by Ruth Lauren
I stare at her, and her cheeks flush darker as white flakes land on her hair. “What are you doing here? How did you even—?”
“I heard you sneaking out of the house. I don’t sleep as soundly as I used to. Not since …” She frowns at the ground. “Valor, we really don’t have time for this. Come on.”
She struggles to her feet and offers me her hand. I take it, but slowly.
Sasha raises her eyebrows. “What makes you think you’re the only one who wants to help the prince? Or at least find out what’s going on. He did the same for me, didn’t he? He believed I was innocent.”
Heat rushes to my cold cheeks. Anatol always suspected Sasha was innocent of stealing the music box and that his own sister had been involved instead. For my part, I was so focused on getting Sasha out of Tyur’ma that I never stopped to consider whether she was guilty.
“You already know what’s going on,” I mutter.
Sasha shakes her head and then stops as understanding dawns on her face. “You were listening at the door, back in Magadanskya.”
I cross my arms. “I came to find you. I can’t help it if I overheard a few things.”
Sasha’s shoulders drop. “Valor, now that I’m working with Father, I can’t tell you—I can’t tell anyone—some of the things—”
“But it’s me, Sasha. And this isn’t just any old thing that has nothing to do with me. This is Anatol. I wish you hadn’t come.” Then I add, because that sounded too cruel even if part of me meant it, “It’s not safe.”
She sets her jaw and starts marching through the snow down the long road toward wherever Anatol is being taken. “No one is going to be safe until we find out what’s going on in Demidova,” she calls back to me.
“That’s exactly why you should have told me,” I mutter.
I brush the worst of the snow from my furs and rush after her. I might wish she weren’t here, but I can’t deny that she’s right.
Sasha steps through the new snow, sinking deep each time she plants a boot. Soon we’re both out of breath, but we still press on as fast as we can. Up ahead, there’s a square of light, striped through with black. It takes me a second to realize I’m looking at railings in front of a window not too far down the lane.
Another patch of light appears, and then blurred shapes darken it: Prince Anatol and his escorts entering the house.
I nudge Sasha. She nods toward a tree, one of many dotting the gates of the large house. I nod back, and we both move to the side of the path, slipping behind the cover of the tree. Its bare branches are thick with snow, and they’ll shield us, if only a little.
I peer out just as someone draws a heavy curtain across the window and all goes dark.
I shake my head. “I only got a glimpse, but they’ve already gone inside. There’s one guard left outside. I think we should—Sasha?”
My sister steps out from behind the tree into plain sight. I reach for her, but she’s already calling out, “Excuse me? Could you help me, please? I’m afraid I’ve gotten lost, with the blizzard as bad as it’s been …” Her voice trails away, deadened to my ears by the snowfall. What is she doing? She didn’t even warn me. I peek out and see the guard pointing away up the lane. Sasha’s positioned herself so that the guard’s back is to me.
I shove my annoyance aside and dash out, heading straight for the fence that surrounds the property. It stretches away as far as I can see in the dim light, around a house that’s grander than I thought it would be. I haul myself up with stiff, cold hands, my heart beating even more violently with the sudden effort after such a long march through the snow.
I hang for a second at the top of the railing, the sharp prongs bruising me through my furs, and then I drop, hitting the ground on the other side and sending up a flurry of powder. I struggle upright, the shock of the landing still jarring my bones, and run in a crouch for the cover of the house.
I lose sight of Sasha as I speed along the right-hand wing, knee-deep in snow that’s blown in drifts against the wall. I wish we’d agreed on a place to meet afterward before she marched out like that.
My legs ache, and I’m slower and clumsier than I want to be, but I keep moving. I tug at three tall sash windows on the ground level, but all of them are locked, the drapes drawn. There has to be a back door, though.
I turn the corner just in time to see it open. I skid to a halt, throw myself back against the wall, and peek out. A Queen’s Guard, still wearing her dark cloak, sweeps a glance over the grounds of the house, and then shuts the door. Heavy bolts slide home, and a lock clicks. I slump against the cold stone and let out a big breath.
Maybe there are other entrances, other windows I haven’t checked yet. I scour the grounds—empty and lacking any distinguishing features under the thick coating of snow. My boot hits something and I stumble forward, my hands hitting the ground with a hollow thump.
I scrape the snow away and find a cellar hatch. After a quick look around, I yank the handle. The door creaks and I have to pull hard, but it gives and opens onto a dark tunnel. I swing my legs into it, hoping to find steps. Instead I find a slide, and before I can grab the door, I slip down the sharp angle of it. My hands scrabble at the sides, my feet kicking out into the dark, but I can’t halt my short and shocking descent. I land with a sudden crack in a cloud of dust, coughing as I draw in a breath.
I try to smother the noise, but the air is gritty and thick, coating my throat. So I push myself up, hands out, staring into the blackness of the cellar. I check my bow, and find it still strapped to my back. A thin strip of weak light shows high in one corner of the room, and I shuffle toward it.
My feet hit steps, and I have to slow even further, pushing each foot up and along every step to get to the light. I reach the door, feel around for a handle, and find a knob that my frozen hand can barely grasp. I twist it and pull, blinking in the glowing firelight that comes through. It’s the kitchen—mercifully empty at the moment. I listen over the blood rushing in my ears for signs of where the prince is being held. But I hear nothing.
I press on into a hallway, the skin on my face and hands stinging in the warmth of the house. A grand staircase sweeps up in front of me. Ahead there are three doors, all closed.
A panel under the stairs catches my eye—it’s slightly ajar. I step across the polished floor and prize it open. Steps lead down, and I hear movement. There’s someone in the room at the bottom. I have to take the chance; I can’t leave Sasha waiting out in the freezing night for me, and I can’t leave without finding Anatol.
I slip down the stairs, light on my feet, barely breathing. At the bottom is a big cage with a low door. Inside, Prince Anatol sits on an upturned wooden pail. He springs up when he sees me, his eyes wide. I rush to the bars at the same time he does.
“What are you doing here?” he whispers, his hands gripping the bars tightly.
“What am I doing here?” I ask. “What are you doing here? What happened?”
Anatol’s gaze darts around. There are shadows under his eyes. He looks older, though it’s only been a month since I last saw him.
“Anastasia found a way to implicate me in her treason. At least I assume she did. Who else could it be? Someone at court accused me of being in on her plan to steal the music box, and they arrested me. They said because I’m a boy and can never take the throne, Anastasia bribed me, offering me a position in her court that I’d never have while Mother reigned. They’re saying I want Demidova to ally with Pyots’k like Anastasia does.” He looks up at me, his gray eyes troubled. “They’re saying I’m the one who helped her escape from the palace dungeon.”
“So you’re really going to be banished?” I ask. The cell he’s in isn’t even a cell—not for humans, anyway: it’s a kennel for a dog, without even a bunk to sleep on. My voice comes out even quieter. “They’re going to send you away? Forever?”
Prince Anatol opens his mouth to answer, but then his gaze flits up over my shoulder and he sucks in a breath. I whirl around, drawi
ng my bow. Sasha stands in the dim light, a cloaked figure holding her by the shoulder.
CHAPTER 3
Within the space of a breath, I fit a bolt to my crossbow and send it flying true, pinning the stranger’s cloak to the wall.
“Valor!” my sister cries out and starts forward. The cloaked figure wrenches his hood down, and my hands—ready to shoot again—falter.
Nicolai works the bolt out of the wall and from the material of his Guard uniform sleeve with a dark look at me. “Saints, will you stop doing that?” He strides across the room and shoves the bolt into my hand.
“Come with me now.” His voice is grim, his face pinched with as much tension as when we escaped from Tyur’ma together.
“Where?” I demand. First Sasha follows me, and now Anatol’s trusted guard is here?
“To the queen. She wanted to speak with you as soon as you returned to Demidova,” says Nicolai. “Hurry. The other two guards are already suspicious.” He gestures at Sasha. “I said I’d deal with this intruder myself before I returned to the barracks, but that won’t keep them from checking down here for long, and we don’t know if they can be trusted. We have to get out now.”
I look at Prince Anatol. It’s not right to see him like this, nor to leave him here. As though he knows what I’m thinking, he gives a firm nod. “Go.”
I slot my bow back into place, and the three of us rush away up the stairs. Nicolai holds a warning hand out behind him, but the hallway is empty, and we head toward the back door. Nicolai hurries with the locks and pulls the door open wide as I glance behind us for signs of the other guards.
Outside, the wind has died down, the snowfall all but stopped, but the drifts are thick. Snow has piled in a wall outside the door. How far are we from the palace?
“This way,” says Nicolai, pushing out into the cold night.
I wish I had breath to speak, to ask questions, but I’m already tired, and forcing my way through the snow saps the last of my energy. Nicolai leads us farther into the grounds, and I realize just how unlikely it was that we could have made it all the way back home only when I see the sled with its dogs already harnessed and waiting by the fence.
First one, then the other five animals prick their ears and stand when they see us approach. Tongues loll out and breath huffs in front of thickly furred faces.
“You’re lucky I hadn’t already left,” says Nicolai to us as we reach the sled.
“What’s going on here?” asks Sasha.
Nicolai shakes his head. “The queen will explain. Now get on.”
Sasha casts a tight look at me, and then steps onto the sled and seats herself at the front. I get aboard behind her, and Nicolai takes the reins, standing at the back. There’s a jolt as the dogs take up the slack on the harness, and then we’re through the gate and out into the forest, picking up speed.
Nicolai brings us around in an arc, and soon we’re heading back toward the city, the wind burning cold on my cheeks. It’s dark, but the dogs are sure-footed.
Nicolai says something, but I don’t hear it the first time. He bends lower and says into my ear, “Any news of Feliks or Katia?”
I press my lips together and shake my head. I haven’t seen them since the ceremony when we returned the stolen music box. They’d concealed themselves in the crowd, but I never got the chance to speak to them. “What about the pardons they were to receive? Do they still stand now?”
Nicolai doesn’t answer.
Sasha shivers in front of me, and I tighten my arms around her. It stings that she didn’t tell—still hasn’t told—me everything she knows, but when I thought she was in danger again, something fierce rose up inside me and took over for a while.
The dogs are moving fast, and we approach the warehouse district, continuing past smaller houses to the wider streets of affluent areas, then the shops of the merchants’ quarter, heading toward the square, the palace beyond cutting its clean lines into the night sky, pale and solid under a clear half-moon.
But Nicolai stops short of the square, guiding the dogs into the midst of the deserted marketplace. I stand slowly on stiff legs and hold my hand out to Sasha. She takes it, and we follow Nicolai past the snow-weighted awnings of empty stalls. All is silent.
When we reach the fountain in the middle of the square, Nicolai steps up onto it, beckoning us to follow. The water within is frozen, white and unmoving around the massive statue in the middle.
“I thought we were going to see the queen.” I lift my chin toward the palace.
Nicolai glances around, though there’s not a soul in the square, every shop shuttered and dark. “You are,” he says in a low voice. He reaches out toward the huge back leg of the stone horse that rises from the fountain. There’s a grating sound, and a doorway appears, with spiral steps leading down into the dark.
I turn to Sasha, but judging by the way her mouth hangs open, she had no idea this existed either. I knew there was a network of tunnels under the city—we used them to escape Tyur’ma. But it’s still strange to find hidden places and secrets in a city I thought I knew.
I step forward, pressing one hand to the cold stone, and descend the steps, curling down and down beneath the fountain. Light bleeds up from the bottom of the staircase, dim at first, then growing brighter, until I step out into a large stone cavern. The air is old as crypts, the ceiling low and uneven. The walls are lined with braziers, torches burning orange and casting flickering shadows over the walls.
Queen Ana steps forward, wearing a simple dark gown, no kokoshnik on her head.
She looks straight at Nicolai. “How is he?”
“He is well, Your Majesty,” says Nicolai. “All is secure. I knew you wished to see the Raisayevna sisters, so when I found them checking that Anatol was safe, I—”
“Both can speak for themselves, as we are all aware,” says the queen, but not unkindly. “In the morning you will return to the house. Maintain your position; watch the other guards and report anything unusual to me and me alone.”
Nicolai bows, and the queen nods. He turns and flits silently back up the stone stairs. My sister twists her hands together beside me. I think of another time I was brought before the queen—accused of trying to kill Prince Anatol, my mother pleading outside the throne-room doors—and shiver.
The queen raises an eyebrow. “How is it that you come to be in the exact place of my son’s banishment, meant to be unknown to all, after midnight, Valor Raisayevna? I hope Sasha didn’t—”
“You can’t think Anatol had anything to do with Anastasia escaping,” I blurt out.
Sasha’s intake of breath at my outspokenness pulls me up short, but the queen is already shaking her head.
“No, Valor. I know my son is innocent. Perhaps I should explain, before I ask of you what I plan to ask.” She steps closer, and the shadows release their hold on her. “After Anastasia’s escape, and now with the rumors and accusations leveled at Anatol, I have no idea who I can trust.” She gestures around us. “I cannot even meet with those I do trust without going to these lengths. Within the palace, who knows which eyes and ears remain loyal? Everywhere I hear whispers, but I do not believe that Anatol was in any way connected to Anastasia’s plot to ally with Pyots’k.
“No one else seems to believe that, though. I had no choice but to publicly banish Anatol, but it is for his own safety as much as to show the people that they can still trust me. The people must place their trust in their queen. If I lose that, then I lose everything.”
The queen paces the stone floor. Sasha’s eyes are huge and dark. I know how she feels; my heart is beating strangely. I’m pinned in place by the force of what the queen is saying, the import of it.
“I trust your family,” Queen Ana says abruptly. “I need your parents in my court. Your father and I must find out who is still loyal to me and who is not. We must know who helped Anastasia escape. But we must find out while keeping up our work on the peace process with Magadanskya. It’s more important now than ever.
Anastasia’s plan to ally with Pyots’k may have failed, but Pyots’k still wants to use our ports to launch their warships, and our only hope of stopping them is if they’re too afraid to invade Demidova because Magadanskya will join our side if they try.”
She takes a breath and rubs her forehead. “How much has your father told you of the lands beyond the Sea of Mirn?”
I open my mouth, but then shake my head. I know very little.
“The land we call Saylas belongs to a dangerous, warlike people,” says Sasha. “That’s why it would be terrible for us to let Pyots’k launch their ships against them. If Pyots’k wages war and loses, the Saylish would follow them back here.”
The queen nods. “We would be embroiled in a war in which we never wished to have any part. Between Saylas and Pyots’k, Demidova would become a battleground. The truth is that we have scant knowledge of Saylas, other than its reputation. We have never set sail there for a reason.” Queen Ana frowns, and then says, more to herself, “Let us hope none of us ever have to.”
She stops pacing directly in front of me. I stand tall, trying not to show the uncertainty I feel about why I’m being entrusted with this knowledge. The queen stands tall as well, looking directly into my eyes.
“Your father and I have much work to do to fend off Pyots’k, to make our relationship with Magadanskya strong enough that they will help us fight Pyots’k if we have to. This is our work.
“But you know my daughter. You know what she is capable of, and there is no one else I can trust right now. I wanted to see you because I have something to ask of you. Of both of you.”
The queen turns to Sasha. “Prince Anatol had only just begun the work of overhauling our prison system. In his absence, and with your father so busy already, I would like you—under his supervision, of course—to continue the work. As someone who has been falsely accused and imprisoned in Tyur’ma, the people will trust you to do the job. Will you accept?”
My mind spins, chasing the idea of what the queen could want of me, but I can’t fail to notice the flush of pleasure on Sasha’s face. All her life she’s wanted to follow Father, to become the queen’s adviser when the time came. We haven’t talked about it, but I know how painful it was for her to think that such a path had been blocked to her when she was tossed into prison.