The Midnight Land: Part Two: The Gift (The Zemnian Trilogy Book 2)

by E. P. Clark

  “I brought her,” said Vladislava, pointing to Slava as her escort. “I didn’t come alone.”

  “So you did, little princess, so you did,” said the innkeeper. She bowed with more good humor than respect, which was very pleasant. “So pleased, noblewoman! Would you do me the honor of telling me your name?” She smiled a broad smile. “Have you traveled far? You don’t have the look of our Severnolesnoye nobility.”

  “Krasnoslava,” said Slava. “From Krasnograd.”

  “From Krasnogorod!” exclaimed the innkeeper. “Now there’s a long journey! Have you been here long?”

  “Since yesterday,” Slava told her. “I am part of the party…”

  “Who got kicked out of the kremlin last night and had to come stay with us,” the innkeeper finished for her, smiling even more broadly. “Tell me, Krasnoslava Noblewoman: how did you avoid getting kicked out too? They say Vasilisa Vasilisovna and Andrey Vladislavovich were both in a rare mood when they saw who’d arrived on their doorstep, and,” she winked cheerfully, “we all know why! And serve them right, too! Olga Vasilisovna’s always been my favorite, I’m not afraid to say so, and anything she does counts as right as far as I’m concerned. I hope you don’t mind me saying all this, Krasnoslava Noblewoman, but I doubt you will, seeing as you’re part of Olga Vasilisovna’s party yourself. Misha? Misha! Look who’s here! Go call the big group: someone’s come to see them!”

  A dreamy-faced man, who looked like exactly the type of person to carve fairy-tale window frames but not replace a warped door, appeared from a back room and cried, although in softer tones than his wife, “Little princess! And a guest!”

  “Uncle Misha!” Vladislava threw herself into his arms. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you for so long: we’ve had so many troubles! But I wanted to come see the people who came with Aunty Olya, and I brought you someone, look!” She pointed at Slava.

  “All the way from Krasnogorod!” added the innkeeper.

  “She’s a Tsarinovna!” said Vladislava proudly, sounding for the first time as if Slava’s title actually meant something to her.

  The effect, however, was not what she had been hoping for. Instead of being pleased, the innkeeper and her husband both gasped and drew back sharply, as if Vladislava had suddenly poured a viper out of a sack.

  “Ts-ts-tsarinovna?” the innkeeper finally managed to choke out. It was hard to tell under her natural ruddiness, but her lips looked rather ashen to Slava.

  “Oh, there’s no need to be afraid of her,” said Vladislava. “She’s very nice, aren’t you, Tsarinovna?”

  “I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience my arrival may have caused you,” said Slava. “Believe me: there is no need to put yourself out. I merely wish to speak with my traveling companions.”

  Misha beat a hasty retreat at these words. Slava could hear him calling for the others, telling them that she had arrived and was waiting for them. He made it sound very threatening.

  “You have a very pleasant inn,” Slava said. “I can see why Vladislava Vasilisovna is so fond of it. And the window- and doorframes are exquisite. Vladislava Vasilisovna tells me your husband made them; you must be glad to have such a master craftsman in your household.”

  “Y-y-y-yes, Ts-ts-tsarinovna,” said the innkeeper faintly. Slava could tell that she was only listening with half an ear: the rest of her was concentrated on her own terror.

  “I spent so long on the road on the way here that I have grown quite unused to civilized lodgings!” Slava carried on. “Lesnograd has been a very welcome relief, I assure you!”

  The innkeeper only nodded distractedly. To Slava’s immense relief, the horrid pause that was looming in front of them was broken by the sound of Oleg Svetoslavovich and the others bursting out of their rooms and hurrying in their direction.

  “Krasna Tsarina!” several of the men cried at once. “You came to see us!”

  “Couldn’t escape fast enough, I’ll bet,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “I certainly couldn’t. Tell me: have the sounds of their quarreling filled the entire kremlin, or is there still the occasional quiet corner?”

  “They stopped quarreling for a little while last night because the Tsarinovna made them make up, I don’t know how, except that she shouted at them,” Vladislava told him, staring at him in open fascination. “But I think they were about to start quarreling again when we left. We didn’t stay to find out.”

  “And right you were, little princess!” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “I’ve never seen such a family for quarreling. As I lay there dying, or so I thought, my last thoughts were: ‘I’m sorry to be leaving my Olya, but by all the gods, at least I’ll be free of their bickering and bother. It’s more than an ordinary man can stand.’”

  “Are you going to stay in Lesnograd, Oleg Svetoslavovich?” Vladislava asked hopefully.

  “No, I’m only here for...for a bit. I’ll have to go back into the woods soon enough, little princess. But you’re welcome to come visit me there,” Oleg Svetoslavovich told her, patting her arm kindly.

  “Yes! Except,” Vladislava suddenly remembered, “I’m going to Krasnograd, aren’t I, Tsarinovna?”

  “Yes,” Slava told her. “But perhaps we will find the time to visit Oleg Svetoslavovich too. And he could always come visit us if he wanted to.”

  “Krasnograd!” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “That’s a big journey! What takes you to Krasnograd, little princess?”

  “The Tsarinovna invited me,” Vladislava told him proudly. “To be her ward.”

  Oleg Svetoslavovich gave Slava an interested look. “You’re taking her on as your ward, are you, Tsarinovna?”

  “Taking on Imperial wards is a duty I have neglected for far too long,” said Slava. “I realized this when I first met Vladislava Vasilisovna, and vowed that she would be the first of many. I may have no children of my own, but that does not mean I cannot care for the children of others. I think I will find great pleasure in it.” For a moment she felt almost as excited as Vladislava, and wanted to pour out all her plans to Oleg Svetoslavovich, but stopped herself.

  “That is very good of you, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, giving her another interested look. He really was, Slava thought to herself, a good man, as well as being quite handsome. Now that he had bathed and shaved, she could see even more clearly why he turned so many women’s heads. She wondered what Olga would think if she could hear Slava’s thoughts.

  “Is something amusing, Tsarinovna?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich, smiling at her smile as if he, at least, could hear her thoughts.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Slava, now struggling hard not to laugh.

  “The Tsarinovna’s probably laughing at your temerity for praising her,” said Dima, stepping forward to join them. He gave Slava a welcoming smile. He looked more at ease than he had for a long time, maybe since Slava had first met him. Life in the inn seemed to be agreeing with everyone. Slava wished she could be at the inn, too. All her companions looked to be having a fine time, coming up with jokes instead of listening to the Severnolesniye’s whining and complaining. “Isn’t that a breach of Krasnograd protocol, or something?” Dima continued. “Isn’t it forbidden to praise the Tsarina?”

  “The Tsarina, yes, but anyone can praise a lowly Tsarinovna,” Slava told him. “It is assumed that we have no pride. But enough about that. I came here—we came here—to see you. This looks to be a very comfortable inn.”

  “Very, and its mistress is very hospitable,” said Dima. “Although I fear you’ve frightened her out of her wits, Tsarinovna! Shurya! Aunty Shurya!” he called.

  The innkeeper came sidling over, bowing so deeply she almost fell down.

  “Aunty Shurya, the Tsarinovna,” said Dima. “Don’t worry: she won’t bite. She’s very friendly, for a Tsarinovna.”

  “Y-y-y-yes, Dmitry Marusyevich,” said the innkeeper.

  “Aunty Shurya, the little princess and some of the boys are looking hungry,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “You wouldn’t ha
ppen to have a few more of those delicious pies you served us earlier, would you?”

  “Lots, Oleg Svetoslavovich,” said Aunty Shurya, cheering up slightly, but still watching Slava with a frightened expression on her face.

  “Perhaps you could take them all into the kitchen,” suggested Oleg Svetoslavovich. “The boys are all still feeding up after their long journey, and the little princess is a growing girl. And who knows what they give her at the kremlin…”

  “Everyone was quarreling so much, I didn’t even want to eat breakfast or supper,” put in Vladislava. “I haven’t eaten much in two days, I think.”

  “Two days!!” cried Aunty Shurya, a look of horror chasing away the terror. She took Vladislava by the arm with the air of a woman who knew her duty and would let no one keep her from it. Tsarinovnas might come and go as they pleased, but no growing girl was going to go hungry in her household, not if she could help it, not while she still had the strength to put together a pie. “You must be starving! This way, little princess! Boys! Boys! Who wants pies?”

  There was a hearty cheer from the “boys,” and, after receiving a look of permission from Dima and bowing to Slava, they all filed after Aunty Shurya and Vladislava, already speculating eagerly about the pies that awaited them. Soon only Slava, Oleg Svetoslavovich, Dima, and Dunya were left in the room.

  “That should keep them busy for some time, and I doubt they’ll be able to hear us from in there,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “Let’s sit in the far corner, if that suits you, Tsarinovna.”

  “Of course,” said Slava. She followed him to the table at the far corner of the room.

  When they all took their places, she couldn’t help but notice that the others had all arranged themselves so that they each had a view of one of the doors—Dunya of the door to the bedrooms, Dima to the kitchen, and Oleg Svetoslavovich to the main entrance. When he caught her inquiring gaze, Oleg Svetoslavovich nodded and said, “Yes, we don’t want to be overheard, Tsarinovna.”

  Slava sighed.

  “I would have thought you’d be used to intrigue, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich with a grin. For some reason, Slava blushed.

  “That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she said, firmly arranging her face into the appropriate expression of seriousness. “Don’t people have anything better to do?”

  “Indeed!” echoed Dunya, with uncharacteristic warmth.

  “Oh, I’m sure they have something—many things—better to do, but that doesn’t mean they’ll do them, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, still grinning. “Not when they could be sticking their noses in other people’s business. I’m afraid we’ll have to reconcile ourselves to that, Tsarinovna.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Slava, smiling up at Oleg Svetoslavovich through her lashes. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she stopped herself, hoping that no one else had noticed. From their faces, the only one who had noticed was Oleg Svetoslavovich, who looked to be laughing to himself. Dunya was frowning down at the table, and Dima was still watching the kitchen door intently, apparently oblivious to what was going on closer at hand.

  “So, what intrigue faces us now?” Slava asked. “Plots against Olga Vasilisovna? Against myself? Against Krasnograd?”

  “Yes, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, no longer grinning. “Did you already know, or was that a lucky guess?”

  “Both,” said Slava. “What have you learned?”

  “First of all, Tsarinovna, there’s some talk that someone might try something against our Olya,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “When our hostess heard that Olga Vasilisovna had returned, she didn’t know whether to rejoice or lament, Tsarinovna,” said Dima, still watching the kitchen. “When pressed—not that it took much pressing to get more words out of her than you’d ever be able to sort through—she told us the old Princess had threatened to disinherit her, and had told the kremlin guards not to admit her. She was astonished that Olga Vasilisovna had even been allowed in the city, but told us that perhaps it was just a plot to lure her in and then dispose of her in some way.”

  “That seems unlikely,” Slava interjected. “As far as I can tell, the old Princess is barely even alive, and the others couldn’t organize a supper between them, let alone a real plot. Everyone other than Andrey Vladislavovich seemed desperately grateful to put everything in Olga’s hands the moment she arrived—although now that she’s taking control, I’m not sure how much they’re enjoying it. But I can’t see them joining forces to plot against her, and the guards don’t know whose orders to follow—Olga’s, Andrey Vladislavovich’s, or maybe Vasilisa Vasilisovna’s. It seems that Olga’s main enemy is the rampant confusion flourishing in every corner of the kremlin, not plotters planning to take her out.”

  “I am glad to hear it, Tsarinovna,” said Dima, sounding relieved. “When they threatened to turn us out of the kremlin…And then we actually did leave…”

  “Andreyushka’s a milk-sucker, but you have to feel for him, Dimochka,” put in Oleg Svetoslavovich. “Hosting the man who took his place in his wife’s bed…If I were him…”

  “If you were him, it wouldn’t be a problem,” said Dima sharply, causing Oleg Svetoslavovich to laugh out loud. Even Dunya broke into a faint smile, and Slava found herself blushing hotly. Luckily their table was situated in the shadows.

  “I don’t think either Andrey Vladislavovich or Vasilisa Vasilisovna—or even Lisochka—have much fondness for Olga, but none of them seem capable of doing anything about it,” said Slava. “I think the old Princess was the real danger.” And Vladislava, she almost said, but decided not to. Vladislava’s secret was so dangerous that it could be shared with no one, not even the people sitting before her, in case it should somehow make its way back to Krasnograd and the Empress. Slava had a brief vision of the mangled remnants that would be left of Vladislava’s slender, childish body if her sister ever found out what she had done, and her gorge rose. For a moment she wondered if inviting Vladislava to Krasnograd had been the right thing to do. But leaving her here was equally impossible…She must be saved in some way before she consciously carried on down the path she had unwittingly started…

  “Is something the matter, Tsarinovna?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich. Slava could feel his eyes following her every expression closely, and weighing every flicker of her face.

  “I think Olga has nothing to fear from her family but added burdens,” she said. “But you spoke of intrigue against Krasnograd. This, naturally, concerns me greatly. Please, tell me all that you know. And fear not,” she added. “In this matter, telling me is not the same as telling my sister. If this can be resolved without bringing harm to the plotters, then I will be glad of it. I have no wish to spread about anyone’s secrets, if I can avoid it.”

  “I am sure of it, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “Dunya was the one who first heard of it.”

  “Yes,” said Dunya. Although occasionally glancing up at the door to the bedrooms, she for the most part kept her gaze fixed on the table, and seemed unusually depressed and hesitant. Slava remembered her sudden fear of Lesnograd on the road here, and felt sorry for her. Dunya’s adventure was turning out to be rather less of an adventure, and more of a trial, than she had probably hoped for.

  “I was in the bathhouse with Aunty Shurya and Masha—her daughter—yesterday,” continued Dunya slowly. “They asked me of my family and my home, and I of theirs, and soon they began to tell me many things, and suddenly Masha—who must not be more than ten—blurted out that they were planning to take down the evil Empress in Krasnograd.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” cried Slava, rather more loudly than she should have.

  “I tried to ask her, Tsarinovna, but if she did know—and it seems her knowledge is hazy—her mother frightened it out of her with her hushing and her insisting that it was all just a joke and a misunderstanding. I was unable to get anything more out of either of them. But Masha seemed convinced of it, which makes me think
she must have heard something.”

  “Misha—the innkeeper’s husband—also knows something, although he’s not saying anything,” said Dima. “He started to tell me something yesterday, then changed his mind. But you saw how he and Aunty Shurya were terrified of you, Tsarinovna.”

  “I have also gotten that impression from servants in the kremlin,” said Slava. “It seems that the sorceresses might be involved, somehow.” That seemed safe enough to reveal.

  “The sorceresses who all left?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “Those sorceresses, yes,” said Slava. “I’m trying to track some of them down in order to speak with them. I had originally started on this endeavor in order to ask them about…about myself, but now that more and more rumors are arising about this treason, well…”

  “You should be very careful, Tsarinovna,” said Dima. “Treason is the business of desperate people, and desperate people are dangerous. And since we have no idea who the traitor is…”

  “The old Princess, of course,” whispered Dunya to the table.

  “You think?” asked Dima.

  “Who else could it be?” demanded Oleg Svetoslavovich. “Ultimately, everything in Lesnograd begins and ends with her. I know my wife.”

  Everyone stared at him for a moment in astonishment, before realizing that of course, the old Princess was his wife, strange a thought as that was. Slava found herself blushing again.

  “You think she is might be disloyal to Krasnograd, then, Oleg Svetoslavovich?” she asked, to cover up her confusion.

  “Vasilisa Lyudmilovna?” He laughed. “The only person she was ever loyal to was herself, and even in that she couldn’t be trusted completely. The only question is: was she working alone, or did she have an accomplice, someone to do her bidding?”

  “I see,” said Slava. She didn’t know whether to laugh or despair at the thought of Vladislava as the accomplice.

  “You may see that, Tsarinovna, but what I don’t see is who this accomplice is,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “I might guess Princess Primorskaya, except that even she has more sense than that, and I doubt she has forgiven Vasilisa Lyudmilovna for marrying me yet. I can’t see them working together, especially on something so delicate.”