Citadels of Fire
Page 13
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A rough tug yanked her through the pleasant darkness. “Inga, wake up. Inga, open your eyes, child.” Inga groaned, pulling herself into a sitting position and rubbing her face.
“What is it, Yehvah? Has something happened?”
“The grand prince is dead.”
Inga expected to feel a pang of stomach-dropping fear. It didn’t come. Perhaps because she'd expected it, it didn’t seem so dreadful when it actually happened. “When?”
“A few minutes ago. It’s just after midnight.”
“What does that mean, Yehvah?”
“It means everything is about to change. Life in the Kremlin—our lives—have become much more dangerous than they were before.”
“Why, Yehvah?” Inga sat up, more alert now. “What do you mean?”
“There is no longer a strong man ruling Russia. There is only a woman who is not truly the sovereign, and a child too young to comprehend anything outside his own line of vision.”
No fire warmed the bleak servants’ quarters, but Inga could see Yehvah’s features by the isolated flame of the candle she held. Yehvah stared at the wall, seeing her own thoughts there as she spoke. Her expression softened as she turned her gaze to Inga and wiped the remnants of a tear from Inga’s cheek. Inga couldn’t have been asleep for long, as the tear hadn’t had time to dry yet.
“I know imperial politics are difficult for a girl to understand. But you must understand it, if you are to survive.”
“Yehvah, why did you wake me?”
Yehvah smiled saddly. “Inga, the grand princess will be Regent. She will be consumed with protecting Ivan from those who want him dead.”
Inga’s breath caught. “He’s the heir to the throne. Why would anyone want to kill him?”
“Because he is the heir to the throne. I told you: everyone is vying for power now. There are many who will want him out of the way. Inga, Elena trusts me more than any of the other servants. I will be taking on more responsibility now, which means I will be here less. You are the most capable among the younger girls. It will be your responsibility to look after them when I am not here.”
Inga’s head spun as she tried to take in too much information too quickly. Yehvah thought her the most capable? The “younger girls” consisted of eighteen young maids, ages six to sixteen, all still in training. Inga didn't even have ten winters yet.
“Me? Why not put one of the older girls in charge?”
Yehvah made a hushing noise.
“It’s all right, Inga. I will talk to all the girls in the morning. They know what they are to do; you must only make sure they do it. If there are any problems, you bring them to me. I’m not leaving you wholly responsible; I simply cannot oversee everyone directly. The older girls may not like that I am putting you in charge, but they will abide by it. I’ll see to that.”
“Yehvah, why . . . me?”
Yehvah stared at Inga for a long time, until Inga began to squirm.
“You are more capable than you realize, Inga. You are independent, intelligent, and thoughtful. You see in advance what needs to be done for life to move smoothly. I have trained you in more areas than the others because I knew you could handle more responsibility. Now, that training must come into play. Don’t worry so much,” she smiled and hugged Inga briefly. “It will not be as difficult as it sounds. You won’t have to handle any crisis on your own. Do you think you can do this?”
“Yes.” That was a lie. Inga thought she might throw up. Yehvah seemed pleased with the answer, though, and she stood to leave.
“Try to get some sleep.” Yehvah disappeared behind the curtain. Inga did not lie down. She did not think she would be able to sleep now, despite her fatigue.
“And Inga,” Yehvah reappeared, “all of Russia will be mourning the grand prince tomorrow, so remember to wear your black clothes. Remind the others as well. It will fall to you to tell them what has happened when they wake.”
Inga felt numb. She must have nodded because Yehvah smiled and disappeared again. She did not return this time and, somehow, Inga felt more alone than the solitary flame of Yehvah’s candle in the dark. Her arms shook as she laid down once more. She stared up at the dark ceiling, wondering what would become of them all, barely noticing as the hours passed.