Rasputina and the Witch's Tsar

Chapter Nine

Tsarina Nikolai has her back to me as I enter the room. I curtsy just as she's turning back, her lips set in a thin line.

I meet her gaze, ever so briefly. It's like staring into the eyes of the devil.

"Do you remember when I first called upon you, Rasputina?"

I lick my lips, press my hair behind my ears. "You had me heal the daughter of Prime Minister Pyotr Stolypin, my tsarina."

"Yes," she drums her fingers against the windowpane, fingernails meeting the glass, sounding like thunder in the echoing chamber. "Poor girl was bleeding. Assassins sent by the socialists, bombs and rubble everywhere. I thought she'd die. But then you swooped in and saved her, like you always do. Swooping in."

"Funny, I thought we'd met before that. I healed one of your hunting dogs, no?"

The tsarina laughs, a humorless laugh that carries more power than it does joy. "The devil is in the details, and so are you."

She moves to the side. I see a black bird in the snow, an arrow through its breast.

The bird I'd help to fly.

I stare hard at the ground, so hard I'm convinced the tile may crack. "Speaking of hunting dogs, is it a good day for hunting, my Empress?"

Tsarina Nikola glances back at the snow. "Hm, what?" Her eyes rest on the bird for a moment, transfixed. "Oh, how horrid. I should have somebody clean that mess up immediately."

What?

The tsarina wasn't the one to shoot that bird down? A message then... but from who?

"This second time, I called you to help Alexei. I helped you, Rasputina, remember that. Come and walk with me." The tsarina takes a turn about the room, bookshelves lining the walls. Oil paintings of dour faces. Lush carpets with ornate patterns, and edges dipped in gold-leaf. Diamond paperweights and clawed-foot chairs. Still, enough space that a horse could run about the room without knocking a single item down. So much décor, and still, the empty air has as much presence as a person.

I walk beside her, bowing my head. She dons a smart dress in olive green, brass buttons down the sides. She checks on the soldiers often, and the soldiers don't mind it. She's never been viewed as a woman, really. To those loyal to her, she's more than that. She's a symbol. She stands as Russia, strong. The monarchy, unyielding. She is Empress.

The only way to take her title is to kill her.

"I brought you here because I wanted what's best for my family. Alexei, as you can see, is ill." She pauses, drums her fingers against the wall. I see they're worn down to stubs, her thumb bleeding. Her eyes are bloodshot, hair pulled so tightly back that her scalp's showing. "It mustn't leave this palace, the news that Alexei is ill. Do you get that?" She spits the last part out, staring into me. Boring into my soul.

"My Empress..." I nod my head, mouthing my lips as though in prayer. "Why would a loyal dog bite the hand of the one who would feed it?"

She smirks at that, moving forwards again. "That's right, you are a dog, Rasputina. Lying with all manner of fleas, getting who knows what morsels in the brothels." She picks up my hand, holds it against hers. My skin is cold against her palm, the blood pounding. Life. Death. A standoff between the two. "But there's magic beneath that mangy coat. An angel hidden in the guise of a louse-ridden fleabag. Who would have seen it?"

She removes her hand, but not her gaze. I look away again, feigning humility. "I am what you say I am, tsarina."

She scoffs, returning a few books to the shelves. War strategies. A history of the Roman Empire. The Bible. "You're good at scrounging. It makes me wonder if you'll survive this." She finishes placing books, her eyes empty. A shudder wracking through her. "I hear them at night, echoes of riots throughout the streets. Like in France, they want my head on a stick." A laugh, a laugh. This time, a laugh that dies out in fear and heartache. "I fear the time is nearly over for us. That the power of the crown shall die with me."

I bow my head and start to pray.

She stares at me, silent. When it is over, a nod serves as my dismissal.

Not once did she mention my curious relationship with Tsar Alexandr. Who cares for lovers when you're courting Death?

***

Kaskil's sitting on the edge of my bed as I reenter my room. I'm holding some of Alexei's playthings to me, having picked up a few tricks to get the boy to sit still when I work my magic over him or try and coax him into drinking herbal teas.

"Kas, my darling, how I've waited—." I feign an embrace, coming towards him with outstretched arms.

He dodges to the side easily, glaring at me. "That little red-headed harlot of yours visited me. Since when was I the head of your network of brothel spies?"

I smirk, sitting on the bed as he stands over me, hands on his hips. "Aw, sweetie. You know what they say about selling your soul to the Devil."

Kas doesn't respond to my joking. I stop my teasing, sitting up a little straighter. Tenser. "Tell me what Misha said."

Kas sighs, hugging his arms around himself. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, lines of budding worry. "Gossip that you and the tsar are more than just acquaintances."

I pause, wanting desperately to bite my tongue.

But I can't do it.

"And grass is green, and the sky is blue..."

Kaskil's eyebrows disappear beneath his dark hair. "Y-you... don't tell me..." He can hardly sputter the words out.

"Committed adultery? Consummated our unholy union? Knit together sins of the flesh?" With each phrase, Kaskil looks closer and closer to the grave. "No, we haven't yet."

"Yet? Yet?" He paces around the room, entangling his hands in his hair. "Are you mad?"

"No, I'm securing my position here." I lean back, staring at him smugly. "You might tell your priest secrets, but you only ever tell the real ones to your lovers and God."

The realization comes upon him in a horrible shock. He stands there, staring dumbfoundedly at me, lounging without a care in the world on my bed. "No matter what I tell you, you'll do it anyways."

I sigh, rummaging in my corset. I pull a bag of coins from it, handing them over to Kaskil. He takes them, grimacing as he does so. "And I'll pay you for it. Do you have names?"

He lists them, and I recognize them with a grimace. "They used to work for the tsarina, didn't they? But then they got passed onto the tsarina's cousin, a wedding present that never got wedded." I make a fist, wanting to end them all. "Quell the rumors."

"They aren't rumors if they're true."

I look at Kaskil evenly. "Go to Misha and tell Misha that those people beat a worker at the bar. They'll think twice about drinking and loosening their tongues when Misha's overseer is through with them."

"They never beat up a prostitute."

I hand Kaskil another bag of coins, "it's not a rumor if it's true."

Kaskil looks at me, and then the coins. "No, I don't want money for this." The edges of his lips pull into a frown. "I won't do it."

I pull his hand to my heart, let him feel the beating. Let him feel the magic in my veins. His eyes soften. He struggles, but eventually goes quiet. He nods, demeanor meek. Obedient. "As you wish, Rasputina."

"Good." I release him, tossing the other coins. "This is as much for my sake as yours, Kaskil. We can't play the game if we're both dead."