Prisoner of Ice and Snow

by Ruth Lauren

  Instead, I think of Sasha running through the house shrieking as I chased her with an arctic fox pelt over my head. Or Sasha reading Father’s books by the fire in his office while he discussed matters of state that put me to sleep, but which Sasha would listen to all night if she could manage to keep still for long enough that Father would forget she was there.

  Are you crying? Feliks mouths to me. He’s trying to sneer, but he looks like he could cry too, which makes my eyes blur even more.

  I shake my head and press a finger to my lips. Tyur’ma is run on rules. Rules that must not, cannot be broken. We both have to get used to that now.

  The city disappears behind us not long after we enter the forest, snow blanketing all noise apart from the creak and groan of the cart and the snorting of the horses. The mass of light that is Tyur’ma gets closer as we leave the forest and reach the plains. The queen’s lands run for miles and miles around the prison, vast expanses where herds of goats and sheep roam. Where anyone who made it past the towering stone walls of Tyur’ma would be seen before they could find anywhere to hide.

  An icy breeze blows, catching the topmost layer of snow and carrying icy crystals across my face. I shiver. A howl from across the plains snaps my eyes wide open. I glance to Peacekeeper Rurik. One of his hands rests on a crossbow by his side.

  An answering howl bounces back, and suddenly a whole pack is calling out as another challenges it. I scan the plains but there’s nothing in sight, only starred black sky and iced white ground. Then, in the distance, I see a silhouette against the snow. The wolf stands almost as tall as one of the horses pulling our cart. I try to force down the panic I feel, chained and defenseless in the cart. If my mother were here, I’d feel safe. Now I have to rely on Peacekeeper Rurik.

  He murmurs to the horses and we jolt forward, faster and faster toward Tyur’ma. My arms, held up by the chains, become stiff, and then Feliks kicks me with his boot. We have arrived.

  The white mountains tower in front of us, cold and ancient, glittering with snow and cruel, jagged rock. These are the borders of Demidova. On the other side of the mountains to the east lie Lady Olegevna’s lands, Magadanskya. To the west lies Pyots’k. Their queen has been petitioning Queen Ana to let her use the Demidovan ports for months. Queen Ana has refused offers of gold, knowing that the queen of Pyots’k wants to use the ports to launch warships, not trade ships. Part of the function of the alliance with Magadanskya is to strengthen Demidova against the requests, which my father says have become increasingly demanding of late.

  I take one last look at the wolves, judge the distance between them and us, and turn to Tyur’ma.

  A path twists up the mountain, leading to the gates of the fortress. The black walls tower up into the sky farther than any that I have ever seen. Block after enormous block of stone reaches away from the ground until it seems impossible that it was built by anyone but a giant. Set into the wall is a portcullis, gridded in iron, that looks hardly big enough for us to pass through.

  The horses labor up the path, their hooves scrabbling on the loose stones that litter the way. A grinding, as of cogs and chains, starts, and the portcullis rattles slowly up. I pull my hands away from the bars just in time to stop my fingers scraping on stone as we pass through. The doorway is a hair’s breadth wider than the cart.

  Inside, another wall stretches away, forming a narrow passageway all around the perimeter. Feliks takes in a breath at the sight of the double wall. We exchange a look as Peacekeeper Rurik halts the horses and opens our cage.

  The chains rattle as Peacekeeper Rurik unfastens them from the bars and links them back to his belt. We leave the cart behind and walk along the stone passageway between the two walls. Above us the thin strip of sky is now deepest black. Our way is lit by torches, burning brightly at intervals on the inner wall. Then we turn a corner and there’s a solid iron door, no bigger than any door in the most humble of homes. It opens inward, and we step through into another iron cage that surrounds the door.

  I am inside Tyur’ma. Adrenaline buzzes through me, waking up my tired limbs and jolting thoughts of Sasha back into my head.

  Flat, snow-covered ground stretches away, hemmed in on three sides by the great walls and at the back by a wickedly sharp white cliff rising up into the clouds.

  Twisted, wind-whipped icicles hang from the gutters and ledges of every watchtower and cellblock. And walking toward us, with a pleasant smile on her face, is a woman dressed in the pale gray furs of the queen’s court. I recognize them—they’re exactly the same as those my parents wore until this past month—and suddenly I miss Mother and Father so much my whole chest feels like it might burst. I saw those gray furs every day of my life. My parents were proud to wear them, proud that one day Sasha and I would too. Mother hasn’t been the same since she lost the right and had to put hers away.

  Maybe they’re imploring friends to petition the queen at this very moment. Maybe they’re too sad, too broken to do anything. Maybe they’ve become angry with me.

  The woman draws close to us and nods at Peacekeeper Rurik, who pushes me and Feliks through the cage and out into the open. When she looks at me, I feel my face flush, even though I’m half-frozen. Her mouth might be smiling, but her eyes are not. They’re a steely blue, and she looks at me as though she’s reaching into my head, like she can see every part of my plan. Like she knows why I’m here. I shiver.

  “I am Warden Kirov, the head of Tyur’ma. You will address me as Warden.” She turns and starts walking briskly back toward the buildings. Peacekeeper Rurik follows, and so do we, still cuffed and chained to his belt.

  “You will work in the mines, or anywhere else in the prison we tell you to. You will eat when you are told to, you will sleep when you are told to, you will work when you are told to. If you reach the age of sixteen while you are here, you will be transferred to the adult prisons in the mountains. If you are caught with contraband items, you will be punished. If you cause trouble with any other inmates, you will be punished.”

  She delivers this speech almost as if she has timed it to last exactly until we reach a stone building with a single iron door punched into its side. Then she opens the door and nods to Peacekeeper Rurik, who starts unchaining me, but not Feliks.

  “In Tyur’ma’s three-hundred-year history, no one has ever escaped. If you try to escape, you will be punished. Unless you are killed,” she says, still wearing the same pleasant smile.

  Feliks looks up at me, his face a mix of anger and fear and reproach as we’re separated and our cuffs are removed. Then he is pulled away toward another building, looking tiny at Peacekeeper Rurik’s side.

  “Come now, Valor Raisayevna,” says the warden. I tear my gaze from Feliks at the sound of my name. Of course she knows who I am. And why I’ve been sent here.

  “Revenge is something you’ll find little use for here,” she says, and she steps forward into the building. She thinks I tried to kill Prince Anatol as vengeance for the queen sending Sasha here. Which is exactly what I wanted. It still burns me with shame to think about it, though, so I try not to. I’m so close now, so close to where Sasha is. I can’t let a little thing like pride get in my way.

  I follow the warden onto a stone balcony just inside the door and hold back a gasp. In front of me is a vast, hollowed-out cavern with walls and floor of stone. There are four levels—one below me and two above—all connected by tiny flights of stone steps cut into the walls. And at every level there are cells, recessed into the stone, with black iron bars.

  I try not to breathe too fast, but my heart is skipping and sinking all at the same time at what I’ve done. This is the most notorious prison in Demidova. Behind the bars in each of these cells is every criminal under the age of sixteen from the entire realm.

  But my sister, Sasha, is here. Somewhere, she is here.

  And I’m going to break her out.

  I crane my neck to see the other inmates, but all the cells are darkened. It’s still some time before
dawn, I think, and the prison is silent.

  Crushed snow falls from my boots and makes a slushy puddle at my feet. Warden Kirov extends her arm as if offering me the choice of heading up the stone steps to my left. “Your cell is this way.”

  I wind my way up the steps, hugging the wall. And that’s when I realize there are no rails, no bars, nothing to stop me from falling off the steps and down to the stone floor below. It’s the same on every level and on the pathways outside the cells.

  “We find there’s a lot more compliance when everyone is focused on not falling to their deaths,” says the warden pleasantly.

  I look down. The steps are worn in the middle, some of them chipped and uneven. They’re barely wide enough for my boots. As we walk, the darkened lower level twists farther away until I emerge onto a narrow ledge. The cells stretch out in front of me. I try not to stare, but I can’t stop myself from snatching glances as we walk past. Sasha could be in any of them. Even the one I’m heading for.

  I take a deep breath and try to stop the nerves fluttering in my stomach. All I can see are iron bunks bolted to the walls and dark shapes lying in each of them.

  “Stop here,” says the warden. She unlocks a cell and pulls the narrow door open. “In you go, then, Valor.” I hesitate, looking at the shadowy lump in the lower bunk and realizing with disappointment that, of course, it isn’t Sasha. I can’t see her face, but this girl is bigger. I squeeze my hands into fists inside my mittens and swallow hard. I have to go in there. This is why I came. There’s no point making a fuss now—not that it would do any good.

  I take a little step, then another, until I’m on the other side, inside the cell. The warden swings the door shut and locks it. Suddenly the shadows and the cold and the stone walls are all around me.

  “We’ll be watching you with great … interest,” says the warden, and then she turns and walks away. I’m left in silence. Who did she mean by “we”? I don’t have time to think about it for more than a second. The girl in the bunk, who had been facing the wall as if she were asleep, moves.

  I push my hair back from my face and dig out a nice smile. “I’m Valor,” I begin.

  “Shut up,” says my cellmate.

  CHAPTER 6

  My new cellmate turns over quietly on her thin mattress. I can’t tell what she looks like in the dim torchlight—only that she’s taller than me. I would step away, but I can already feel the cold of the stone wall at my back. The bars cast darker shadows across her body, striping the gray with black.

  “Pardon?” I say.

  “Well, if you aren’t going to shut up, at least lower your voice,” says the shadow peevishly. “We’re not supposed to talk, and I don’t want to earn an infraction. You’ll wake up Daria in the next cell, and she’ll inform on us.”

  “Inform,” I repeat, more to myself than her. I’m still just standing there in front of her, but I’m not sure what else to do.

  “Don’t you know how it works here?” she asks, impatient now.

  “No, I don’t. I must have overlooked that page in the handbook,” I say. This is not going the way I had envisioned it at all. “Look,” I say. “My name is Valor—”

  “Good for you. Now shut up.”

  I know I should stop, but I’m so close now. “I just want to find my sister. She’s here too, and I would … I’d like to find her.”

  “Last piece of advice: you should be in your bunk,” says the girl. “We’re supposed to be in them until we’re told to get up.”

  Clearly she’s not going to listen to me unless I’m following the rules, so I step forward, reaching for the top bunk.

  “Not until you wash those hands,” she hisses.

  I stop with my hands still out. “What?”

  “Over there. There’s water over there.”

  In the murky shadows at the back of the cell, I can just make out a basin on the floor.

  “Quick,” she says impatiently.

  I briefly think about kicking the basin at her head. “Is this a rule?” I ask, trying to remember everything the warden said.

  The shadow snorts softly. “This is just good sense.”

  I hesitate, but then pull my mittens off and shuffle into the dark, bending to the basin. The water feels like frozen needles on my fingers, and I can’t stop a little gasp when it reaches my wrists.

  “Give them a good scrub. You’re probably covered.”

  I can’t help but be a little indignant. “Covered in what, exactly? I assure you, my hands are clean. And if they weren’t before, they are now.”

  “It’s not the dirt you can see I’m worried about.” The shadow sniffs and turns back to the wall.

  Wonderful.

  She didn’t even react when I said my sister was in here. I wish I had a silver tongue like my father and my sister do. Sasha could convince anyone of anything, even the queen. Not long before Anastasia’s ninth birthday, the princess enlisted Sasha’s help in order to get yet another pet. She’d been begging Queen Ana for a hairless cat, to no avail. But once Anastasia told Sasha about it, my sister set her mind to making it happen. Documents about the benefits of hairless cats were prepared—including a statement from the royal doctor about the lack of hair on the animal being much more suited to Anastasia’s governess at the time, who sneezed alarmingly around Anastasia’s other pets. There was even a contract, signed by the princess, stating she’d be solely responsible for care of the creature.

  The queen was charmed. The hairless kitten was purchased.

  If Sasha were here, her words would be a dazzling ice sculpture, beautiful and blinding. Mine are a blunt wooden training sword thwacking away at the inert lump that is my cellmate.

  I stand up, my cold, wet hands dripping water onto the floor. All day I’ve been pulled tight as the drawing mechanism on my crossbow. I’ve been chased through the streets and threatened and dragged across the city and terrified half to death for hours. Nothing has ever looked as inviting as the bed in front of me. Even the sight of the dirty material stretched over rough straw until some of the seams have burst doesn’t put me off.

  I reach for the iron bars of the bunk to pull myself up. From deep underneath the ground, a rumbling starts. My muscles tense, and I brace myself. The noise grows louder, as if the earth is going to split. Suddenly, light streams into the cell, as though a thousand torches have been lit. I take a shaky breath. My cellmate leaps out of her bunk and stands rigid in front of the cell door. She is taller than me, by at least two inches.

  “What—?”

  “Shh,” she spits. Her hair is lighter than mine, the color of sand. Her eyes and skin are too. I’ve never seen eyes so light. She might be from Pyots’k. And I must look terrified, because she relents. Over the grinding, rumbling noise coming from beneath and above us she shouts, “That is us being told to get up. And if you know what’s good for you, you will stand up straight and close that endlessly flapping mouth of yours.” She swings back around, her braids swinging with her, and I bite off my retort. My mouth is no such thing.

  A chill breeze blows cold but fresh air into the cell, and the light becomes bright as day, making me blink. The walls are rough, as is the stone of the ceiling. Apart from the iron bunks bolted to the wall and the basin, the cell is bare. The floor is of the same stone, but worn smooth with time and use. My eyes feel gritty. I look to the bunk longingly.

  The grinding noise stops and silence rings in my ears for a second before another noise begins, a sort of metal- on-metal screeching filling the whole cavern of the cellblock. I want to cover my ears, but that might be against the rules too. The cell door, which had swung open to admit me such a short time ago, starts sliding into the stone wall as if being rolled back.

  When the noise finally stops and our cell is an open-mouthed cave, my cellmate’s stance changes. She braces herself as though she’s about to hurl a javelin. Instead, she hurls herself out into a sudden torrent of girls pouring past on the pathway, a human river of tightly packed furs an
d faces, all of them strangely silent.

  I stand frozen, unsure what to do other than watch. Any one of them could be Sasha. I search every face that passes, but I’m sure I miss some, and Sasha isn’t as tall as I am anyway. We might be twins, but she’s slighter, with delicate hands meant for turning the pages of a book, not drawing a bow or a knife.

  I watch until the rush begins to ebb, then I peep out of the cell. My face almost hits the spiked belt of a Peacekeeper. Above me, his face is inked into a black-and-white chessboard. I’m already tired and twitchy, and he makes me jump, which is undignified at best.

  “You are not outside your cell at the designated time,” he says. His voice is flat and emotionless, almost bored.

  I clear my throat and summon up my voice. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know—”

  “First infraction.” The Peacekeeper pushes his ink-checkered hand into a leather pouch at his waist and steps forward.

  I stumble back, forgetting whatever it was I would have said, and bump into the wall outside my cell. His hand moves up, and I don’t know whether to yell or run or fight whatever he’s going to do. I end up holding my breath, so I don’t squeak while he tilts my head with one massive hand and smears something gritty in a line down my forehead. My mind races around trying to work out what he’s done, what it means.

  I register that I can see the sky with my head tilted up—it’s an early morning pink-white—but it just confuses me. It’s not until the Peacekeeper steps away and says “Move” that I realize the rumbling noise was the roof of the cellblock rolling away, just as the cell doors did. The cavern is exposed to the chilly air. I’ve never seen anything like it. Down below, on ground level, the last of the prisoners file through the door out to the grounds.

  “Move,” says the Peacekeeper again, reaching back into his pouch. I don’t need to be told twice. I take off like a winter hare, running along the ledge outside the cells as fast as I dare, then down the worn steps cut into the wall, reaching the door just before it shuts with a metallic clang. Behind the cellblock the white mountains rise, jagged as leopard’s teeth. The stone fortress rears up out of a mountainside, cutting into the arctic sky above it all.