Prisoner of Ice and Snow

by Ruth Lauren

  “We need to light the fires, fill the pots with water to boil, and deal with that,” Katia says, pointing to a huge pile of potatoes, carrots, and cabbages in sacks resting against the far wall. The earthy smell of them fills the room, mixed with a tinge of the breakfast porridge and something herbaceous. I spot tied bundles of dill and tarragon hanging from the ceiling.

  “Sasha and I will light the fires,” I say.

  Natalia huffs. “Since when does she get to choose which jobs she gets?”

  The Peacekeeper steps in, pointing at Natalia. “You will light the fires. The rest of you will fill the pots with water, peel the potatoes, and start washing.” Beyond the fireplace at the back of the room is an alcove filled with sinks. Outside it, breakfast bowls for every inmate stand in stacks on the floor.

  Feliks and I head for the sacks of vegetables. Big metal pans rest on the tables, and there are a handful of dull and blunted paring knives next to them. On the other side of the room, Natalia gathers bags of coal. Feliks watches them, his bright eyes missing nothing.

  It seems like a lifetime ago that I ran over the rooftops with the guard chasing me, my heart beating out of my chest, forever since I met Feliks under that market stall with his bag full of stolen food.

  I grab a potato, the first of what looks like thousands, and start to peel. “Do you know a lot of other people like you in the city?”

  “People like what?”

  I open my mouth to backtrack, apologize. I still sometimes sound like the girl whose mother works for the queen.

  Feliks grins and shrugs, though. “It’s sort of a network, you could say. Always useful to know where you can sell goods, who’s in need of certain items, where it’s safe to go, where the guards are going to be. We share information.”

  I drop a potato into a pan. “Before you got arrested for these alleged crimes, did you hear anything at all about the music box?”

  Feliks considers. “There was plenty of talk about it when it went missing. But I imagine you soon took care of that.”

  I shake my head, not understanding him.

  “Well, Valor, I don’t know much about politics, but your sister was convicted of stealing it. And if you remember, you did try to kill a member of the royal family in the town square in front of everyone who’s anyone, and a great deal of people who are nobody at all besides. I missed out on the gossip, what with getting arrested, but I think after that everyone might have been a bit distracted—” He stops talking and bites his lip. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear that.”

  I don’t. And yet I knew what people would say about my family after I did what I did. I knew, but I didn’t want to think about it. The small mound of potatoes in the pan grows, and I drop a wet curl of peel to the floor. “But nothing in particular about the music box before we were arrested, though? No mention of it on the black market?”

  Feliks shakes his head. I notice that he has yet to pick up a single potato. “I didn’t pay much attention. But you’re right—I didn’t hear anything about it being sold.” He frowns. “No rumor at all. And now that you bring it up, that is unusual.”

  “Not if it never left the palace,” I say, cutting into the potatoes harder than I need to. “The prince seems awfully eager to find out how much I know about the theft.”

  Feliks stares. “What reason would the prince have to steal, though? He’s already got everything he could possibly want.”

  “That I don’t know,” I say.

  Behind us, the fire crackles into life, sending warmth across the kitchen. Sasha pours pails of water, filling the pots. My gaze wanders to the Peacekeeper. “We should get the keys now,” I say.

  “Do you have the soap with you?” he asks.

  I nod. It’s still tucked into my hat where I hid it last night. “But not the metal,” I say. I still can’t think of a reason someone would have taken the pick and yet not reported Katia and me to Warden Kirov.

  “I can get the keys now,” he says. “We can worry about the metal later. No sense in wasting a perfect opportunity.”

  I glance at the Peacekeeper standing guard by the door. He’s taller than the door frame, almost as wide as the door itself, and his arms, folded in front of him, bulge so that the chessboard tattoo stretches and curves like an optical illusion. I hesitate, and my doubt must show on my face, because Feliks grins.

  “Everyone else sees a problem, Valor. I see an opportunity. Trust me.”

  I wish I were stealing the keys myself, but the truth is I have no idea how. Somehow it makes me more nervous knowing that this Peacekeeper is the one who gave me my first infraction.

  “I do trust you. I’m counting on you,” I say. “I’ll create a distraction in a minute. But are you going to peel any of these potatoes?”

  “Valor.” He lifts his hands and wiggles his fingers at me. His nails are dirty. “You can’t possibly expect me to risk these valuable hands on anything so mundane as a paring knife.”

  My heart beats up into my throat at the thought of what we’re going to do, but I smile. “Just tell me when.”

  The air in the kitchen is warm; the fire crackles and the water in the pots bubbles. Sasha is in the alcove now, scrubbing bowls in a long sink with Nicolai and Katia. The other two boys are carrying stacks of glistening wet bowls and spoons back to the ice hall in preparation for the evening meal. The job is all but finished.

  Feliks glides away from me with a pan of peeled potatoes and whispers something in Sasha’s ear. Sasha leans in and passes it on to Katia as Feliks slips away again.

  “Move over.” I jump. I’d been flitting back and forth between watching Feliks and eyeing the Peacekeeper, still standing like a statue in front of the doors. Natalia is behind me, holding a paring knife.

  “Natalia,” calls Nicolai, “can you come with me? We need to fire up the ovens and fetch more flour from the stores for bread.”

  Feliks, heading back my way with an empty pan, widens his eyes. This is our chance.

  We heap the pans with potatoes and haul them toward the pots over the fire. I give Feliks a nod as we walk, and he returns it. I take a deep breath. Suddenly my insides feel unanchored, floating around in the middle of me.

  I tip the contents of the pan into the pot. The water inside bubbles, sending steam into my face. I swipe back the tiny strands of hair sticking to my temples. Then I hook the handle of my pan into one of the handles on the side of the pot, and as Feliks leaps away, I throw my weight back, heaving the pot with me.

  Boiling water sloshes over the top and slaps onto the floor, and the weight of it tips the whole vat, sending it crashing, pouring, spilling potatoes. I fall backward onto the rough tile, my hands hitting the floor where the hot water has spread. I cry out, feeling the stinging burn on my palms.

  Around me, Katia and Sasha are making an unholy din, shouting my name. The floor is slick with water and slithering potatoes. The Peacekeeper rushes forward and heaves the huge pot upright. Feliks, who was nowhere to be seen, spins around the back of the Peacekeeper, knocks into him, and tangles himself as if he has slipped and fallen. The Peacekeeper pushes him away.

  Water seeps into my trousers, and I scramble back out of the huge puddle.

  “Valor! Your hands.” Sasha kneels at my side, concern all over her face. My hands are throbbing, the skin on them red and scalded.

  “I’m okay,” I say, though tears fill my eyes.

  The Peacekeeper stands over me. My sister looks up at him. “She needs help.”

  He reaches for his belt and I leap to my feet, panicking. He’s going to discover that his keys are missing. “It’s nothing, Sasha. Be quiet.” My heart pounds, making the throb in my hands unbearable.

  But instead the Peacekeeper retrieves the familiar pouch, and I stand there shaking as he marks me with an infraction and growls “Clean it up” before turning his back on us and walking away.

  Katia grabs a small pan and scurries around collecting the spilled vegetables. Sasha and I hurry into the alcove
where Feliks is arming himself with two cloths.

  “Valor, let me see.”

  I hold out my hands, and he presses his lips together, then pulls his sleeve up. There’s a pink scar running fat and shiny across his whole skinny forearm. I remember him rubbing at the same spot when he told me he’d worked in a forge.

  “You’ll be okay,” he says to me.

  He moves in close to Sasha, takes her hand, and presses a bunch of keys into her palm, taking care that they don’t clink together. “Hurry,” he whispers, then flits away and begins soaking up the spilled water with his cloths.

  I pull my ushanka off with clumsy fingers, wincing as I try to free the soap from its hiding place. Sasha peeks around the corner and gives me a nod. We press back against the sink, crouching in the corner. I hold the block of soap steady as she pushes the blade of each key into it and makes an impression. I can hear each tiny noise the keys make as they move against each other, though she’s taking care to keep them separated. The pain in my hands pulses in time with my heart.

  A shadow falls over us—Sasha holding the keys and me holding the soap. I suck in a breath. Natalia stands there, arms crossed, smiling.

  Nicolai arrives behind her, out of breath. He shakes his head helplessly, raising his hands.

  “Valor,” says Natalia. “Oh, Valor. I knew keeping you close would be a good idea.”

  CHAPTER 13

  I get on my feet fast.

  Natalia puts a warning finger to her lips.

  “We can’t all just stand here,” says Nicolai in a desperate whisper.

  She turns on him. “Then don’t.”

  Out in the kitchen, Katia hurries about, transferring armfuls of vegetables to the cooking pots and casting worried glances at me. Feliks is over at the mountain of potatoes, working his way through it as though nothing has happened. Nicolai stares at Natalia like he’s going to say something, then turns abruptly. His clothes are dusted with flour. He joins Feliks, and they both bow their heads over their work.

  Natalia tilts her head at Sasha. “Best run, little girl, and return those keys to your thief. He needs to put them back before they’re missed.”

  Sasha bites her lip, then nods miserably.

  Natalia looks like the cat that got the cream. “I think it’s time Valor and I had a little talk.” She reaches carefully for the soap I’m still holding to avoid damage to the key marks.

  Feliks rushes into the alcove. “Peacekeeper,” he hisses, then darts away. Natalia snatches the soap, gives me a glare that tells me this is far from over, and, folding the key impressions into her furs, disappears into the main kitchen just as Peacekeeper Rurik’s demon blocks the light in the entrance to the alcove. I plunge my hands into the sink, praying he doesn’t notice how much I’m shaking.

  “Come with me,” he says. I have no choice but to walk away from Feliks, Katia, and Sasha, who are gathered over a growing pile of potato peels. My hands are on fire.

  When it becomes clear that Peacekeeper Rurik is leading me to the tower again, my heart sinks even lower. He unlocks the door, but this time I look away. I can’t bear the reminder of how close we were to a set of those keys.

  In the tower, music comes from upstairs—thin, heartbreaking notes from a violin. I stand on the blue carpet, transfixed. I haven’t heard music since I came here. I thought nothing of the chance to learn to play an instrument myself; I threw it away as though it meant nothing. I’ve never truly appreciated the privileges in my life. And not once in my life have I understood, until this moment, that if I don’t hear music, I will miss it in the same place that I miss Mother and Father. It brings tears that are still blurring my eyes when the music stops and Prince Anatol walks down the stairs.

  One glance from him and Peacekeeper Rurik moves to stand outside the door. The prince walks past me and closes it with a click. We’re alone. Again.

  “I hear all sorts of interesting things from Warden Kirov,” he says as he moves to stand in front of me.

  I swallow. There’s a whirlwind of thoughts in my head—the keys, the pick. What does the warden know? What has she told the prince?

  Anatol’s eyes narrow. “I hear that I owe you my life. You saved me from the wolves. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” I say. My voice is too high, on edge like a balanced knife.

  He frowns at my use of the honorific, as if displeases him somehow. “You tried to kill me not so long ago, but then you saved me. Why is that?”

  “I’m reformed now,” I say. My hands are buzzing with pain. I should probably be more careful with what I say, but I want to get out of this tower as fast as I can.

  The prince rubs his face and sighs, suddenly looking less like royalty and a lot younger. “Valor, if you shoot as well as I’m told you did at those wolves, then you can shoot well enough to have hit me at the parade. I don’t think you were trying to kill me at all.”

  I stand rigid, trying not to look surprised. “No, I was. It—it’s just that I had no choice last night because the warden threatened my sister. I didn’t want to save you. I had to save you.” My heart starts up an uncomfortable beat. I can’t have him finding out why I’m here. He needs to believe I tried to kill him as revenge for locking my sister up.

  “You’re lying!” His eyes are wide now, his mouth set in a stubborn line. “I know something else about Warden Kirov. She said she’d let your sister out of the Black Hands if you saved me, but then she went back on her word. I was told.”

  Being scared is making me angry, and I don’t know what he wants me to say. “Told by who?” I yell, throwing my hands up.

  His face changes when he sees my hands. I would think it was concern, only it can’t be. He takes hold of my wrists and bends his head over my palms. “What happened?”

  I wrench my hands away. “Nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” he says. “Come with me.” He flings the door open and glares at me furiously. Peacekeeper Rurik stands like a statue outside in the snow. I already have one inky black mark on my forehead, so I have no choice but to stomp out into the cold.

  Prince Anatol marches off behind the tower to where it curves around and joins the great wall. There’s a drift of snow piled high in the corner. “Come here,” he says. Then His Royal Highness Prince Anatol of Demidova takes my hands carefully and drops to his knees in the snow, pulling me with him, and presses my palms to the soft, powdered snow gathered by the wind against the wall.

  Immediately, cold crystals begin to melt against my hot skin, and the burn begins to cool. Nothing has ever felt so good. Why is he doing this?

  “You know Sasha’s innocent,” he says.

  I try to pull my hands away. “No. No, I—I don’t know anything.” I shake my head, willing him to believe me.

  He stares at me intently, his voice low. “You do. You’ve talked to your sister. She’s told you she’s innocent, and now you’re trying to work it all out. I know you are. Why won’t you just tell me?”

  I tug back against his grip on my wrists, pulling away from him. He stole the music box himself. He’s trying to find out how much I know—to protect himself. I have to get Sasha away before he finds some way to get rid of both of us for good.

  “If you don’t stop questioning me, I will beg Princess Anastasia to do something,” I say. My voice wavers, but I stare defiance at him.

  His mouth is a furious line, but I see what’s in his eyes. It’s fear.

  I push up to my knees and then my feet, taking handfuls of snow with me. “I mean it. She’s shown mercy already. She got Sasha out of the Black Hands. I’ll tell her everything, and she’ll help Sasha and me.” I squeeze the snow in my hands to slush, and it drips through my fingers.

  “If you know what’s good for you, don’t bring my sister into this.” The prince’s eyes flash a warning, but it’s too late—I’ve already seen how the very idea of it scares him.

  “Then leave me alone,” I say. “And leave my sister alone too.”


  I turn and run, leaving the prince down on his knees in the snow.

  CHAPTER 14

  I take a few more steps, fresh snow squeaking under my boots, and then stop some distance from the laundry. My heart beats even faster the second I stop running, as though it’s just caught up and realized that I threatened a prince.

  I hear Prince Anatol saying something behind me, and Peacekeeper Rurik answering. I bite my lip and spin around, expecting the Peacekeeper to be right behind me, but he and the prince are still talking. And I have nowhere to run. So I stare at them, trying to figure out what’s going to happen to me now. Snow starts to fall in fine flurries, hazing the outline of the prince and dotting the Peacekeeper’s black uniform with white.

  They both look at me, and then Peacekeeper Rurik bows to Anatol and starts across the snow toward me. The prince sweeps his cloak around himself, goes back into the tower, and slams the door.

  When Rurik reaches me, he points to one of the small buildings clustered between the laundry and the boys’ cellblock. I swallow. I know one is the forge, and one is the store. The other has thin, high windows—the only building in Tyur’ma that has windows at all.

  I bite back the urge to ask him where he’s taking me this time. I know he wouldn’t answer. Instead I march behind him, my boots sinking into the enormous prints he leaves on the ground, and I try to calm every twitchy nerve in my body. Is the prince watching me from his tower? I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me turn around to check. I blink snowflakes from my lashes and focus on the tattoos twining up the back of the Peacekeeper’s arms.

  “In,” Peacekeeper Rurik says. We’ve reached the high-windowed building. He opens the door and I hesitate, peering into the room, my heart still pounding. Natural light slants in from each of the windows, though they’re so high all I can see is white sky. Rows of beds stand against the walls on either side of the room, all made up tightly with white sheets like the one I have hidden beneath my mattress in my cell. It’s the infirmary.

  A fire blazes high in a wide fireplace at the back of the room, though none of the beds are in use. There are two other rooms branching off from this one. The doors are open a little, but I can’t see into them.