by E. P. Clark
“Two, more or less,” Slava told her.
“And you’re sure, Tsarinovna? Your sure it was…That is, it is possible to be unsure in these matters…Exactly when it happened…One may confuse one event for another…”
“Not in my case,” said Slava firmly. She grinned and blushed at the same time. “In my case I may be extremely certain about the timing of the event.”
“Oh, well, that is good, very good, I am glad you are not so light-minded as some women in your situation, although I would have expected nothing less from you…And, if you will permit the question, Tsarinovna…” She trailed off delicately.
“The father?” Slava asked.
“Pardon my only too natural curiosity, Tsarinovna. And I will not be the last to ask you, you may be certain of that! You had best have your story ready. Although I see by your smile that it must be a happy one.” She gave Slava another most un-Anna-Avdotyevna-like affectionate smile herself.
“Well, the story is a long one…” began Slava, and fell silent. Now that she came to tell it to someone who was, for all the trust she placed in Anna Avdotyevna, neither friend nor close family, she didn’t know what to say. The business with Oleg was awkward enough to explain, and the reason for their liaison was even more so. Slava realized that she must decide right now whether or not she wanted to share the task the gods had given her with the world, or not.
“We came together on the journey,” she said. “The hardship and danger, you know, and, well…And it is high time I had a child, as you yourself have said…But he could not return with me to Krasnograd. Or rather, well, he is not of noble birth, you see, and, well…But I am sure he will provide good blood for the child, despite his humble origins.”
“I’m sure, Tsarinovna,” said Anna Avdotyevna. “After all, many noblewomen take commoners as lovers, to strengthen the stock. Even Empresses. Even Miroslava Praskovyevna, when you come right down to it. You would only be following in her footsteps—although admittedly she married her peasant lad.”
“Yes, well…”
“But that is no reflection on you, Tsarinovna, far from it,” Anna Avdotyevna added hastily. “This is even better, for you are still free to marry if need be, without first having to go to the trouble of setting a husband aside. I know your sister has spoken of strengthening your claims to the Stepnaya lands.” Seeing by Slava’s expression that the idea was not to her taste, she went on, inflecting her voice with as much persuasion as possible, “I know it may not appeal at first, but think of the advantages, Tsarinovna! Your own lands and home, to visit whenever you wished to escape from Krasnograd—and something to bequeath to your daughter, should the gods grant you with one! That is nothing to turn down lightly.”
Slava had to agree that Anna Avdotyevna had painted a very attractive picture. A place to raise her daughter that was all her own, far away from Krasnograd! Even if it meant marrying a Stepnoy, it might be a prize worth gaining. And Princess Stepnaya’s son had seemed handsome enough when she had met him, and not ill-spoken…he might make a passable husband…almost certainly better than Oleg, it had to be said…and perhaps it would be good to have a proper husband, in order to put an end to her sister’s ceaseless scheming in that quarter, and to give her daughter a proper father…Disquiet rose in her as she contemplated this picture, and she knew, unfortunately, that it was not to be.
“And if Princess Stepnaya’s son’s first wife should produce a daughter?” said Slava instead. “Then I would be in a fine mess.”
“Oh, but ten to one it will be a son, or die before it draws its first breath, Tsarinovna,” said Anna Avdotyevna encouragingly.
“That is a happy thought,” said Slava.
“It is the kind of thought you must learn to have, Tsarinovna, if you are to be a good mother to your child. You must learn to be ready to sacrifice a thousand other mothers’ children for the sake of your own. And even if, by some mischance, Princess Stepnaya’s son’s wife should produce a healthy daughter, it can always be disinherited easily enough. Inheritance through the male line is such an unchancy, uncertain sort of thing—I’m sure the Tsarina will find a way out of it.”
“Thus creating a lifelong enemy for my own daughter,” said Slava.
“Oh, not if we pack her off with her mother to the Tribes where they belong,” said Anna Avdotyevna.
“I still would prefer not to entangle my daughter in such a messy business,” said Slava. “She will have friends enough, without the Stepnaya lands. Not only will she be my daughter, but…When I said she would not be of noble birth on her father’s side, I did not entirely speak the truth. Or rather…She will be close kin to Olga Vasilisovna, you see. Surely that will be worth something.”
“I see, Tsarinovna!” said Anna Avdotyevna, giving her a long look. “Will she have any claim to the Severnolesnaya lands, then?”
“No,” said Slava. The look Anna Avdotyevna had given her made her see, with horrible clarity, that she should have not under any circumstances revealed her future daughter’s, should she have the good fortune to be born, kinship with Olga. She was already trying to come up with some tale to explain the relationship, but no matter what it was, she could see that in the eyes of the Krasnograd kremlin, close kin to Olga Vasilisovna Severnolesnaya meant a strong claim to Lesnograd.
“They will be related through the male line,” said Slava quickly. “You know that Olga Vasilisovna’s father was not of noble birth—and neither”—she suddenly remembered the story about Oleg they had used at the waystation, and snatched at it gratefully—“is his fourth-brother. She will have no claim on the Severnolesnaya lands at all.”
“Olga Vasilisovna’s fouth-sister once removed through the male line will still have a claim to the Severnolesnaya lands if your sister thinks she does, Tsarinovna,” said Anna Avdotyevna. This time the look she gave Slava was half sympathy, half warning. “Not that I blame you—I never saw Oleg Svetoslavovich in the flesh myself, but stories of his handsomeness stretched all the way to Krasnograd, when Princess Severnolesnaya married him, and I have no doubt his fourth-brother was just as fine to look upon—but you could have done better to choose either a great prince whom you could marry, or a real peasant whom you could discard without question. A connection with Olga Vasilisovna through the male line is a complication.”
“Yes,” said Slava, first cursing herself for not thinking of that sooner, and thinking to hide it, and then realizing that there was a strong possibility the child would be the spitting image of Olga, so that the truth would have to come out sooner or later anyway. She told herself that at least this way she would have plenty of time to get her story straight and explain away as many inconsistencies in it as possible.
“But enough speculation on the future, Tsarinovna,” said Anna Avdotyevna briskly. “You must write to your mother! No, first you must speak with your sister, and then you must write to your mother. News of this magnitude cannot be hidden for long. I wouldn’t be surprised if your mother ventures out of her sanctuary all the way back to Krasnograd, once she hears of it.”
“Do you think so?” asked Slava.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Anna Avdotyevna repeated. “Which is why you must write to her directly, Tsarinovna. But first your sister. Let us go to her at once—I know she is not occupied at the moment.”
Slava followed Anna Avdotyevna obediently out into the hall, wondering how her sister would take the news, but too wrapped up in her hope of seeing her mother again—and at such an important moment!—to care overmuch about the reception awaiting her.
***
Slava thought that a man might have whisked out of sight upon her entrance into her sister’s chambers, muttering something in—had that been a Western accent?—but she decided not to ask about it or even speculate too much on it privately, tempting as it was. Vladya was lounging on the low couch that some Southern dignitary had given her, contemplating a tray of sweets and a half-finished bottle of Southern wine on the little table in front of
her.
“What is it?” she snapped as soon as she saw Slava. “I was busy. Important business. Our foreign concerns…important business!”
“I’m sure,” said Slava.
“What is that supposed to mean?” demanded Vladya, flushing even more than she was already flushed.
“Nothing,” said Slava. “I’m sure you were busy, that is all, and I’m sorry to draw you away from your important business.”
“Oh.” Vladya straightened up on the couch, looking slightly mollified. “So why did you, then? Draw me away, that is.”
“Important business of my own,” said Slava. “I thought you should be the first to know”—she was about to add, well, except for Anna Avdotyevna, Olga Vasilisovna, and Dunya, but stopped herself just in time, guessing that her sister would not care to discover that Anna Avdotyevna and a couple of Northerners were more privy to Slava’s affairs than she was—“that a healer has confirmed my…my expectations.”
“What expections?” demanded Vladya.
“Of a child,” clarified Slava.
“What!” screamed Vladya, sitting bolt upright and losing the look of a woman who had been interrupted in the middle of a dalliance. “A child!”
“Yes. If you remember, we spoke of the possibility before…”
“Yes, but you weren’t serious about that, Slava, it’s just not possible! You don’t really mean to say you are with child!”
“It is early yet, but yes,” said Slava.
“I refuse to believe it!”
“It is already starting to show, when I am in the bathhouse,” Slava told her.
“Let me feel,” ordered Vladya.
Slava went over and let Vladya feel her stomach. Vladya squeezed her for a long time before admitting that yes, it was already starting to show.
“But how!” she demanded, once she had conceded that point.
“The usual way,” said Slava, smiling slightly.
“And you don’t really mean to say…Didn’t you say last time that the father is…is Olga Vasilisovna’s father?”
“Yes,” said Slava.
“Does Olga Vasilisovna know?”
“She knows of the possibility,” said Slava.
“And what does she say to that?”
“She is willing to treat the child, should it have the good fortune to be born, as a sister,” said Slava, and then wished she hadn’t. Just as with Anna Avdotyevna, the kinship with Olga was giving rise to all kinds of speculation that Slava would prefer to suppress, and she certainly didn’t want to go fanning the flames by stressing their sisterhood.
“The circumstances surrounding the conception are so strange and complex that I thought it best to conceal them from the world at large,” she added. “I intend to announce that the father is a distant relation to…to the actual father. Oleg—the father—his reappearance was of short duration, and he may not wish to have it bruited about. And besides, who would believe me?”
“Not I,” said Vladya. “Frankly, Slava, your story is so incredible that I can’t help but wonder if you are trying to make a name for yourself in the kremlin, to…to…I don’t know.” She waved her hands to show Slava’s vague but sinister intentions.
“I already have a name for myself,” said Slava. “I’m the Tsarinovna.”
“And so is Prasha!”
“True,” said Slava. “But she is still young, while I have been known as the Tsarinovna for many years now. I have no need for extra fame, Vladya. Do not impute your followers’ shallow and selfish motives to me, Vladya. Have a little faith in your own sister.”
Slava spoke as earnestly as possible, but instead of imbuing Vladya with more faith in her, it only made her draw back and narrow her brows at Slava.
“You’re up to something, Slava,” she said.
“No,” Slava said. “Nothing. Nothing but what I have told you.”
“You always were a sly one, Slava,” said Vladya, eyeing her even more narrowly. “Who knows what’s going on behind those big eyes of yours?”
“Very few, it seems,” said Slava. “But that’s still no reason for you to suspect me of anything now. I am with child, and that is all. Have you not been encouraging me for the past ten years to take a lover and bear a child? And I have not forgotten your earlier attempts to coerce me into this…but that is no matter now. What’s done is done, and I have finally done so, and I have to say, I think you were right in your advice. It just took me a long time to find the right lover, that’s all—good ones are in such short supply here in Krasnograd. But now I’ve taken your advice and it seems you will gain a second-sister for Prasha, just as you wanted. As you keep reminding me, we need to breed more Zerkalitsy—there are just the two of us and Prasha. So I have finally done something about it.”
“But why now?” demanded Vladya. “And don’t give me that stupid story about the will of the gods and all that nonsense.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you,” said Slava. “Should I give you the story I intend to feed the kremlin? A handsome lad, a distant land, the hardships and dangers of the journey, and so on and so forth?”
“I don’t believe it,” Vladya repeated. She got up and started pacing around. “You’re hatching something, I know you are!”
“Vladya! How often have you ever known me to ‘hatch something,’ in all the years that you’ve known me?!”
“You’re hatching something,” repeated Vladya. She was staring at the far wall with a strange, distant look in her eyes. The hairs on the back of Slava’s neck rose.
“Vladya!” she cried. “Are you well?”
“Go back to your rooms, Slava,” said Vladya, still staring at the far wall. “Go back and stay there until I summon you…No, until I make my decision regarding your fate.”
“Vladya!” cried Slava again. “What has come over you?!”
“Nothing,” said Vladya, still not looking at Slava. “Don’t let me see you here when I turn around. I have no place for traitors in my kremlin.”
“Traitors!” cried Slava.
“Yes, traitors!” Vladya suddenly swung around to face Slava, despite what she had just said about not wanting to see her when she turned around. “Traitors who go behind my back, attempting to usurp my throne and the throne of my daughter—traitors! That was your plan! Yours and Olga Vasilisovna’s! Everyone knows she is Princess Severnolesnaya’s less-favored daughter! You…you plotted this together with her! Now I see it! If the father really is her father, then it was a plot with her to put her half-sister on the Wooden Throne! There is no other explanation. And if he isn’t Oleg Svetoslavovich—no, he couldn’t be! It’s impossible! You’re double-crossing Olga Vasilisovna as well, I know you are! You did get this child off some handsome lad, just as you are claiming in your story, but you’ve made Olga Vasilisovna believe it was off of her father, miraculously returned from the dead, in order to gain her support! And now you plan to install this child on my throne, and rule through her! I know you, Slava, and I know what you’re capable of! You’ll stop at nothing to get your way, I know you, I know you will!” She stopped just as suddenly as she had started, panting. Her eyes were large and staring, and there was a trickle of spit in the corner of her mouth.
“Vladya!” cried Slava again. “I don’t…I don’t know…” she fell silent, not knowing how to respond to such a ridiculous concoction of accusations.
“The gods,” she finally said, deciding to ignore the bulk of her sister’s fevered fantasies entirely. “It really was the will of the gods, just as I told you. How can I prove that to you?”
“You can’t! You can’t because it’s impossible! Now go, go back to your chambers or I’ll have the guards drag you back! Get out of my sight! Tfoo, I can’t bear it! I can’t bear the sight of your traitor’s face and your traitor’s swelling belly another instant! Get out!”
Slava, the hair on the back of her neck now bristling like a dog’s from horror, turned and left. Instead of going to her rooms, though, she went t
o the guest apartments in search of Olga.
Chapter Sixteen
She found Olga pacing around restlessly, cursing the spring rains. She brightened considerably at the sight of Slava, who was a fresh face to complain to.
“Can you believe it!” she cried as soon as Slava entered the room. “Three days of rain! We’ll never escape Krasnograd at this rate!”
“By next month the roads will be passable for more than foot traffic again,” Slava told her soothingly. The back of her neck, which was still bristling like a dog’s from the horror of the scene it had just witnessed, was astonished to hear her speak so smoothly.
“Next month!” cried Olga in disgust.
“Next month!” Dunya echoed, more quietly. Slava could see that Dunya was also ready to leave Krasnograd and head back for the safety and comforts of the North. Right now she couldn’t blame her.
“Yes, next month,” Slava told them. “But that’s not why I came here. Olga…Dunya…I don’t know…Something very peculiar has happened…” she had to stop to regain control of her voice.
“What?” demanded Olga, trying not to appear too happy at the thought of something peculiar happening, and failing.
“Well, I spoke to my sister of my hopes,” said Slava, and then had to wait for Olga and Dunya to pour out all their effusions of joy and good wishes.
“But that’s not peculiar,” said Olga, having exhausted for the moment all the felicity she felt on the possibility of a half-sister who was also third in line for the Wooden Throne arriving by the fall.
“No, no, but what is peculiar is my sister’s reaction to the news,” said Slava, and described the scene she had just participated in.
“That is peculiar,” agreed Olga. “I suppose I can see her not being overjoyed, but I can’t see anyone with a grain of sense supposing that you’re planning to usurp her and plant your own child on the Wooden Throne—and in collusion with me! Anyone who thinks that’s possible must not know either of us at all.”