at her as if she were a madwoman. “No, you go back now and tell Hall I’m on her trail—as he told me to be if she showed up. You’ve not been trained for this sort of work.”
“Haven’t I?” She nodded ahead, to where Nadya still had a hand pressed to her stomach. “She’s ill. Likely Evgeni is too, then, and that’s why he’s not shown up again. I can examine him. See if there’s anything I can do to help them.”
Barclay shook his head. But he didn’t make a fuss or try to force her to turn around. “You’re going to get me sacked.”
“Oh, rubbish. Who else would the admiral get to run his ‘errands’?”
“Shh. Here.” He pushed her into an alley a second before Nadya turned partway around. They watched her from their hiding place until she faced forward again and continued on her way.
Thank God He’d sent Barclay to join her. She really wasn’t trained for this.
Together, though, they trailed her to a tube station. Lily wasn’t sure how they’d manage to keep an eye on her on a train without being noticed, but Barclay didn’t seem to recognize this was a problem. He just handed over the fourpence for two tickets and led her into the carriage behind the one Nadya had boarded. The way he kept his face glued to the window told her how he meant to know when she debarked.
Lily didn’t dare say a word to distract him during the twenty-minute ride. She just spent the time praying. Thinking. Focusing. She was ready when Barclay nodded and sprang to her feet.
The blonde didn’t even bother looking over her shoulder again after she got off the train. The coughs Lily heard from people waiting on the platform had her wishing for one of Arabelle’s masks.
The Lord would just have to insulate her for now.
“I hadn’t made it out this far yet,” Barclay muttered as they walked into a tired-looking neighborhood Lily had never visited before. “Not in this direction.”
“I’m sure you would have soon.”
He smiled. “The next day or two. I do know some blokes from this part of the city.”
They’d followed her only a few minutes when she ducked into a building of flats. Lily sucked in a breath. “What do I do? Hurry to catch up?”
“No. Oi! Quigley!”
After their whispering for the last half hour, Lily jumped at the sudden shout. But it blended into the normal noises of the neighborhood and soon had an older fellow who’d been sweeping a doorstep straighten, turn, brighten.
The chap lifted a hand. “Oi! Barclay!”
Apparently, one of the blokes he knew from here. Barclay hurried to his friend’s side. “The curly-haired blonde—Russian. Know where she’s staying?”
Quigley scoffed. “Everyone does, so we can steer clear of ’er. You saw the building, aye? She’ll be in 5F.”
Barclay turned back to Lily with a smile. “Voilà.”
The urgency that had spurred her on since the park settled into peace. She returned the smile and spread it equally between Barclay and his friend. “We thank you, Mr. Quigley. Now, I’m going to say hello. Barclay, you’d better hurry back to Whitehall and tell Hall and Daddy where I am.”
Barclay’s face went grim. “It could be close to an hour before we get back. Thirty minutes at the least.”
Lily kept her face clear. “That’s all right. I can fill the time.”
He didn’t look appeased. “They’re going to have my head.”
“For keeping me safe? Hardly.” She gave him a little nudge. “Go.”
He grumbled something she didn’t catch and lifted a brow at Quigley.
The old gent grinned. “If she’s one of yours, don’t worry. My sis is in that building. We’ll make sure all’s well.”
It was all the reassurance Lily needed. Without waiting for any more arguments from Barclay, she crossed the street.
By the time she stood before the door with
a tin 5F on it, she’d had so many second thoughts that she hadn’t bothered counting them. She could turn around, even now. But still that undercurrent of peace flowed through her heart. And so she raised her hand and knocked.
For Zivon.
“Quoi?” The French “what?” sounded irritated and raspy a second before the door was yanked open. The blonde’s eyes went wide.
Lily smiled and forced her tongue to wrap around French. Thank heavens Ivy had taught it to her pupils and so had used it a bit at home, otherwise Lily would probably have forgotten what she’d learned in her own school days. “Did someone need a nurse?”
She’d taken this Nadya by surprise, that was certain. “No.” The door started to shut.
Lily stopped it with a hand and a lifted brow. Letting the smile fall, she said, “I have the photograph you want. Let me in. We can make a trade.”
A war raged through Nadya’s eyes. “Zivon has it.”
“He did. He gave it to me weeks ago, before he knew what it signified.” Moving slowly, she reached down, into her pocket.
The photo was there, with her camera, as always. Not the original, of course—that was safely pinned to her wall at the OB. But when she’d made a copy for Zivon, she’d made a second for herself.
He’d given her his heart when he gave her that photograph. She wasn’t about to go anywhere without it.
When she pulled it out, Nadya snatched for it, but Lily held it back, away from her. Let her see it without touching. “A trade, I said. Now, let me in.”
Her mouth set in a firm line, Nadya backed up a step. “You will regret coming here, English girl.”
“Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you.”
“Nadezhda?” A second voice came from within, hoarse and faint. “Who’s there? What . . . ?”
Evgeni. And he sounded ill. Sliding the photo back into her pocket, Lily pushed Nadya aside and strode into the room. A sweeping glance of the place showed her a tiny kitchenette, a table for two with matching rickety chairs, a small shelf with one book on it, and a narrow bed.
That was where Evgeni was. Pushing himself even now to a sitting position, confusion on his face.
Lily rushed to the bed. “Evgeni. I have been praying for you. The flu?” She perched on the side of the bed and pressed a hand to his forehead.
Cool, praise God.
His gaze went from her to Nadya. “Who is this?”
Lily gave him a smile. They looked nothing alike, these brothers. Not in coloring or the shape of their faces or their builds. But the eyes. The mouth. There she could see it. “Lily Blackwell. I’m going to marry your brother.”
For a long moment, he studied her. Perhaps trying to ascertain whether it was true. Perhaps something else altogether. Then his gaze moved to Nadya. “You knew? About her?”
Nadya crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you, Zhenya. I will fight for our family. Not his.”
“Your mistake, Nadya, is that they’re one and the same.” Lily reached for Evgeni’s hand and checked the pulse in his wrist. “They’re brothers. You can’t ignore that. Can you, Evgeni?”
He said nothing. But his mouth turned up into a bit of a smile. Zivon’s smile.
Nadya stepped closer. “Give me the photograph.”
“I will. And you’ll give me Zivon’s album.”
A beat of silence. Then a terrifying click. “How about this for a bargain? You give me the photo now and I won’t kill you.”
Lily looked over to see a pistol leveled at her head. She should have panicked. Screamed. Dove for cover. But the blanket of peace wouldn’t lift. And so, somehow, she smiled. “You won’t kill me. If you do, you’ll never get out of England. They’ll be looking for you at every port, every station.”
Nadya’s nostrils flared. If she knew anything about Lily, she’d know her father was a captain, that he had connections. Was it a risk she’d take?
All Lily knew was the woman didn’t pull the trigger then and there, snatch the photo, and run. Which meant there was hope. She just had to stall until Barclay returned with help.
Swallowing, she turned back to Evgeni and patted his hand. “Put the gun away, Nadya. We’re going to do this the easy way. The photo for the album. But we’ll make that trade in a bit. First, let’s take care of Evgeni. You’ll need him stronger than this if you mean to leave soon. Open the window to get some fresh air in here. We need to make him some broth. It will fortify him—and you too. You look pale.”
“I told you that you looked pale,” Evgeni croaked.
Nadya scowled. “And I told you I’m fine.” But she glanced at the tiny kitchen area, then at Evgeni’s prone form. She sighed. “You make the broth. And make it fast. I mean to be out of this wretched place by nightfall.”
Lily smiled. Formidable a soldier as Nadya may be, she was still a woman.
A woman clearly concerned about the man she loved.
That would grant Lily all the time she needed.
Zivon checked his pocket watch and grimaced. “I have only thirty minutes to get back to my flat, gentlemen.”
“We’ll have you on your way in just a moment.” Hall scratched one more note onto the paper they’d all been poring over, then handed it to Blackwell. “How about this?”
“I think it will work.” Lily’s father reviewed the plan with a nod. “As long as there are no unforeseen—”
“There you are!” The office door flew open, Barclay Pearce leaping through, chest heaving. Followed by—Father Smirnov? “Whatever you’re planning, shelve it. Lily and I found their flat. She’s there now, with Nadya. We haven’t any time to lose.”
“What?” Blackwell’s roar could have shaken the whole building, had it been made of flimsier material.
The roar in Zivon’s ears was nearly as loud. He pushed to his feet. “You left her there?”
“She’s not exactly alone. I have people keeping an ear out. But . . .” Pearce’s gaze flicked to the priest. “There was a bit of information I wasn’t privy to at the time I agreed to Lily’s plan.”
Father Smirnov stepped into the office, lips pressed together and eyes flashing apology. “Fyodor and I have been speaking with everyone in the congregation. Describing this Nadya. Asking everyone if they’d seen her. There was someone who admitted that she’d come to him just before the article was published. He did not know who she was, of course, only that she was a fellow Russian. A pretty young girl who claimed to be alone and frightened by a refugee neighbor who’d been making overtures. He sold her a gun.”
Zivon charged toward the door. “The address.” His Lily was in their hands—her hands, the very woman who had killed Alyona. He had to reach her quickly. He had to save her. He shouldn’t have let Hall and Blackwell talk him into trusting them, he should have—no. Had he not been here, he wouldn’t have known this new information. He’d been right to trust.
He reached Barclay. Waited, half expecting Be still to echo through his soul. Instead, Pearce told him the address, right down to the flat number, and even some rudimentary directions.
He didn’t wait around for anyone to argue. He flew out, legs pumping as hard as they’d done the day the news of Ivy came. To the nearest tube station, onto the train just pulling in. He caught his breath during the ride. Charged upward into the sunshine again as soon as the train squealed to a halt at his destination.
He’d done his best to protect Evgeni and his girl. He’d gotten Hall to agree to let them slip from the country with false information to deliver to their superiors. They’d be as safe as Zivon could make them, but they wouldn’t be able to interfere in Europe.
All that could go up in smoke now, though. If they hurt Lily . . . He choked on the breath he dragged in. They couldn’t. If there was one thing he must do today, it was stop that tragedy. Lily must, above all, be safe. For her sake. For her parents’. And even for Evgeni’s. Because if any harm came to her, all deals would be off. Zhenya would pay the price too.
He couldn’t let
them hurt her. That was the thought that became clearer with every footfall. Whatever it took to save her, he would do it. Lord, guide me. Show me how.
Pearce’s instructions had been flawless. Once he reached the right building, he slowed. It wouldn’t do to pound up the steps and alert them too soon that he was coming. After pausing to catch his breath, he walked into the building and up to their floor.
For a long moment, he stared at the door with its tin 5F. Behind that door, his past and his present and his future were all a-tangle. His brother. The Bolshevik who had killed Alyona. The woman he loved with all his soul and never would have met had circumstances not brought him here.
The unanticipated.
A year ago, even with all his watching, all his decoding, and every pattern he saw, he never could have predicted where he’d be standing now. For every detail he thought he knew, God had proven him ignorant of many more.
But He had been Lord through it all. He’d known. He’d seen. And He’d delivered Zivon to this moment, to this door. He raised his hand and knocked.
28
Zivon stepped inside with his hands held away from his body, wanting to do nothing to inspire Nadya to pull the trigger on the gun that she’d pointed at him.
His gaze, however, wasn’t still. He found Evgeni with it in the first second—sitting at a small table and looking as though he might collapse onto it at any moment—and Lily in the next, spooning up a bowl of broth.
She nearly dropped it when he came through the door. “Zivon! What are you—”
“Milaya.” On second thought, he’d risk the bullet to hold her again. How could he ever have thought he could leave the country without doing so one more time? He rushed in her direction, and she met him halfway, his arms closing around her. “What were you thinking? Why would you come here?”
“The album.” She held him tight, then pulled away enough to catch his face between her palms. “You’d have let them leave with it, never thinking of yourself. I had to think of you for you.”
A Portrait of Loyalty Page 32