Seeker of the Crown

by Ruth Lauren

  I can’t help but smile before I recall why we’re here. “We’ve come on a matter of great importance,” I say.

  Inessa tilts her head, equally concerned and interested as I explain about Anatol’s banishment and how we believe he could have vital information about the route used to spirit Queen Ana away, and therefore also about where she might be now.

  When I’m finished, Inessa, who has been nodding encouragement throughout, takes my hand in her uninjured one. “I am so pleased that you came to me, and that my dear cousin has such loyal and protective subjects. You can be sure I will act on this immediately. But …” She lowers her voice, leaning forward. “What do you think I should do?”

  Sasha clears her throat delicately. “Perhaps bringing Anatol back to the palace would be a good idea.”

  “A very good idea,” I say, much louder than I meant to.

  Sasha gives me a quick look, but Inessa just nods, seeming relieved and grateful. I’m glad to know she’s going to do something, but I can’t help feeling a little stab of disappointment that it will be she who releases Anatol, and the two of them together who unravel what happened to the queen.

  We all stand there awkwardly for a few seconds.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” says Sasha. “We’ll leave you to make arrangements.”

  “Oh, yes, of course!” says Inessa. She inclines her head, remembering her royal bearing, and Sasha and I again bow low.

  “Would you like us to—?” I was going to ask her about my orders from Queen Ana, if I should continue the search for Anastasia, but I suppose the task of finding the queen and finding her daughter are one and the same now. “Never mind,” I say.

  I follow my sister back out into the great hall, but when we’re halfway across, a small murmur makes both of us glance over our shoulders at the same time.

  Inessa’s head is bent toward an attendant, her hand delicately shielding her mouth. The attendant’s eyes are trained on us. I glimpse the scene for only a second before another attendant glides forward and swiftly closes the doors.

  I suppose that’s it. It’s in more powerful hands than ours now. “Come on,” I say. “We’re late to meet the others.”

  We’re both quiet as we hurry back the way we came, threading our way through the square and out into the side streets to a snow-filled alley. Nicolai waits for us, his dark eyes watchful under the black ushanka of his uniform. He nods, and though we stay a short distance behind, we follow him to a narrow passage between two houses.

  Katia’s already there, stamping her feet, her pale hair tucked out of view under her ushanka. Feliks jumps down from a fire escape above when he sees us.

  Nicolai glances up at the clock tower, just visible over the roofs of the houses. “I don’t have much time. I’m on duty soon at the house where they’re keeping Anatol.”

  There’s no one around, but I still look both ways before I speak. “We’ve been to see the queen regent.”

  All eyes shoot to me.

  Katia lowers her head, raising her eyebrows at the same time. “And?”

  “And … she said she’ll deal with everything.”

  There’s a pause, and then Feliks grins. “That’s great. Even better than we expected.”

  Sasha elbows him. “You’re very eager to trust in the monarchy all of a sudden.”

  That raises a smile from Feliks, but Katia’s forehead wrinkles and her mouth purses. “Are you sure that we can trust her?”

  “Yes,” I say firmly. “She even asked us what we thought she should do.”

  Sasha nods. “She listened to us.”

  Katia lets out a sudden breath. “Our pardons might come through,” she says. And for the first time since I’ve been back in Demidova, I see hope on her face.

  Sasha takes her hand. “Of course you’ll get them now. Just as soon as Anatol helps Queen Inessa to find Queen Ana, he’ll be back in his position working to overhaul Tyur’ma, I’m sure of it.”

  Katia’s hope disappears as though it’s been washed from her face with a bucket of cold water.

  I can’t stand to see it, not after what she did on that ship, not after everything she’s been through. “We’ll get them now,” I say.

  Sasha and Feliks stare at me.

  “Right now,” I say. “Inessa’s going to release Anatol. Nicolai’s heading there. We’ll go with him, and when Anatol comes out, we’ll be the first to speak to him, before he even goes back to the palace.”

  Feliks knocks Katia with his arm. “Yes!” And Katia smiles, a full-on, eye-crinkling smile that has the rest of us joining her.

  Nicolai looks to the clock again and then awkwardly at Katia. “I’ll have to leave you before we get to the gates. If any other guards see me, I won’t be able to help Anatol.”

  “We’re all helping Anatol,” I say, still rubbed the wrong way from my conversation with Sasha.

  Nicolai opens his mouth, but Feliks jabs him in the ribs. “Can’t be seen consorting with known criminals. Don’t worry—we get that all the time. Come on, let’s go.”

  Nicolai smiles, half grateful, half embarrassed.

  On the way, Sasha and I tell Feliks and Katia about what we overheard from our parents. Katia wants to know all about Inessa, so Sasha fills her in, right down to the slippers on Inessa’s feet and the inflections in her voice. The whole time we’re walking, I’m happy just to watch Katia. She still keeps her hair tucked away, but she seems lighter. When the house comes into sight, my nerves tingle. But Nicolai was right—we can’t let the rest of the Guard see him with us, or let them see Katia or Feliks until Anatol comes out. I can’t risk some overzealous officer questioning what we’re doing here.

  We leave Nicolai on the road and move behind a snowbank up on a hill to the right of the house. There’s already movement at the rear, in the garden, and I pull Sasha down next to me, behind the fallen trunk of a tree. Snow is piled deep here, and the four of us crouch low. Feliks begins digging out a little trench, and Katia helps him. But my eyes are locked onto the scene below. As I watch, four guards arrive through the gate at the back of the garden, joining the two who already stand near the walls of the house. There are three more at the front of the house, where Nicolai has disappeared. They all wear deep purple sashes, not the gold of Queen Ana’s Guard. They belong to Queen Regent Inessa.

  “We won’t have to wait long,” I tell Katia. “Queen Inessa has sent her guards already.”

  A frown flickers over Sasha’s face, her eyes flitting from one guard to the next.

  “What?” I ask her.

  She doesn’t answer for a few moments. “A lot of guards, don’t you think?” She casts a questioning glance at me, and I count them. Now there are eleven.

  “There’s no carriage,” says Katia. “Are they expecting him to walk?” Her voice says she doesn’t think that can be right.

  “Maybe the new queen just wants to make sure her cousin is very, very safe,” whispers Feliks.

  I nod. “That makes sense. And I’m sure there’s a carriage on the way.” I look back down the street, but I don’t see any horses yet.

  I don’t see any horses twenty minutes later either, when everyone has gone quiet. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  “Do you think Nicolai’s all right?” asks Feliks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know what’s going on. But maybe Anatol does.”

  Katia shakes her head. “What good does whatever he knows do us if he’s still stuck in there? He’s not coming out. Why isn’t he coming out?” Her shoulders slump. Her arms creep around her knees the way they did back on the ship. Feliks crouches next to her, but his eyes are on me.

  I won’t let her be that afraid again. I won’t let her down, not ever again.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But the four of us broke out of Tyur’ma when no one had escaped from there in three hundred years.” My heart beats fast and hard. “This is one boy from one house. How hard can it be?”

  CHAPTER
10

  An hour later, we’re all stiff and cold and still crouching behind the log. I have a stomach full of churning needles. The Guard has rotated once, but at no point have there been any less than eight of them outside the house. I haven’t taken my eyes off the grounds, and I know there’s no way in.

  For the first time, I let my gaze wander upward. What am I going to tell Katia and the others? They’ve alternately watched the house with me, sighed, fidgeted, and looked to see if I’m going to move or speak or do something.

  I press forward, snow compacting as it flattens between my furs and the tree trunk. I’ve been focusing on the grounds, but the house has walls. And windows.

  And a roof.

  I explain to the others what I mean to do.

  “It’s awfully high,” says Katia.

  “I could get up there, easy,” says Feliks.

  “But you’re not going to,” I cut in quickly. “I am. Anatol doesn’t know you.”

  “But I’m sure all the Peacekeepers in Tyur’ma remember you just fine,” adds Sasha.

  Feliks bites the inside of his cheek. “Okay, you go, then. But once he’s out, you’ll need somewhere to hide him, and that’s with us. The thieves’ network can keep him out of sight better than anyone else in the city.” He tips his head toward the heavily guarded house. “And it looks like he’s going to need it.”

  I can’t believe it’s come to this—can’t quite believe that Queen Ana is gone and her traitorous daughter has escaped. I don’t know why Inessa isn’t doing what she said she would. When I got myself arrested and sent to Tyur’ma, all I could think of was my sister. Now Demidova itself needs my help. The weight of it presses down on me until I think I might panic.

  But I nod at Feliks, and we split up—Sasha and Feliks to the woods behind the house, Katia to the street at the front.

  “Will you be all right?” I ask her.

  When Katia nods, I see the same determination on her face that I saw when we ran through the tunnels under the prison after our escape. Even when she’s short with me, even when I wonder if she’s been through too much and is going to give up, she keeps going. It makes me rein in my own doubts and keep them inside. It makes me want to be as stubborn as she is.

  I wait alone behind the log, keeping my breathing even, forcing myself to focus. It’s quiet for minutes that feel more like days, and then the sharp crack of a branch in the woods carries on the crisp air.

  I watch from my hiding place. The guards haven’t moved, but I don’t need them to. All I need is for their attention to stay where it is now—trained on the line of trees that borders the garden.

  I vault the log and run full tilt down the hill toward the side of the house. I scramble over the fence, drop to the other side, roll, and land back on my feet, barely pausing before I run again. I don’t have time for stealth, just speed. The side of the house looms closer. It’s a flat slab of stone, the only windows high up on the second floor. My boots sink into fresh snow, but I still slam into the wall harder than I wanted to, my palms slapping the stone. I press my cheek against its solidity for one second, and then glance both ways before I rip off my mittens to grasp the drainage pipes that run from the roof down to the ground.

  A steady trickle of water gurgles inside the pipes, melting snow from last night’s fall. I pull myself up fast, out of breath already, my pulse pounding in my neck. My boots scrabble against the stone, and I haul myself up, gaining brief footholds on the brackets that hold the pipe in place and relying on my hands the rest of the time.

  My arms start to shake. I glance up—only halfway. At any second I expect to hear shouts or the whistle of arrows, but soon all I can worry about is my numb fingers, how they don’t feel like parts of my body anymore, and how I’m relying on them to hold me up here. I’ll break like dead wood if I fall.

  Another crack sounds from the woods, and I jerk my head toward it. My fingers loosen and I slip precious yards down the pipe, clamping my jaw shut so I don’t cry out. I’m not going to last much longer.

  I stop being careful and just pull as hard as I can, hand over hand, ignoring the stinging pain in my fingers and the burning in my arms and legs. My breaths come short and fast, and then I’m up, level with the gutter, pulling on it, not caring if it creaks or groans as I use the last of my strength to haul myself onto the roof.

  I lie flat on my back, my eyes closed. Everything hurts. But I have to get up and get this done. I force myself upright, my arms weak and trembling, and pull my mittens back on. The roof is flat, edged in stone, and covered in a thick coating of snow. The wind whips across it, flinging strands of hair across my face. How am I going to find a way in? I can’t shovel the snow across the whole expanse of the roof with my bare hands. I take a cautious step forward and my boot sinks down until it hits stone.

  Hurriedly, I walk forward in a straight line, taking even steps. Each time my foot meets stone. I continue tracking back and forth, stepping as though the roof is a chessboard and I want to land on every square. Eventually I trip on something raised, something that sounds different when I catch myself and stamp on it.

  I drop to my knees and scoop the snow away, brushing around the edges until I’ve uncovered a maintenance hatch. I get down on my stomach and pry it open a little way. It’s dark inside, and stale, but warmer air hits my face. There’s no sound or light, so I heave the hatch fully open and peer down.

  It’s an attic. Empty.

  I sit on the edge of the hatch, feel my stomach clench at the thought of the drop, and ease my weight out into the void. I land with a muffled thump, and a bolt of pain shoots up from my ankle.

  The air is musty, tickling at my nose as I wait for the pain to fade. Then I steal over to a set of folding ladders on the floor. There’s another hatch beneath them. I hold my breath and ease it open. The light from the room below is glaring, but there’s no one around.

  I quickly slide out the ladder and sneak down it. Voices come from the bottom of a spiral staircase farther along the landing. I push the ladder back up before I lose my nerve. The click as it slides into place has me gritting my teeth, but I spin around and make for the first door I lay eyes on.

  I make it into the room and swing the door closed, catching it just before it slams. Then I still my breathing, the very tips of my fingers holding the door open a sliver, as the voices come closer. I have to fight the urge to run. Just swallowing makes so much noise that I’m certain they’ll find me.

  They walk past, two of them, both wearing Inessa’s purple sashes. The grounds are overrun with her guards, and the house seems to be too. Where’s Nicolai?

  Every muscle in my body is tensed. But at least I know where I have to go to get to Anatol. I take a deep breath, then another, and peek around the door to make sure the coast is clear.

  I slip out of the room, feeling instantly exposed. The thick carpet muffles the sound of my boots, and although my heart beats right out of my chest, I fly down the staircase to the ground floor, then keep going, swift as a hare, to the door under the stairs and down again to the cage where we found Anatol before.

  It’s dimly lit and damp, but unguarded. I steal along, out of breath, until I see him. “Anatol?” I breathe the word, barely a whisper, but he whips around as if I’ve hit him with a crossbow bolt. The shock on his face has to be mirrored on mine—he’s dirty and disheveled, his hair an unruly mess, and his blue cloak is stained and grimy. He doesn’t look like Prince Anatol at all.

  “Valor?” He rushes over to the bars of the cage, his eyes darting to the wall behind me.

  Keys hang there, out of his reach.

  But not out of mine.

  I slip them off the hook and unlock the cage. His eyes go wide, and he steps through the open door.

  “Have you seen Nicolai?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. A surge of anger at Anatol’s plight pulses through me. I put my finger to my lips and then point upward. Anatol gives a short, sharp nod, and we’re off, back through
the door under the stairs, back up toward the attic. We’re halfway there, a chandelier burning bright overhead, when I hear a woman’s voice. Someone laughs.

  I stare back at Anatol behind me. He looks even worse in the light, deep shadows under his eyes and a dark cut on his bottom lip. His face is frozen with a fear that jolts me back to Tyur’ma and Warden Kirov.

  What have they done to him?

  And what will they do if we’re caught now?

  There’s nowhere for us to go, so we wait, half crouched. My hands are clenched into fists. At the top of the stairs, two guards walk past. My heart beats so loudly that I don’t understand how they can’t hear it, but then they’re gone, and we run up the stairs.

  I pull on the cord that releases the sliding steps up to the attic. Anatol is almost beside himself now, clutching his hands together and throwing fearful glances up and down the hallway. But the ladder swings down smoothly, and we’re up and pulling it back into place in seconds.

  I let out a big breath and we wait, staring at each other, expecting shouts, waiting for the ladder to be wrenched down again and for us to be discovered.

  Nothing happens.

  We’re going to get away with it.

  In the dim light from the open hatch to the roof above us, I smile. Then a quick flash of horror passes through me and I look up. I jump up and reach as high as I can, but I already know it’s pointless. I can’t reach the hatch. It’s way above our heads, and the attic is empty. No barrels like on the ship. No cannons. No anything.

  Anatol follows my gaze and tilts his head, as though he can’t believe I leapt down here with no thought as to how I’d get back up.

  “We can still get you out,” I say. “Climb onto my shoulders.”

  It’s risky—if we fall, the noise will alert the guards. And even if we don’t, I doubt we’ll actually reach the hatch, though I don’t tell Prince Anatol that.

  But he shakes his head. “It’s way too high, and I’m not leaving you here.”