Revolution and Rising

by Ripley Proserpina

  Revolution and Rising

  Wishes and Curses Duet, Book 2

  Ripley Proserpina

  To Steph, who has been waiting.

  To Reed and Anna, who practice flying.

  To Jake, who is a miracle.

  To my mom, who loves these books best.

  And to Annie, who despite her best efforts, is getting a hug.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Alone

  2. Also Alone

  3. Pytor Meets Anatoliy

  4. Anatoliy Meets Pytor

  5. Lukas

  6. Mer Popov of Vaskova

  7. What Anatoliy Died For

  8. What Anatoliy Would Want

  9. Town

  10. Tracked

  11. Waiting

  12. Wishes and Curses

  13. Reunion

  14. Polya’s Bear

  15. Polya Wants to Fight

  16. Another Will Rise Up

  17. Anatoliy Wouldn’t Be As Brave

  18. Not All Are Innocent

  19. Lara is Left in St. Svetleva

  20. The Devil Is Bored

  21. Anatoliy Hides

  22. Surrounded

  23. This is Not a War

  24. The News in St. Svetleva

  25. There is No Anatoliy Without Polya

  26. Anatoliy is Polya’s

  27. Others

  28. What Will Pytor Sacrifice?

  29. What Do You Wish For?

  30. Why Pytor Did What He Did

  31. Return to St. Svetleva

  32. A Prince Returns to the Imperial Palace

  33. The Tiger Princess Returns

  34. Into the Tunnels

  35. What Misha Does

  36. The Imperial Guards and Declarations

  37. What the Devil Saw in St. Svetleva

  38. A New Life

  39. Reunion

  40. Best Laid Plans

  41. Westward

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books by Ripley:

  Prologue

  Over the millennia, the devil had many names: Demon, Lucifer, Serpent. But none had he enjoyed so thoroughly as Father Stepan. The time came, like it always did, for him to take a new form, and he reluctantly bid adieu to the mystic.

  He flitted over Konstantin, taking a moment to appreciate the ruin left in the wake of King Aleksandr’s disastrous Hunt. It should have been the devil’s proudest moment, but he was strangely dissatisfied with it all. Yes, there was revolution. Yes, the masses were rising up, murdering, and pillaging, but it didn’t feel like his mission was complete. There was still the matter of King Aleksandr’s newly abandoned throne.

  And the princess, Polya. There was still the princess.

  The devil reached out and found her, alone and shrouded in pain.

  Anatoliy’s death gave him a way into Polya’s heart, and nothing tempted him so much as a human heart. With one last look of longing toward the wrecked princess, and a promise to himself that he’d return as soon as he could, he flew to the Stovnya Mountains.

  He found the princes where he left them, in the camp serving as base for the final challenge of the Hunt. Prince Pytor and his brother, Prince Evgeny, argued with each other. Pytor wanted to find his daughter, to track her through the woods. Evgeny wanted to hurry back to St. Svetleva where the royal family resided. There was a government to run, decisions to make, a revolution to thwart.

  No. That would not do.

  His decision was made. It was time the devil took a new name.

  Prince it is. He shoved aside Evgeny’s soul, and seated himself firmly inside the body. He looked out through new eyes, smiled with pleasure, and settled in comfortably. So much to do.

  1

  Alone

  Polya heard Dara, Anatoliy’s loyal friend and second-in-command, whispering to the other men, but she couldn’t bring herself to listen. She shivered in her borrowed clothes and wrapped the woolen blanket more firmly around her shoulders. The bare branches swayed in the winter storm, and her tail twitched on her lap, slapping her knees. She dropped the blanket and grasped her tail, lifting the end to her mouth to run the tip across her lips.

  Dara said her name, but she didn’t turn. They could talk and plan as much as they wanted, but it meant nothing to her. She would leave them. As soon as they stopped paying attention to her, she would walk out the door and make her way to Bishmyza.

  But Anatoliy would not be there. It would be nothing like they had planned. Still, she would finish out her days at the home promised to her at the end of the Hunt.

  The ice around her heart cracked, a tiny shard leaving the organ exposed. No. Don’t consider what you’ve lost. Quickly, she went about freezing the exposed patch. Thinking of Anatoliy made her feel, and feeling made the ice fracture. That was the last thing Polya wanted.

  She hurt. Her body ached. Her soul was in agony. She was a throbbing, exposed wound. Thoughts of Anatoliy were just a breeze across her skin, but they tortured her. It was too much for her flayed being.

  Polya gripped her tail again, stroking down the fur. Shadows played against her skin and she stopped to hold her hands up to the pale light. They’d washed Anatoliy’s blood off of her, but she imagined it was still there. Maybe it had soaked into her pores, leaving something of him with her. Dark as it might be, she almost wished it still covered her.

  She smelled her hands. For a while, she’d retained his scent, his wild animal, open-forest smell. But it was long gone. Now she smelled like wet wool and weak tea.

  The wind picked up, tossing the trees against each other. A long branch broke, snapping loudly and making those around her gasp in surprise. The light falling snow whipped around like tiny white cyclones. Polya wished the door would open and the wind tunnels streak inside the house. She wished they would swirl around her and drag her out into the forest. She wished they’d bring her home, where she could curl up alone, in peace.

  2

  Also Alone

  “Anatoliy, please.”

  There was nothing. Then there were eyes, and bright hair like a sunrise. A face. Blue eyes flashed and filled with tears. A long, furred tail wrapped around his flank. Her hands touched his face, stroking the wiry fur. There was a girl, running ahead of him, leaping over branches, her orange tail streaking through the woods.

  Polya.

  “Anatoliy, please.” The words rolled through his mind, and his eyes opened.

  “Polya!” Anatoliy bolted upright. He spoke the name. His lips and tongue formed the sounds and his throat pushed them out of his mouth.

  He made another sound, not a roar, not a growl, but a groan. The groan of a man.

  He was a man.

  Slowly, merely to see if he could do it, he turned his head from side to side. The movement was hesitant, stiff. Then he blinked, and blinked again. Everything was too bright. He glanced down at his lap, at his legs clad in the uniform of His Majesty’s Army.

  The past rushed at him, bowling him over like a team of horses.

  A wish.

  A bear.

  A girl.

  A hunt.

  But he was a man now.

  Polya. Anatoliy stood on shaky legs, fell to one knee and then pushed against the ground with weak hands. One step followed another, each as wobbly as a calf’s. His body remembered this form, even if it had been years since his soul resided there.

  The wind blew, icy and strong, and he shivered. He was a man, with all of a man’s weaknesses, but he was a man. His boots were old and worn, and the cold from the ground sank past the leather. As he wiggled his toes, he glanced at the forest floor. It was disturbed. Footprints trampled over other footprints until they disappeared unde
r the new snow.

  Anatoliy rubbed his hand over his heart, over the new ache that had taken up residence there. He needed Polya.

  That girl. He laughed before he caught the sound in his throat. What had she done?

  Father Stepan, the devil, or whatever it called itself, was at the root of this. He’d struck at Polya in Anatoliy’s last moments.

  “Stay with me, please.”

  The devil had heard her, too, and now here he was. Sucked from whatever came after, and left here in Konstantin, right where he’d died. If Polya had made a wish, then it followed the devil managed to find a foothold in her soul.

  He opened his mouth, and for the first time, spoke of his own volition, “Polya!” His voice, loud and commanding—just like when he ordered his soldiers—disappeared into the dark forest. He called her again, this time louder and more demanding. She would answer him. “Polya!”

  But there was nothing, only the scrape of branches against branches. He had to find her. He had to get to her before the demon, or King Aleksandr, found her and used her for whatever amusement they thought up.

  As a man, he could not sniff the air and find her scent, but he could look at the sun and determine which direction was west. To the west was St. Svetleva and Bishmyza. In that direction was his best chance of finding Polya, and so in that direction he would walk. However long it took, he would find her again.

  3

  Pytor Meets Anatoliy

  Dear Lara:

  I miss you my darling, but it has begun. Aleksandr is dead, and Evgeny and I will make our way back to St. Svetleva to begin the task of healing Konstantin. Polya is still missing, but I am confident that we will find her along the way. Perhaps she is with the bear, that strange creature she demanded we call Anatoliy, and who seemed to regard her with limitless devotion…

  Pytor broke off writing as the noise outside his tent grew louder. He glanced up at the soldier standing guard at the entrance, nodding to the outside. “Tell me what is happening.”

  The guard nodded and walked through the flaps. Distracted from his writing, he threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair. The voices grew more excited. Impatient with waiting, Pytor stood and went to see the cause of the disturbance himself.

  The soldiers surrounded someone, talking animatedly. For a moment, Pytor wondered if Polya had returned—if that was what had them tripping over each other, craning and arching toward whoever, or whatever, was in the center of their clutch.

  His guard stood at the fringes of the group and turned, his eyes gleaming. “Your Highness, it is Kapetan Ivanovich.”

  The name meant nothing to Pytor.

  The guard lowered his voice. “The Kapetan was part of King Aleksandr’s squadron of assassins. He was sent to the front lines in the far east. Vaša Svjetlost did not want them too close to St. Svetleva. They are dangerous.”

  Pytor clasped his hands behind his back, pulled his shoulders straight, and lifted his chin. “Why is he not secured? Has it occurred to you that he may be a danger to me and my brother?”

  The guard’s eyes widened. He immediately called out, “Secure the Kapetan.”

  There was a rumbling through the ranks. The soldiers were unhappy with the command, so Pytor added his own voice to the din. “I want the Kapetan secured so I may speak with him. Do it now.”

  They led the man away. He was taller than the other soldiers, but that wasn’t what set him apart. He stood straight and looked directly ahead. Even from a distance, Pytor could see a man who moved with ease and strength. He was drawn into the Kapetan’s orbit, following behind the group. They brought him into a tent where he would be checked for weapons. Pytor waited, a strange excitement vibrating through his body.

  “What is happening?” Evgeny placed his hands on his hips, one hand resting on his pistol.

  “Kapetan Ivanovich, the leader of Alek’s squad of assassins, entered camp. He is being secured.”

  Evgeny smiled. He must have felt the same excitement as Pytor. “He’s here? Is the rest of the squadron here?”

  “No.” Pytor suddenly wondered if they surrounded the camp, ready to assassinate him.

  “The men were badly used by Alek,” Evgeny spoke to Pytor’s worry. “I am sure they are scattered to the winds, basking in their freedom.”

  Pytor’s guard exited the tent, walking quickly to him and his brother. “He is secured, Your Highness, and surrounded by other guards. Would you like to speak with him now?”

  Evgeny bristled beside him.

  “Join me, Evgeny.” Pytor attempted to soothe ruffled feathers.

  His brother smiled again, a quick flash of teeth before nodding. “Yes. I believe I will.”

  4

  Anatoliy Meets Pytor

  Anatoliy held his hat in his hands, waiting for Polya’s father to enter the tent. His heart pounded. Polya could be here. It took all his willpower not to push the guards aside and storm through the camp, calling out her name.

  The flap opened and Prince Pytor stepped through. His hair was gold, but darker than Polya’s, and when Anatoliy met the man’s gaze, he saw Polya’s eyes.

  Anatoliy bowed his head. “Your Highness.”

  Prince Pytor stepped closer, making room for another man behind him. Anatoliy recognized him as one of the brothers who’d participated in the Hunt, and when he met Anatoliy’s stare, he smiled.

  Anatoliy jerked in surprise. Something about the man, something separate from recognizing who he was, seemed chillingly familiar to him.

  “Kapetan Ivanovich.” Pytor gave him a cursory nod. “You know who I am. Perhaps you know my brother, His Royal Highness, Prince Evgeny.”

  Anatoliy bowed to the prince, who nodded.

  “You have caused quite a stir in my camp, Kapetan. Why are you here?”

  Anatoliy crafted his answer carefully. “My squad was assigned the Hunt. I am attempting to ascertain their whereabouts now as I was injured during the final challenge.” He took a breath and continued, “And the whereabouts of the participants, Princess Polya…”

  “You were assigned to watch over the princess?” Pytor stepped forward quickly before the guard could stop him. Pytor eyed the man, and adopted a posture of calm, though the tension seemed to hold him upright. “Would your squad have taken her?’

  Disappointment coursed through Anatoliy. She was not here. It took him a moment to find his voice. “They may have, and brought her to safety.” If Dara rescued Polya in the moments following Anatoliy’s death, then she would be safe.

  Pytor ground his teeth together. “She is not here.”

  Anatoliy stood up straight. “I would find her.” He bowed his head, whether or not the prince gave him permission, he would find her. However, it would be much easier, and faster, with more soldiers than just him looking for her.

  Pytor was silent, gazing solemnly at Anatoliy. He met Pytor’s stare, so much like Polya’s, and silently implored the man to believe him, to give him what he needed to find Polya.

  “You are a Kapetan,” Prince Evgeny spoke thoughtfully.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “An officer. Did you attend Svjetkoye Selo Lyceum?”

  Anatoliy nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “So you are noble.”

  Anatoliy paused before nodding slowly. “My family is titled, yes, Your Highness.”

  “He is one of us, brother. I believe we can trust him.” Evgeny smiled at Anatoliy. He had a vision, suddenly, of blackened, rotting teeth, but it disappeared as Pytor spoke.

  “Yes. Fine. You will help us find the princess. We are traveling first to Bishmyza.” Pytor patted his golden hair into place before running his fingertips over his mustache. “As the highest ranking officer, you will lead our army, such as it is now.”

  Bishmyza. Anatoliy knew that was where Polya would go if she was allowed to choose her own path. It was the place she felt safe, the place they would have gone together, after the Hunt, to live out the rest of their lives.

&
nbsp; But leading an army was not what Anatoliy expected. It would be too cumbersome, too unwieldy to maneuver quickly to Bishmyza. It would slow him down. “I would move faster with a small squad of men.”

  Prince Evgeny waved the concern aside. “There are not many men here. What you saw upon entering the camp are all that are left.”

  “Was this not the base for the final challenge?” Whenever the King was in residence, two hundred soldiers surrounded him, at least.

  The princes exchanged a look. “It was,” Pytor answered, “and there were. But His Majesty died during the Hunt, and there were… desertions in the confusion that followed.”

  King Aleksandr would never be a threat to Polya again. He would never abuse her, or exploit her, for his amusement. Anatoliy closed his eyes, overwhelmed with relief. When he opened them, Prince Pytor regarded him with something akin to understanding, as if he too had the same weight lifted from his shoulders.

  “Polya is not in any danger from the King,” Pytor said quietly. “And I believe the people will embrace her. They see her as the savior of Konstantin. They pin their hopes on her.”

  “They will not hurt her,” Prince Evgeny interrupted.