Empress of Poisons ARC

by Bree Porter

  My son’s eyes brightened at the sudden show of trust.

  “Behave yourself,” I warned.

  Nikolai didn’t acknowledge me. He quickened Duchess’s walk, warming her up before he trotted and jumped. Nikolai had an expression of concentration, which if you knew Niko, was a very rare expression for him to have. Just like the first moment he had met a horse, back when I was a stranger to him and him to I, Nikolai was completely focused.

  So, focused he didn’t notice Evva Fattakhov, his best friend, skip down the hill and to my side. I could tell she wanted to leap onto the fence, but she would be thinking: would I startle Duchess? Would she kick Niko off? Would he hurt himself?

  I appreciated all the Fattakhovs more cautious sides. It evened out my boys–and the Malakhovs.

  “Are you warm enough?” I asked her, noticing the unbuttoned coat and loose scarf she wore.

  Like her mother, Evva carried a sense of grace and elegance with her wherever she went. However, she had gotten her father’s watchful nature and his quietness. But that didn’t mean she was as anti-trouble as her parents. Mischief bubbled in her blood, and often, Evva was the brains behind the operation.

  Nikolai and she were always cooking up some trouble–and had been reeled out by a furious Elena more than once.

  “Yes, Uncle Kostya,” she said politely. “I ran here so I’m warm.”

  “I see.” I peered in the direction she had come. “By yourself?”

  Evva shook her head.

  The children knew they weren’t allowed to go far without someone with them. We did try our best to give them a normal childhood, but some facts couldn’t be painted over with soothing lies of ethereal creatures and magical wishes. They were the heirs of the Tarkhanov Bratva and had been born into a world of danger, a world where people would see them hurt.

  Just as I opened my mouth to ask her who else had come with her, figures stepped out from the trees. I spotted the blond heads of my sons, paired with the dark hair of the Fattakhovs. Leading the herd of children was my wife.

  She wore no shoes, and her hair was unbound. A loose green jumper hung over her form, paired with comfortable, if dirtied up, leggings. I watched her lean form venture towards us, moving over the earth with familiarity and ease.

  Like she felt my gaze, Elena turned her head up to mine, green eyes narrowed.

  Even after all this time, after fights and pregnancies and marriage, she still took my breath away. To me, she would always be the beautiful girl who carried herself with other-worldly poise and had a tongue that could rival the Devil’s. She would always be the ethereal creature who shone in this world of mortals.

  Adding to her beauty was the bundle in her arms. Our youngest son and newly turned one-year old, Kazimir Tarkhanov, was watching us all with intensity. Nicknamed little chameleon by his auntie, my son had the uncanny ability to copy everybody around him. He watched and mimicked, mainly copying his older brothers. Because of this, Kazimir’s personality had yet to be decided.

  By Elena’s feet, matching his mother’s pace, was my second son. Sevastian Tarkhanov was my mini me, my junior. He was polite, kinder than his brothers, but had gained his mother’s sharp intelligence. Our more savory traits had mixed together to create a charming little genius–but he wasn’t to be underestimated. The four-year old could start his fair share of trouble–and often got away with it.

  Elena believed that because she had been pregnant with Sevastian while she was in college, he was so smart. Even when he was an infant, he used to sit quietly with her while she did her homework and studied. Sevastian had been her favourite study partner, and sometimes it did look like the baby was listening to what she was saying.

  All three of my boys looked so much like each other that sometimes they failed to look like Elena and me. Three little copies, people often told us. Elena often mocked that her uterus was a broken printer that kept printing the same copy, usually to make fun of the people who called them identical. After all, to us, we could see the differences in our boys. Sevastian’s features were more delicate than his brothers, and Kazimir had Elena’s smile.

  “Good morning, Daddy,” Sevastian greeted.

  I smiled at his formality. “Have you come to watch your brother?”

  “You have a meeting at two.” This was Elena. She used the word meeting loosely.

  A drug shipment was entering Chicago this afternoon. But it wasn’t a regular transaction. It was a trap…for those who would still wish to see the families of New York and Chicago fall. The Don of the Chicago Outfit had men on the land, Giovanni Vigliano had men in the water and my organisation was watching the benefactors in New York. Readying to strike at any moment.

  “Indeed, I do.” I kissed Elena as soon as she was in reaching distance, ignoring the whines of disgust from the children. Her lips were soft and warm, and she tasted faintly of coffee and blueberries.

  Kazimir reached up and grabbed my shirt, distracting me from his mother. “Dada!”

  Elena laughed, the sound music to my ears–even though Elena insisted she had an awkward and broken laugh. “To your father you go.”

  As soon as he was in my arms, he crossed his arms over his chest. A direct copy of his mother, who had wrapped her free arms around herself to warm up.

  “Go inside if you’re cold, lyubimaya.” I told her.

  “No. Niko wants to ride before the snow falls.” Elena glanced over at our son, smiling in pride as she saw him cantering around the arena. “He rides better than you.”

  I smiled. “An interesting observation and completely untrue.”

  “You’re not to blame. You’re getting older. Less stamina.”

  I caught her eyes, smirking faintly. “Are you sure that’s true?”

  Elena caught the double meaning to my words, her cheeks reddening. I could tell she was thinking about this morning, the first time we had woken up without the children in bed (thanks to Roman taking them all on a ‘Uncle Roman hike’) and spent hours entwined. I could still feel her hands wrapped around my cock and the feel of her skin beneath my touch.

  “Yes,” she breathed, but she had lost the snarkiness to her tone in her fluster.

  “Uncle Kostya!” Three-year old Timofei Fattakhov went straight into my legs, laughing in delight when he bounced off them.

  “Careful, Timofei,” Elena immediately warned.

  He grinned.

  Anton Gribkov followed behind him, holding little two-year old Dominick Malakhov’s hand. Anton’s inky black shone in the light, the long strands of his fringe covering his face. Roksana and Elena were constantly on him about getting a haircut, but Anton refused, using it as a makeshift shield to hide his eyes.

  At ten-years old, Anton was slowly becoming a man. It would be a few more years until he would be inducted into the Bratva but fears already surrounded him. He was traumatised as a child, and despite all the love we had tried to show him, Anton had carried that misery with him. Now it was a part of his personality.

  He was a good kid, and I wouldn’t abandon him, not the way his mother did. The relationship between him and Dmitri remained tense, though it was healing slowly, but his maturing only made it more difficult. Anton could hear what the adults were saying and understand–we had never been able to save him from the truth.

  But he did seem to like his little cousins. Anton had always been patient with their pestering questions and insistence on following him everywhere. Especially Dominick Malakhov, Danika and Roman’s firstborn, who thought Anton was simply the most awesome person alive.

  Many children had been born and I’m sure a few more would grace our family. Roman and Danika were planning their second as we spoke–probably working on it right now–and Roksana was due to give birth to her third child and second daughter any day now. She was to be named Fayina Fattakhov, and Roksana theorised she was already a dancer.

  I can feel her moving around gracefully, she would tell Artyom, who w
ould say that it was impossible to tell now who Fayina would become, but we could all see his secret delight that one of his children might take after their mother.

  Some days I felt amazed how large my family was now, how many people I loved and cared for. I could still remember that day when I killed my father, how my brothers so easily fed me to the wolves and my father was prepared to kill me at a moment’s notice.

  I had already decided years ago, that when Nikolai came to claim his throne, I would surrender. I would hold out my hands and save him the pain of killing me.

  But that was a problem for the faraway future. And sometimes when I caught sight of Sevastian, I wondered if it would be Nikolai who came for my crown–or my second-born.

  “Mama!” Nikolai called. “Did you see that jump?”

  “I did.” Elena clapped. “It was very good. You look like a professional.”

  Nikolai sat up at little straighter at the praise, smile growing.

  That’s the one thing they never warned you about sons: they were constantly trying to impress their mothers.

  Even as I thought that, Sevastian lifted his hand, holding out a flower to his mother. “Look, Mama, some cyclamen.”

  “How beautiful.” Elena took the flower, holding it delicately between her fingertips. “Do you remember what family it is a part of?”

  “Primulaceae.” He said quickly. “And it’s a part of the Ericales order.”

  “My smart boy.”

  Sevastian glowed under the praise.

  Since Kazimir couldn’t copy his oldest brother and ride a horse–he had already tried to escape my arms to try–he stretched down to the ground. I bent to help him, allowing him to grab a handful of flowers. Like his brother, Kaz held them out to his mother.

  Elena smiled and accepted the gift. “Thank you, baby. Can you say cyclamen?”

  Kaz tried his best, stumbling over the syllables.

  “Almost there,” I encouraged. “Cyclamen.”

  “BICYCLE!” Timo laughed.

  In an instant, Kaz also yelled and laughed, the sound almost identical to the one Timo had made.

  “Not bicycle, Timofei, but close,” Elena said. Her attention left the boys and went to Evva. “You know better than to run ahead.”

  Evva adored Elena and always shrunk a little under her disapproval. “I’m sorry, Auntie Lena, but I wanted to see Niko.”

  Kaz saw Evva holding onto the fence and stretched forward to copy her. He couldn’t get a good grip but he made a good effort.

  “Don’t do it again. It’s not safe.” But Elena stroked her hair, showing she wasn’t angry. “Are you excited to meet your little sister?”

  Evva brightened. “I am.” She looked down at Timo, who was running around with Dominick and Anton. “I’ve got enough brothers. I need a sister.”

  “I completely agree.”

  As the children found other ways to entertain themselves, Elena and I fell into a conversation. We had spent hours with our heads together, going over every possible problem and danger. She had found loopholes and information that my men hadn’t even considered.

  My favourite parts of the day were when the children were asleep, and Elena would whisper her thoughts to me in the darkness. I didn’t need to read the words on her arms anymore to figure out her mind, instead she offered it freely to me.

  “Olezka is afraid the DEA might show up.” She said. “It would ruin our plans.”

  “FBI, DEA. All just bureaucrats who hate doing paperwork. Do not fret, lyubimaya. The bust will go off without a hitch.”

  Her lips thinned. “If you get shot, I won’t be happy.”

  I felt my smile grow and leaned into her. Our lips pressed together, chastely for the children. “I have no plans of getting shot, my Elena. But I do not think it is something I get to plan for.”

  “Here’s a plan,” she murmured against my mouth. “If you get shot, you can sleep on the couch.”

  “You wouldn’t nurse me back to health? Such a heartless and cruel woman I have married.”

  Elena shrugged, eyes alight in humor. “You’re a big boy. I’m sure you could handle it.”

  “I would much rather you handle it.”

  Her cheeks went red.

  Duchess knickered and Nikolai laughed along with her. Elena turned to take in her son, enraptured with the human she had created.

  I brought her to my chest, kissing her head. Like vines on a tree, she wrapped herself around me, securing her position in my embrace.

  “I want them to stop growing.” She murmured. It was rare for her to share fictitious wishes, but the children always brought that out in from her. “Every time I turn to look at them, they’re an inch taller.”

  “You’re 5’10 and I am 6’3.”

  Elena nudged me. “You’re not funny. I want to cry.”

  I pressed my lips to her hair. “I know, lyubimaya. Children grow, it is one of their more negative traits.”

  “That and the shitstorms.”

  Shitstorms was the word Roman had used to don when babies pooed so much it crawled up their backs and to their necks. It had infected our family. Artyom had banned it from the dining table–but I knew the children mouthed it to each other through their giggles.

  “That and the shitstorms.” I agreed.

  Elena rested her chin on my chest, looking up at me. I pressed my nose to hers, breathing in her intoxicating scent. “I love you.”

  She said it with such ease and care that I felt my heart tighten in pain.

  For years, I had coveted over the mystery woman behind an academic article. Then I had been forbidden from marrying her, watching her marry another. When I had taken my kingdom, I had taken her back, intent on her loving me in return and being my wife.

  I hadn’t considered what it would be like to have a woman like Elena love me.

  I wished I could go back and soothe my younger self. Do not worry, Kostya, she will return. When I had lost her to Thaddeo and then when I had lost her to Titus, I had been wrathful and broken-hearted. I didn’t consider that Elena was no idiot, and she would find me.

  For me, it had only ever been Elena. And for Elena? It had only ever been me.

  “Oh, my Elena,” I rubbed my nose over her forehead. “My love for you is eternal.”

  “Sometimes I think we’ll never die,” she murmured. “We’ll just walk into the forest one day and spend eternity together as trees, our roots entwined, and branches embraced. I can see us offering shade for our sons and a hideout for our grandchildren. Our great-grandchildren will climb on us for fun and their children will use our fallen sticks as toys.”

  “Watching over Tarkhanovs and our empire until the very last time the sun sets on the world.” I agreed.

  We kissed, slow and luxurious. There was no rush, no scandal or secrets. We kissed full of love and adoration, respect and admiration.

  My mate, my opponent, my equal.

  My true love.

  My Elena.

  Somewhere in St. Petersburg, Russia.

  Nikolina Gribkova

  There was a monster outside.

  Sister Marya said there was no such thing as monsters. No bogeyman or Emperor Koschei. Humans, she always said as she tucked us into bed, are the only monsters in the world.

  I wasn’t a monster. I was a human–but not a monster, and I think I would know if I was.

  I didn’t have fangs or claws, not even a tail or two pointy ears. I had ten toes and one nose, and my teeth weren’t very sharp. I didn’t even have beady eyes–all monsters had beady eyes.

  Whatever was outside my window had beady eyes.

  All the other girls were asleep. I could tell because I could hear Vasilisa snoring and Kseniya sleep-talking. If the bigger girls were asleep, then all the little ones were too. They got to stay up later than us–which was so unfair. Vasilisa once said that the older kids got to sit with the nuns in front of the television (the televisio
n no one was allowed to touch) and eat sugary treats. She had even once brought back half-chewed toffee as proof.

  I hoped the monster ate Vasilisa first.

  Like it could hear me, the monster pressed up closer to the glass. Their long limbs stretched over the window like spider legs, casting scary shadows over the beds.

  I buried myself into the blanket, biting down on the scratchy quilt to keep quiet.

  With a whoosh, the window came undone, wind and rain blowing into the bed. The monster clambered into the room, hissing and–

  Swearing?

  “Oh, fuck.” The monster said in Russian. “Oh, fuck, fuck. I hate this fucking weather and this fucking city and these fucking quests and my fucking landlord. Oh, rent’s due on Friday? Kiss my ass, Peter.”

  "Shush!" Hissed a voice. Another monster climbed in after the first. "If you wake one of the kids, we're dead."

  The other monster grumbled.

  I slowly twisted in my bed, peeking over the blanket to get a better look. The monsters closed the window, stopping the rain from ruining the floor. Sister Marya would blame one of us for the water–she always blamed us.

  One monster was lanky and lean. Their hair was chopped roughly–the kind of cut that would make Sister Anya harrumph–and the monster had pictures all over their skin, dark drawings that I couldn't really see.

  The second one was broader and bigger. Iron rings decorated their ears and fingers, sparkling like stars in the room.

  I craned my neck for a better look.

  The monsters knew where they were going. They quietly left the room, tip-toeing like they were going to sneak into the kitchen for a midnight snack.

  I crawled out of bed and onto the cold floor. Vasilisa and Kseniya remained asleep, Vasilisa's snores loud like a car's engine. None of the other girls woke up as I followed the two monsters, staying on my hands and knees.

  The monsters were much faster than me but I knew where they were going because I knew all the hallways in the orphanage. Sister Marya called me curious, Sister Anya said I was a wanderer.