Rasputina and the Witch's Tsar

Chapter Twenty-One

"Another year. Another snow. Another end." I brush fog off the glass, perched at the nursery window. Alexei leans against my hip, lips stained with hot cocoa and sugar cubes.

"You forgot to say it's another beginning too." Alexandr sneaks into the room, taking his heavy riding boots off and switching his snow-covered clothing for slippers and a soft robe. He insists his bedroom be moved closer to the nursery because he fears for Alexei's health. The tsarina only sighed and nodded her assent.

Whenever I look into the Russian monarch's eyes, I don't see jealousy there. Not much. Just acceptance. Rationality. A ruler to the end.

"You are good for him." She informed me once. "He's happier since you came. He despised these four walls. Felt so confined, an athletic youth ready to see the world. Instead, only seeing a wasteland."

"Alexei?" I questioned, maintaining my innocence.

The tsarina only smiled.

Alexei's been the picture of health since I've been attending him. We all know the tsar has no reason to move closer except to spend more time with me. The tsarina isn't stupid. Nor is she jealous. She's more concerned for the precarious state of her position than she is for lovers. Already, there's a rift between her and her people. The nobles continue to live and love and play while the people struggle and starve and toil. It would break anyone.

"What do you see out there but snow?" Alexandr nudges Alexei to go play with the others. His siblings are weaving arts and crafts out of pretty colored paper and ribbons. Nothing too strenuous, so he can be included in play.

"You brought my family to St. Petersburg. My children. My husband."

Alexandr glances down at his hands, fingers locked nervously together. "The tsarina... Nikola. Nikola insisted." He waves it away. "You know what they say about us."

"What?" I challenge, dangerous territory.

"That you've bewitched me."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Oh, have I?" I press my fingers against the glass, drawing a pattern. Snow follows, ice frosting where my fingertips touch. The ice spiderwebs, creating a pattern of veins and sinew. A heart.

"You..." Alexandr flushes, stepping back. Funny. He knows me for all this time and still scares like a colt to see me work magic. "You commanded the ice. You made it... into a..."

"Yes. I can draw ice into the shape of a heart. A sculptor can do so much with clay. But when I do so with a touch of magic, of fashioning the world to do my bidding, it is witchcraft. Isn't it?" I take my hand away and the ice heart melts instantly.

"Maybe it was just my eyes. A trick of the light."

"A saint does as much, and it's called a miracle. I do it and it's deviance."

"That's blasphemy."

I lean back into him, wrapping his arms around my waist. The children are too absorbed in their games to care. "So is this. What do you call it? Which sin?" I whip around, staring into his face. The pretty eyes. The waves of hair and skin drawn over muscle that yearns to run instead of sitting by at diplomatic dinners and parties. "I don't need you to believe in my magic, Alexandr. Only in me."

"I don't know what I believe anymore."

I wait another moment. So near him. So warm.

Then I brush past him, headed towards the children's play-table to wind ribbon charms and crosses out of string. "You'd best find out then."

The snow comes faster, whipping tendrils across the window screen. "And that?" Alexandr murmurs, "more of your magic?"

"Perhaps." I tell him, my back still turned.

I wish I could see his face, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.