by K L Conger
Inga hurried across the courtyard, her eyes on the stones in front of her. She did not see the tall man coming toward her until she plowed into him. One glance, and she berated herself for not paying attention.
Sergei. Not only a boyar, but one to be avoided at all costs. Whenever Inga saw him in the hall, she took a different route, risking Yehvah’s wrath rather than pass by him.
Inga jumped back with a mumbled, “Forgive me, my lord,” and then scurried to the side to let him by.
He didn’t move, but stood there staring at her. Fear settled in her stomach. Sergei had been an unpleasant boy at best, and was a horrid man. There were stories about the way he treated his women. While the stories only applied to the boyar women he took as mistresses, they were intimidating nonetheless.
Sometimes boyar men took women of lower status to their beds, and most women would be glad of the social elevation. Rich men took care of their lovers, but no woman in the palace, even the servants, wanted anything to do with Sergei. Being his mistress would mean physical pain. Now Inga was alone in the courtyard with him.
Sergei moved toward her. Inga braced herself for the blow. Boyar men had struck her before, including Sergei, but Sergei’s fists left worse marks than the others’. She felt surprise when he took her chin in his thumb and forefinger and lifted her face to his own.
“You are forgiven.” He smiled, showing yellow teeth, and his breath smelled so acrid, she struggled to keep from shuddering. Still holding her chin, he let his gaze wander down the length of her body. When his eyes met hers again, his fingers pinched her chin hard enough to cause pain.
He smiled at her—it made her want to sick up on the spot—and pushed her backward roughly. She fell heavily against the outer stone wall of the palace, skinning the palms of her hands. He laughed, leering at her over his shoulder as he strutted away.
When he'd disappeared, Inga glanced around to be certain she was alone. She let her body shudder to release the pent-up fear. Then she rose, pressing her hands to her stomach. Telling herself she was all right, she turned to her task. She needed to find Natalya. Taking a deep breath, she moved forward.
It struck her as odd for Sergei to be in the courtyard at this time of day. She would have thought he’d be extolling his own virtues among the visiting dignitaries. And why would he use the courtyard, rather than going through the palace? They were questions for another time, and Inga pushed them to the back of her mind.
As she reached the far side of the courtyard, a sickening thunk stopped her from going farther. It came from around the corner at the back of the palace. Knowing she would be in trouble if she didn’t get back to the kitchens soon, Inga hurried to the corner and peeked around.
Two hundred paces away, a group of armed guards stood around a back entrance used by people who routinely lived and worked in the palace, and were not being formally received.
Another loud thunk made Inga jump. One of the guards bent his knees, as though something had hit him from above. It took him a moment to straighten up again. He rolled his shoulders a few times, as though trying to pretend nothing happened. It took another of the strange, sickening noises before Inga understood.
The guards held wooden spears at their sides. The spears stood longer than each man was tall, held with the butt on the ground, the metal tip pointing straight up. Small, solid objects were hitting the spears, being impaled on them. Inga understood when another man grimaced, and righted his spear.
Then she heard it. Faint, but haunting: the sound of faraway maniacal laughter. Inga raised her eyes. It came from the top of the bastion.
She shivered and turned away, wishing her curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of her. She'd witnessed another disturbing game Ivan had become fond of lately. He took small animals up to the roof and hurled them to the flagstones below. Their bodies shattered on the stones of the courtyard or were impaled on the tips of the guard’s spears.
And he laughed.
Inga shivered as the faint laughter reached her ears again; an echo of madness. Breaking into a run, she made it to the safety of the palace. She'd probably been gone longer than five minutes already, but didn’t care. She didn’t think she could bring herself to enter the courtyard again.
She rushed through the corridors, looking down each hallway for Natalya. Natalya worked in this wing of the palace all morning. Inga decided to search thoroughly to make sure Natalya wasn’t here. Then she would head back to the kitchen. Chances were Natalya already waited there for her, but she wanted to be sure.
When she’d searched all the obvious places and decided to return to the kitchens, Inga came upon Anne.
“Anne, have you seen Natalya? She was supposed to meet me in the kitchens fifteen minutes ago.”
Anne frowned. “I know. She left me thirty minutes ago, saying she had to go meet you.”
This stopped Inga mid-stride. She’d felt nervous when Natalya didn’t show up, but she’d pushed it away. If Natalya left thirty minutes ago, she should have arrived in the kitchens long before Inga left to look for her.
Inga thanked Anne and doubled back, deciding to do one more complete sweep of the wing, including the secluded, seldom-used passages she'd skipped the first time. Her trip to the market forgotten, she ran again. If Natalya wasn't there, Inga would have to go find Yehvah so they could search.
Inga reached the most secluded part of the palace last. She felt absurd for imagining Natalya might be here. The sconces on the walls were not lit because no one had come down here in days. Inga wanted to be able to say she looked everywhere, so she kept going.
She reached a certain corridor and glanced down it. The bleak light of the overcast sky coming in through small windows situated up high in the palace walls provided the only illumination. Shadows permeated the low corners of the hallway, and Inga could see nothing. Movement caught her eye. It might have been a skulking animal, but the movement seemed too elongated.
Inga crept closer. A figure materialized in the shadows. A person lay on the floor. The movement she'd seen was the arm reaching out. Why would someone lay on the floor in this vacant part of the palace? As she got closer, she could hear shallow, raspy breathing. In the dim light, Inga did not see a narrow table against the wall on her right. Her hip bumped it as she moved forward. It made an abrupt, jarring noise. In the utter silence, it echoed. The figure’s head came up and Inga gasped.
“Natalya!”
She ran toward her friend, sliding onto her knees as she reached her. Bruises covered Natalya's skin. Blood streaked her face and dark, finger-shaped marks covered her neck. Her dress had been torn almost completely off, and her legs were exposed. Bruises marred them as well. Blood streaked her inner thighs. Inga understood immediately what had happened.
“Oh, Natalya,” Inga put one hand over her own mouth. She placed her other hand on her friend’s arm.
“Inga. He . . . he . . .” Natalya collapsed in tears. Her head went down to the floor, and she curled up into a ball. Inga wrapped her arms around her friend, crying with her. Natalya shuddered. She needed a doctor.
“Natalya,” she said sitting up, “I’m going to go get help.”
“No, Inga. Please don’t leave me here.”
Inga sighed, looking around. “Can you walk?”
“I don’t know.” Natalya shook her head and kept talking. The words came out so slurred that Inga could not understand.
“Natalya!” Inga said sharply. Natalya snapped back to attention, and Inga moderated her voice. “No one knows where we are. People are looking, but they’ll never find us here. If you can walk, I can get you out of here. If not, I need to go get help. Do you want to try?”
Natalya nodded through her tears. Inga wrapped her shawl around her friend’s shoulders and put her clogs on Natalya’s feet, hoping they would steady her. It took three tries to get Natalya to her feet, and she cried out in pain each time. Inga feared one of Natalya’s ankles might be broken.
Once on their feet, they
moved at a snail’s pace. Even so, Natalya kept falling. She cried out more loudly each time she collapsed.
Inga set Natalya down against the wall. She left the shawl, taking her clogs and promising to return promptly. Natalya nodded. She seemed to understand, but that didn’t make it easier for Inga to leave her.
“I’ll bring Yehvah. And Bogdan.”
“No, Inga. No men. Please.” Inga nodded, then turned to leave. She could hear Natalya weeping as she sped down the hall and around the corner.
She flew through the palace, knocking servant and boyar alike out of her way. For the first time in her life, she gave no thought to propriety or social standing. Her sister had been attacked.
HOURS LATER, INGA SAT on Natalya’s cot, Natalya’s head in her lap while Yehvah showed the doctors out. Natalya’s ankle was not broken, but badly twisted, and she would have to be off it for a week. No other broken bones or permanent injuries had been detected; at least, not any physical ones. The emotional healing would be the hardest. Natalya had lost something she could never get back.
Sergei. Natalya was sure of it. He grabbed her in the hallway and dragged her to a secluded place so no one could hear her calling for help. It probably explained his journey through the courtyard. He didn’t want to be caught near the place if Natalya was found quickly.
Inga had seen Sergei admiring Natalya's beauty more than once, but she would never have thought this would happen. Sergei stared at all women the same way. Inga put her chin on Natalya’s shoulder in defeat. She wished she could have stopped this from happening to her best friend.
Inga could hear the low murmur of Yehvah’s voice, conversing with the doctor in the hallway. The door shut and Yehvah came back into the room. She sat at the foot of the bed and put a reassuring hand on Natalya’s leg.
Inga had not stopped crying since finding Natalya. Yehvah, as always, kept better control of her emotions. When in public, she always remained stoic. Now that the three of them were alone, her eyes moistened and tears rolled down her cheeks. Natalya cried quietly as well.
Sergei attacked a servant. They could do nothing about it, and they all knew it. No one cared about the plight of a kitchen maid. The three of them sat together, holding each other.
Chapter 10
REVENGE CLOSED IN.
Thirteen-year-old Ivan sat on his throne on the highest step of the dais, struggling to keep a smile off his inwardly sneering face. The time had almost arrived. In front of him, this week’s boyar council enjoyed a heavy meal. They’d been at it for hours, through a dozen courses already, and enough alcohol to make them tipsy.
Ivan amused himself all afternoon throwing a litter of puppies from a slanting roof of the palace into the courtyard below. He aimed for the upward-pointing spears of the guards and hit them roughly half of the time.
The human body mesmerized Ivan, especially when it lay dying. What was it that made it slow down, its functions become sluggish, and finally its energy expire? Why did living things fight so hard, even when they could see their fluids draining out before their eyes? They must understand they would not be saved. Why not accept it? Inevitably, in animals and humans, they fought to live, if for only a few seconds more. The process enthralled Ivan.
Since his mother’s death five years before, Ivan had been treated appallingly. Oh, the servants made certain he was fed, and Ivan took care of Yuri, sheltering him from those who might harm them. Yet, more often than not, they sheltered in vacant rooms or dark closets. Ivan and his brother had been utterly helpless, relying on charity and luck to survive.
During the day, the clerks made sure Ivan received plenty of tutors, chosen from among the clergy, to receive a good education. Ivan felt grateful for that. He believed it was God’s doing. Only with a decent education could he hope to be a good ruler.
The night his mother died, Ivan swore a vow before God and his little brother. One day he would grow tall. One day he would no longer be helpless. He vowed to get recompense for the way he and Yuri were treated. He was his father’s son, and he would become the all-powerful ruler God always meant him to be, more powerful than any of the ancestors that ruled before him.
Ivan remained two winters shy of his coming-of-age, and stood physically smaller than the men enjoying dinner in front of him, but he was fast becoming a man. He and his friends began pillaging nearby villages over the last few months. Ivan relished his exploits. They were the only things, other than his domination over small, helpless animals that made him feel in control. Powerful. Omnipotent.
Ivan ran his eyes around the room. The time had come to exact his revenge. His heart beat faster. Failure was a prime possibility, but he'd run the logic over and over in his head, and could find no fault with it.
Andrey Shuisky stood up, lifting a trembling goblet of mead, apparently having trouble keeping upright. He began his two hundredth toast of the night, extolling his own virtues and those of his council.
Andrey served as the current Regent. After Elena died, many boyars jockeyed for power. Eventually the Shuisky clan won out, and now Andrey held the empowered position. Andrey was the latest member of the Shuisky clan to rule, after his cousin died—of a disease, supposedly, though men in positions of power tended to die young and under suspicious circumstances.
Andrey was thick through the chest. His light brown beard fanned out, and his hair hung over his ears, making it stick straight out from his head.
Ivan despised him. Drunken with his own power, Shuisky would only grow more so as the years progressed. Ivan had no intention of letting that happen.
As the flattery continued and servants moved among the diners, refilling goblets, Ivan gathered his courage and tried to stand. He failed. He'd grown accustomed to giving orders. Sometimes they were obeyed, other times not. This was different. This order would change everything.
Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Ivan resolved to try again. He was his father’s son. Courage wasn't something he lacked.
The toast ended, and the boyars before him settled back to their feast of roasted bear and borscht as Ivan stood. It got their attention. They usually paid attention to him, now, even if they didn’t always follow his orders.
“My lords,” he intoned, allowing the natural ring of the stone chamber to amplify his voice, “I congratulate you on your many . . . accomplishments.” He'd been at a loss for words. He did not know what they celebrated tonight, other than themselves. Typical.
His compliment heightened the mood. The council of men cheered, pounded the table, and raised their goblets in salute of the “young prince” for praising them. Ivan raised his hands, and they silenced to hear him. No doubt they waited eagerly for his next indulgent tribute.
“My lords,” he continued, “as you know, I am a mere two years shy of my fifteenth birthday. On that day, I will be fit to rule Russia in deed, as well as in name.” Many of the men nodded thoughtfully. “I am still of tender years, and I am weak, but I believe the power of God—the rightful power to rule—is already with me.”
Ivan passed his eyes over the group, gauging their reactions. A few looked surprised. Most smiled smugly, indulgently, as if to say, of course it is.
“So,” Ivan thundered on, “I will begin to exercise my powers now.” With the final word, he raised his voice to a shout, letting the word echo off the stone walls. It had the desired effect. All the men stopped eating and stared at him in awe.
Now that he'd begun, he couldn’t stop. He sped up as he spoke, afraid of being interrupted.
“From the time I was a small boy, I have been treated by you—the Regents and their counsels—with contempt. My brother and I have endured the utmost disrespect, rude behavior, and impudence by all who inhabit these palaces. We bore hunger, thirst, fatigue, and other ill treatment.” Ivan paced back and forth on the dais as he spoke, glaring down each of the boyars in turn. To his delight, many turned away.
“This is a mortal sin on your parts. I am the true heir to the throne, and I w
ill accept such treatment no longer. I am the hand of God. If I choose, I can strike each of you down for these past evils, and it will be God’s will, through me.”
The men looked awestruck. Some even looked alarmed, but no one stopped him; no one put him in his place.
Ivan adopted what he hoped was a magnanimous smile. “Do not fear, my dear boyars. All is not lost. I am willing to forgive your past misdeeds, on two conditions. The first is that you each swear your devoted loyalty to me, as ruler of Russia.”
Still no one said anything, but they exchanged glances around the table, sensing change afoot.
Andrey Shuisky rose slowly from his position at the head of the heaping table. Ivan smiled. Shuisky must have sensed this was no longer the whimsical chattering of a child; that the power of Russia slipped precariously through his fingers.
“The second is not so much a condition as a demand,” Ivan went on, “I demand the death of the despicable Andrey Shuisky, who has ruled dishonorably for too long. Guards! I command the arrest of this man. Take him to the dungeons.”
This pivotal moment would decide Ivan’s future. If his authority prevailed upon them, Ivan would henceforth rule Russia. If not, he would likely die before the sun rose.
The last command came out in such a rush that no one knew how to react, including Ivan. He stood, holding his breath, pointing his finger at Shuisky and looking every inch the king he wanted to be. Silence filled the chamber like water rolling into an empty vessel. The men around the table below him exchanged glances. Some regarded him with alarm, others with approval.
The two guards standing by the door crossed the room. They stopped beside the table, looking from Ivan to Shuisky and back again. Even they didn't seem to know who they would obey.
“Take that boy out of here, you imbeciles. He needs a good whipping.”
The guards continued to look back and forth, undecided. Ivan did not speak again. He'd said his piece. It would have to stand on its own.