by E. P. Clark
“I never entered into a bet, Nadezh…” He fell silent, not sure what to call me.
“No, but I did,” I told him. “I bet the Tsarina that I could pass myself off as an Imperial messenger.”
“Then you won the bet, not I.”
“Oh, but you see, Ivan Marinovich, in payment for the small deception I have practiced upon you, I am forfeiting my reward. You may collect it in my stead.”
“What is it?” he asked, still radiating doubt and confusion with every step.
“A place at the highest table,” I told him. “The Imperial table.”
“Nad…Val…you do me too much honor. I am not fit to sit at the highest table.”
“Nonsense,” I told him. “Of course you are. You’re Princess Velikokrasnova’s son, aren’t you? And very fair-spoken besides. And call me Valya. It’s what all my friends call me.”
“I would not dare to take the liberty, ah, Valeriya Dariyevna. And…I should feel uncomfortable at the highest table. Princess Srednekrasnova and I are to have a place two tables down, which is more than enough honor for me.”
“Well, we’ll see what the Tsarina says, shall we? We can’t really argue with her. And don’t judge those of us who sit at the highest table before you meet us. We’re not all so bad, you know. Some of us are even quite pleasant.”
“As you say, Valeriya Dariyevna,” he said obediently, and remained in silent confusion as we wended our way through the growing crowd, growing pinker and pinker about the ears as whispers of shock, delight, and horror rose up around us.
I found Sera as she was still making her way to her seat, greeting princesses and their husbands as she walked. She looked calmer than when we had parted, and even cheerful, but I didn’t like the hectic flush that had already risen on her cheeks. “Tsarina,” I said, neatly outflanking a minor Southern princess and surprising her guards. “I am here to collect on my debt, as promised.” I gave a snappy bow.
She looked at me and at Ivan Marinovich, and for a moment I thought she was speechless with some nameless emotion, perhaps shock and admiration, but more likely annoyance. “Of course, my sister,” she said faintly. “Name your reward.”
“I claim it on behalf of my companion,” I said. “I ask that he be allowed to join us at the highest table, as we agreed previously.”
“Oh…of course, sister.” She looked over at the guard to her right. “Will you…will you find a servant and see that it is taken care of?”
“And inform Princess Srednekrasnova that Ivan Marinovich will be sitting at the Imperial table tonight,” I added. “Don’t worry, man!” I said when the guard hesitated. “I’ll take your place by the Empress’s side.”
“Go, Tolya,” Sera told him. “It is all right. My sister will watch over me.” She turned back to me, a smile already returning to her eyes. “I must congratulate you, Valya,” she said. “Well done. And please, Ivan Marinovich, it will be an honor to have you join our table.”
“The honor is all mine, Tsarina,” he said in a strained voice, bowing down to his boot-tops and coming up even more flushed than before. I hoped the poor boy would survive the evening without having an attack of some kind.
“Will your mother be joining us in Krasnograd soon, Ivan Marinovich?” she asked. “We have not had the pleasure of her presence for at least two years, if I remember aright.”
“She will, Tsarina,” he said, still sounding as if he was having trouble getting the words out through numb lips. “Early next week, if the journey goes well.”
“And we will all pray that it will,” she said graciously. Anyone would think she was fond of Princess Velikokrasnova. “Now, if you will excuse me for a moment…we shall meet again soon at the table.”
Ivan Marinovich bowed jerkily, and I took his arm and led him off in the direction of the Imperial table, where people were already beginning to take their seats.
“You see?” I told him. “We’re not so bad.”
“I wish I had known beforehand I was to meet the Empress,” he said. “Then I could have prepared myself for it. Or maybe not. Maybe it was better this way. This way I had no time to get too nervous.”
“And next time it won’t be so frightening,” I said. “You did marvelously, by the way. I could tell the Tsarina took a liking to you.”
“Really, Valeriya Dariyevna?” he asked, brightening.
“Absolutely,” I told him. Thus far I was finding myself playing a much more motherly role than I had intended with him, but perhaps that was for the best. I would just have to make sure that I did not become too motherly, and kill whatever spark of desire he might be harboring towards me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t see any signs of that spark of desire yet, but it was still early. He was still overwhelmed by his first Imperial feast and everything that had just happened, I told myself.
Servants were already adding an extra place at the table when we arrived. Vyacheslav Irinovich and Ruslan were already seated, I was pleased to see. Ivan Marinovich and I took the places we were given, separated by only one seat from Vyacheslav Irinovich. I leaned over and greeted him.
“Will you not introduce me to your new companion, Valeriya Dariyevna?” he asked, quirking his brow just like Sera would.
I made the introductions, eliciting another raised brow and a smile, quickly hidden, from Vyacheslav Irinovich, who immediately made it his business to put Ivan Marinovich at ease. Ruslan was intrigued by the new addition to our table, and asked Ivan Marinovich a number of questions about his horses, his sword, and other things that fill the hearts of boys and young men, and the atmosphere at the table was soon cheerful and relaxed. Ivan Marinovich fell back into an awkward silence when Sera came and took her seat between me and Vyacheslav Irinovich, and remained unspeaking while the opening toast was given and the first dishes brought round.
“It’s true, then,” he said suddenly, as the servants began serving the food.
“I beg your pardon?” I said.
“It’s true, then. That no meat is served at the Imperial table, that is.”
“Oh. Yes, it is. Sera—the Tsarina—still keeps the oath, in honor of the memory of Darya Krasnoslavovna. She was very dear to her—that is, Sera loved her very much, and by all accounts, Darya Krasnoslavovna loved Sera very much in return. And it is always best not to go back on oaths made to the gods.”
“Oh.” Ivan Marinovich contemplated that. “I see. And…I think I understand. Why Darya Krasnoslavovna did what she did. I don’t like the thought of poor dumb beasts being slaughtered, either.”
“You don’t?” I looked at him in surprise, provoking yet another blush to rise up his neck and into his cheeks and ears. “That is very commendable of you,” I added hastily, not wanting to offend him or make him even more uncomfortable than he already was.
“If you say so, Valeriya Dariyevna. Of course, it’s not something I see very often, so I don’t think about it much. When I was a boy,” he fidgeted a bit with his knife and then carried on, “I complained of it to my mother, but she was…she was not pleased with me. And once I told Aleksey Aleksandrovich, but he only mocked me.”
“Following in the footsteps of Darya Krasnoslavovna is nothing to be ashamed of,” I told him. “And I must confess…although,” I leaned in close to him, “let this be our little secret, lest my reputation for being the most dangerous princess in all of Zem’ suffer—but I must confess that I don’t like it either. And…it is embarrassing to admit, but I don’t hunt.”
Ivan Marinovich gave me a puzzled look, unsure how to respond to my confession.
“Hunting is a prized skill on the steppe,” I explained.
“Yes, I…so I have heard, Valeriya Dariyevna,” he said.
“And so when I was still a girl, but after my skill with a bow had reached the point where it was judged I could reliably bring down game, I went hunting.”
“I see,” he said, looking as if he didn’t.
“And I brought down a wild antelope on
my first shot,” I continued.
“That is quite a feat, Valeriya Dariyevna,” he said politely.
“Yes it is…only…when I rode up to her, she was not quite dead yet. She gave me…she gave me one long look, and I knew…I knew I had done a terrible thing. Something I shouldn’t have done. It was as if she were speaking in my head, almost. As if she were telling me that I had put something precious in grave danger. And then…then she died before my eyes. I have never felt such guilt before or since—not even when I killed my first enemy in battle did I feel so badly. After all, he had been trying to kill me, too. But this…the guilt has never left me. Everyone was so pleased, offering their congratulations, saying I was a true daughter of the steppe, but I knew…I knew I could never hunt again. I knew that Darya Krasnoslavovna’s oath was reaching out for me, and that like her, I could not…I could not hunt down my own sisters, not unless my need were truly dire, and that day it had not been. And then the next day when we came home, I found my uncle and my brother in the healer’s quarters, after the largest wolf any of them had ever seen suddenly appeared out of nowhere, slashed open my uncle’s leg and my brother’s arm, and then disappeared as quickly as it had come. The wolf was never sighted again, and even his tracks led to nowhere. My mother insisted it was merely coincidence, because we had refrained from hunting wolves, but I…I think differently. I think it was a warning to me, one that left my uncle with a permanent limp and my brother with a fear of the outdoors and the animals that live in it. And so ever since I have only used my bow on my enemies.”
“I see, Valeriya Dariyevna,” he said, looking as if he still didn’t know how to respond to what I had just told him. I couldn’t blame him. Where had that sudden outpouring come from? I’d never told that to anyone. Even to my mother I had only given vague hints as to why I, who was so determined to be a true steppe princess, had decided to give up hunting after my very first outing. Well, perhaps this unexpected intimacy would serve me later, I told myself, turning my attention away from myself and back to Ivan Marinovich. Seeing that he was still in a state of awkward confusion, I cast about for another topic of conversation, and, striking upon a useful thought, asked him if he had had a chance to practice his bladework since arriving in Krasnograd, since he had mentioned earlier to Ruslan that his weaponsmaster had remained back at his mother’s estate.
“Aleksey Aleksandrovich and I have sparred some, Valeriya Dariyevna,” he told me, “but in truth, and although I would not tell him this, he does not provide any great challenge.”
Delighted at this gift from the gods, I opened my mouth to offer my services as a sparring partner, when the princess sitting on the other side of Ivan Marinovich suddenly leaned across him and said, in a tone that boded no good for the upcoming conversation, “I hear you are not bad with a blade yourself, Valeriya Dariyevna.”
“I train at every opportunity,” I answered.
“And not just train, from what I hear,” she said. I shuffled rapidly through my collection of faces of people who would be likely to sit at the Imperial table, and came up with the heir to Princess Primorskaya. As far as I knew, she had no reason to bear a grudge against me personally, but relations between the Primorskiye and Zerkalitsy had been strained for some time, and bearing a grudge against me seemed to be something of a hobby amongst many of the princesses, so I knew of no reason for her not to join in this general occupation.
“Blades are made to be used,” I said noncommittally, and turned back to Ivan Marinovich.
“Yes—against the Hordes and people such as that,” said the other woman. Aksinya, I remembered, her name was Aksinya Yevpraksiyevna. Some of those Northern princesses had no taste at all when it came to naming.
“Of course,” I agreed.
“And I suppose you’ve had your fair share of opportunities to use them against those enemies, haven’t you?”
“I have,” I said. “Although it is not really fit talk for the feasting table.” Truth be told, I had only killed three raiders from the Hordes, although those three still loomed large in my memory. In these peaceful times, we strove to capture them alive and send them to the mines instead. They received mercy, and we received the benefit of their labor. I had taken more than two dozen prisoners, and the thought that they were now mining the ore for our swords was comforting.
“But using them against sister Zemnians is taking it too far, if you ask me,” Aksinya Yevpraksiyevna continued, her mouth drawing tighter and tighter and her eyes gaining a more and more triumphant glitter as she spoke. “Tell me, Valeriya Dariyevna: is it true? Did you really behead two of your own people last year?”
The rest of the table, and, I thought, the adjoining table as well, fell silent.
“My mother keeps no headswoman,” I said. “And yet someone must administer justice, and keep the peace. It was no different than killing raiders from the Hordes in battle.” Actually, that was a lie, but the self-righteous glares around me were annoying me, and I had no intention of letting them know how sick with horror I had been afterwards. Better that they should continue to fear me as a killer than pity me as a soft-hearted coward.
“Justice! In Zem’ we do not behead people in the name of justice, Valeriya Dariyevna! That kind of justice was ended in the reign of your great-great grandmother, if I remember aright. No one keeps a headswoman anymore, Valeriya Dariyevna, because there is no need!”
“It was necessary,” I said. “It was the best thing to be done with them.”
“Why? What could they have possibly done that required beheading, Valeriya Dariyevna?”
“Something best not discussed over supper,” I said. “And you do not know the whole story, Aksinya Yevpraksiyevna.”
“Oh, I think I do, Valeriya Dariyevna. Everyone knows you got a taste for violence after…well, and then those excursions against the Hordes,” she nodded at the scar on my arm, causing Ivan Marinovich to glance down at it too and blush yet again, “and so now, when there is nothing better for you to do, you must go bringing violence to your own people. Did you not write in last year to the Princess Council, urging us to mount a force and march East against the Hordes? Thank the gods that yours is not the only voice the Empress heeds. And then beheading two of your own people—not just Zemnians, but people of the steppe, even, well…”
“They were selling our children to the Hordes!” I shouted. I realized that I had leaned across Ivan Marinovich, ending up half in his lap, and grabbed Aksinya Yevpraksiyevna, who had gone rather pale, by the front of her gown. I carefully let go of her sarafan and slid back into my seat. “They were capturing our children and selling them to the Hordes as slaves. They would beat them and starve them, even give them to the caravan guards to use as they would for sport, in order to cow them, and most of the little boys were gelded, as well. When I found their hideout I knew something had to be done with them. There was no way to ensure that they could be transported to Krasnograd for justice, and then back across the country to the mines, which is where they would surely be sent, without escaping. We only captured a small part of the gang, you see. Many of the others are still at large, and I knew they would do their best to free their companions, if only to ensure that they would not divulge any of their secrets to the Tsarina. Something had to be done with them, and so…I did it. And then I wrote to the Princess Council advising that we mount a force to destroy the slave trade and free as many Zemnians as we could, but my words were unheeded.”
“But surely they are not so great a threat as that. Surely the ones you caught could have been safely escorted back to Krasnograd for questioning. Surely that would have been the wiser thing to have done, and then we would have discovered the full extent of their operation, and could plan accordingly. Surely if you would have thought, Valeriya Dariyevna…”
“They threatened my daughter.” That, I had not told anyone, not even my parents. Funny how rage can make you blurt out all kinds of things you would otherwise have kept hidden. Tonight must be the night for b
lurting.
“I beg your pardon?”
“They said that there were many more of their companions, and that once they discovered I was escorting them back to Krasnograd, the rest would start taking children of noble blood in revenge. Starting with my daughter.”
“Surely you don’t believe that! Such a rag-tag band couldn’t possibly have the strength or the nerve to go after the children of noblewomen. If you had only thought…”
“You weren’t there, Aksinya Yevpraksiyevna! You weren’t there when we captured them and when we had to decide what to do with them, and you weren’t there to see the state of those children and the sheer number of them, them and all the others we had found the previous year, or to see the ones who killed themselves afterwards, after they had been returned to their families and promised that they were safe now, because they couldn’t live with what had been done to them. You weren’t there, Aksinya Yevpraksiyevna, so kindly refrain from telling me what I should or should not have done. I wish that I had not felt it necessary to…to do what I did, I wish I had been spared that dreadful deed, but I wasn’t. Just because something is distasteful does not mean it is unnecessary. I regret the necessity of doing what I did, but I don’t regret doing it, and I would do it a hundred times over again if it meant saving even one Zemnian child from falling into the hands of slavers. And I would do it a hundred hundred times to anyone who so much as breathed such a thought about my daughter.”
I stopped abruptly, realizing that the whole Imperial table and a good portion of the surrounding tables were all staring at me intently. Ivan Marinovich looked completely stricken by what he had heard, which I had to admit contradicted everything I had just told him about myself. Broken-hearted over a dead antelope, and then beheading two of my own people…Well, so much for that match. I tried to decide whether staying and trying to smooth things over with him and the rest of the company, or storming off and leaving them to their own devices, would be the better move. Neither seemed workable. I wondered if perhaps keeping my mouth shut would not have been the better response. Too late for that. Besides, I was willing to wager that no one in Krasnograd would dare cross me for the rest of the summer after this little scene, which was all to the good.