The Midnight Land: Part Two: The Gift (The Zemnian Trilogy Book 2) Page 6

  “Princess Primorskaya warned me about her,” Slava suddenly remembered. “About Vasilisa Lyudmilovna. She said she was up to something. I just…With everything that’s happened, it flew out of my mind, but whatever Vasilisa Lyudmilovna was ‘up to,’ rumors of it had reached all the way to Vostochnoye Selo.”

  “And even Malaya Gora,” said Dima. “Princess Malogornaya’s…shack was rife with rumors about it.”

  “True,” said Slava. “She even said something to Olga about it, but none of us knew what she meant at the time. But even she knew that Princess Severnolesnaya was involved in something shady.”

  “I wonder what she could have been ‘up to’ with all those sorceresses,” said Dima.

  Slava was about to open her mouth and tell him about the curse, but stopped herself. That could so easily lead back to Vladislava. She decided she would need to come up with a story that kept Vladislava’s part in everything a secret. She would also have to be sure to be the first, and preferably only, person to talk to any sorceresses they managed to find about the curse. And how could she convince the sorceresses to talk to her truthfully, while concealing everything, especially everything about Vladislava, from everyone else? For a moment Slava’s heart sank at the prospect.

  “What’s the matter, Tsarinovna?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich, who was still watching her closely, for, she suspected, many reasons.

  “What isn’t the matter?” she replied rather tartly, but as she spoke she had the sudden thought that the sorceresses would hardly want to implicate themselves any more than they had to, and might be quite amenable to threats and promises, and she found herself smiling at the end of her sentence. Oleg Svetoslavovich smiled back in response, for, she still suspected, many reasons.

  “Well, it’s hardly the first trouble we’ve faced,” he said encouragingly. “No doubt we’ll clear matters up in two or three days, and you can be on your way back to Krasnograd. Or you could stay here in the North if you wished, you know. You might prefer that to Krasnograd—I know I would.” He smiled at her very directly.

  “I, unfortunately, can’t always do what I want,” Slava told him. “Although I have no doubt my absence from Krasnograd would be very welcome. There was even talk of getting rid of me entirely.” As soon as she said that, she knew she had made a mistake, but it was too late to take back. Dunya sat bolt upright and stared at her in shock and horror, while Dima and Oleg Svetoslavovich nodded grimly.

  “Talk—of getting rid of you—in Krasnograd?” asked Dunya incredulously.

  “Just rumors,” said Slava quickly. “Third-hand. There were suggestions…For example, Dima suggested to me that our expedition could be a good way for…for the Empress to rid herself of a troubling relation and a troubling Princess all in one fell swoop. If something were to happen to me ‘accidentally,’ that would provide a good excuse to get rid of the Severnolesnaya family as well, and then Krasnograd could claim Severnolesnoye as its own. So it was suggested.”

  “That sounds very much like treason to me, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, while Dima stared at his fingernails. “Anything threatening the life of the Tsarinovna…”

  “Unless it comes from the Tsarina,” said Slava. “Obviously, nothing she does can be treasonous, even if it involves removing her own sisters. Although…even for an Empress, killing a sister is a black day’s work, and Vladya always did like to fancy that she had clean hands…But on the other hand, if she could use me to get rid of the Severnolesniye…I doubt she’d cry too hard over my loss…” Slava trailed off. Dunya was still staring at her in shock and horror, but she couldn’t pay attention to that, because she could feel that there was something there, something she needed to understand, something that would explain it all…

  “The curse,” she murmured, realizing that she was going to have to mention it, and she would just have to be very, very careful not to mention Vladislava’s name in connection with it.

  “Curse? What curse?” demanded Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “I heard…Part of the rumor was that maybe, perhaps what the sorceresses were doing, what the treason was…”

  “Was a curse,” finished Oleg Svetoslavovich. “A curse on the Imperial family. Why else would you need so many sorceresses?”

  “Yes, and somehow I feel…I just have this feeling that this plot against me, if it exists…”

  “Is part of the curse?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “I am a member of the Imperial family,” said Slava. “The Empress’s only sister, in fact…and a curse could so easily go astray…Princess Severnolesnaya and her sorceresses only finished the spell recently, but they must have been working on it all fall, and things could have already been set in motion…” Dark fingers reaching out to Krasnograd, she finished in her mind, and thought of the murdered little girls that had been turning up there for months. Part of the curse? Or part of the curse that was Krasnograd? How could she tell? But it had led to her coming here, and arriving at what would have been just the right moment, if the princess’s spell had not gone awry…Perhaps the whole thing was aimed at her…

  “Perhaps it didn’t go astray,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, mirroring her own thoughts. “Who’s to say that getting rid of you and taking out the Severnolesniye wouldn’t come back to haunt the Empress? Curses are funny things. Who’s to say it wouldn’t bring her down as well? Such things have happened before.”

  “Yes, who’s to say…” echoed Slava, thinking of Vladislava’s description of the curse. Her own blood would turn against her…So could that mean Slava? Or was Vladya going to turn against Slava? The gods alone knew on which of them the shattered remnants of the broken spell had fastened.

  “At the moment, though, this is all just rumors and guesses, thank the gods,” interjected Dima. “We have not a shred of proof to stand on.”

  “Yes,” agreed Slava, shaking off her reverie, but not too hard. She wanted to be sure that she would be able to call back the feeling she had had, the feeling of being just on the edge of a tremendous discovery, when she had the time and space to think it over thoroughly. Dima was right, they had nothing to stand on, but she still couldn’t help feeling that she was right, that all the half-told rumors that had been coming her way for months now were coalescing into something solid, that something was happening…And the hatred of sister for sister was certainly curse enough to strike down both her and the Empress, leaving the Wooden Throne open for anyone who could gain control of her sister’s heir…Who knew how many would fall under this curse…

  “We must gather more information,” she said. “Try to find out what you can from the innkeeper and her family—give her whatever bribes or assurances are necessary to loosen her tongue, tell her she has no need to fear me, unless she remains silent—and I will see what I can discover from the sorceresses and whatever other sources I can find at the kremlin. You know, it is turning out to be quite fortunate that, ah, that you had to move out of the kremlin and into this inn. Now, instead of being trapped in there all day, you can move about the city, meet people, hear the news of the street…”

  “Fret ourselves sick over what’s happening to the rest of you,” put in Oleg Svetoslavovich. He said it with a grin that belied his words, but Slava could see that it was true enough for Dima and Dunya. She was about to say something comforting, when a sudden commotion arose in the kitchen, and all the others came bursting back into the front room, and her words were lost in the noise.

  For a moment everyone was distracted by the incomers, who were describing in loud voices the wonders of Aunty Shurya’s kitchen, and the results of the pie-eating contest they had held in there. Dunya took advantage of this to tug on Slava’s sleeve.

  “Can I show you something in my room, Tsarinovna?” she asked. “I have something to give you.”

  “Of course,” Slava said, and followed her back to the bedrooms. Several people asked Dunya where she was taking the Tsarinovna, and she smiled and said that some of their things had gotten mix
ed up in her pack, and she wanted to return them before the Tsarinovna thought she had taken to stealing.

  “I didn’t notice any of my things being missing,” Slava said, once they were in Dunya’s cramped but comfortable room.

  “Oh, it’s just some trifles,” said Dunya, wringing her hands in a manner much more reminiscent of Vasilisa Vasilisovna than herself. “I just needed an excuse to…to talk to you alone.”

  “About what?” asked Slava. When Dunya, instead of telling her, continued to wring her hands and pace the three paces back and forth that her room allowed, Slava sat down on the soft but lumpy and narrow bed, and repeated her question, this time smiling up at Dunya in as reassuring a way as she knew how. It seemed to work, for Dunya joined her on the bed and started talking.

  “Do you remember when I told you I had a bad feeling, Tsarinovna?” she began.

  “Of course,” said Slava.

  “Well, it’s worse now.”

  “How so?” asked Slava. She could tell that Dunya was afraid Slava wouldn’t believe her, so she made sure to look Dunya in the eyes with every sign of sincere interest.

  “I don’t know, just stronger,” said Dunya. “Do you remember, Tsarinovna, after…when I told you that it didn’t bother me that you had seen into all our souls, because I had nothing to hide or be ashamed of?”

  “Of course,” said Slava.

  “Well, you see, that wasn’t exactly true. Or rather…You see, Tsarinovna, I think that I might…You see, Tsarinovna, some in our family have a gift. I always said I didn’t have it, but that was a lie, I said that because I didn’t want to have it, I scorned it and those who had it, I didn’t want to be anything like them, so I became myself instead, only now I think the gift is making its way to the outside anyway.”

  “What sort of gift?” asked Slava, careful not to show any surprise.

  “Oh, the gift of foreseeing,” said Dunya, sounding very dismissive. “You know: visions of the future, premonitions, hysteria, bad dreams, self-importance...that sort of thing.”

  “I am, alas, all too familiar with that sort of thing,” said Slava with a smile. “There are many in my family who could be accused of all those things, including sometimes myself.”

  “Oh no, Tsarinovna, you couldn’t possibly be that bad,” said Dunya quickly. “I have an aunt…in fact, my father’s whole family…I simply couldn’t bear it, so I said I was going to be like my mother, and I am. I’m very good at what I do, and I don’t want to do or be anything else. Only, this bad feeling now…”

  “You think it might be a premonition,” said Slava.

  “Yes, the Black God take it,” said Dunya with deep disgust.

  “Premonitions can be very useful,” Slava pointed out.

  “Yes, but…And what if it is very useful, Tsarinovna, or it would be, only I can’t hear it properly because I’ve been ignoring it all my life? What if I’ve endangered us all through my selfishness?” Dunya sounded much more desperate and doubting than Slava could have every imagined her to be.

  “What if you’d spent all your life cultivating your self-importance and hysteria instead of your woodscraft?” Slava countered. “What use to us would you have been in that case? We can’t all do everything we think we should, you know.”

  “True enough, Tsarinovna,” said Dunya, brightening visibly.

  “That being said, about this bad feeling of yours…” continued Slava.

  “Well, yes,” said Dunya, smiling a smile that was full of both embarrassment and relief. “It grows stronger by the hour, especially ever since Masha told me what she told me. I think there is treason afoot, Tsarinovna, and I think we all, and you especially, are in grave danger. I do not like the sound of this curse at all. As soon as you mentioned it, my heart went cold. I think there most certainly is a curse, and we must guard ourselves against it.”

  “I don’t like the sound of it either,” said Slava. “That’s why I want to find out more about it. If I could contact the sorceresses…Surely one of them will come forward…”

  “Hunters and trackers!” cried Dunya, hope suddenly dawning on her face.

  “You think they could help us?” asked Slava.

  “Why not, Tsarinovna? They at least might be able to help us find the sorceresses, if they won’t come forward on their own. And who knows what else they might know—you hear a lot, you know, if you know how to stay silent, and we certainly know how to stay silent.”

  “It’s worth a try, for sure,” said Slava.

  “I’ll start this afternoon, Tsarinovna!” promised Dunya. “No doubt Aunty Shurya knows someone who knows someone…”

  “No doubt,” agreed Slava.

  “Oh, and you did leave something of yours in with my things, Tsarinovna,” said Dunya. “Some footcloths. Here.” She handed Slava a pair of what had once been warm comfortable footcloths, but were now just two dirty pieces of felt.

  “Thank you,” said Slava, shoving the old footcloths into her dress pocket, where they made an unattractive bulge.

  “I should get started right away,” said Dunya. “Every moment is precious.”

  “Of course,” said Slava, rising from the bed. She could see that fresh life had been poured into Dunya, making her into the confident Dunya of before, and that for Dunya, the crisis of a moment ago was nothing more than a moment in her past, not to be forgotten, but not to be dwelt upon either. Slava wished she could stop dwelling on things so easily, too. It could be a new skill she could work on acquiring when she made it back to Krasnograd, she told herself. She followed Dunya out of the bedroom and back to the others.

  Slava stood by the wall and watched as Dunya went over to Aunty Shurya and began a conversation with her. It was remarkable, Slava reflected, what a few words could do: every movement of Dunya’s body showed that she was a Tracker again, not a Doubter. Even from across the room, Slava could sense the calm confidence flowing from her.

  “What did you do to our Dunya, Tsarinovna?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich, sliding over beside her.

  “I just talked with her,” said Slava.

  “No magic?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “Not as such,” said Slava with a shrug. “Only words.”

  “Words are a kind of magic too, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “Yes,” agreed Slava. “I am discovering that to be the case.”

  “It was a good thing, what you did, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, looking at her intently. “For Dunya, and for all the others you’ve used your words on.”

  “Yes,” agreed Slava. “It seems so.”

  “Are you going to take them back to Krasnograd?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “Who, Dunya and the others?” Slava asked.

  “No, Tsarinovna, your words.”

  “I don’t see how I can avoid it,” said Slava, with a lightness she didn’t feel. She knew that Oleg Svetoslavovich was asking her about something more frightening than she cared to think about right now.

  “No, Tsarinovna, you most likely can’t,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich very seriously, making Slava’s heart sink even more, because she knew he was right. The Slava who returned to Krasnograd would be a frighteningly different person from the one who had left, and even though that was what Slava had wanted when she had set off, the vision of what that would mean was not an altogether pleasant one. There would be no more hiding behind her soft, shrinking heart and retreating into her daydreams, no matter how much she might want to. She had turned down the offered armor, but that did not mean she wouldn’t be called onto the field of battle all the same.

  “It’s probably time for me to bring Vladislava back,” she said, in order to change the subject. “They might be looking for her.”

  “I’ll come with you, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “I’d like to see what they’ve been up to in my absence.”

  “Why are you calling me Tsarinovna?” Slava asked suddenly. “I just realized…you didn’t when we first met.”
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  Oleg Svetoslavovich grinned. “Now that I’ve gotten to know you better, Tsarinovna, it seems more appropriate,” he said.

  Slava wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but for some reason she found herself blushing too much, so instead she went and collected Vladislava, with profuse thanks to Aunty Shurya, who still seemed too frightened to speak in her presence. She was moving towards the door, with both Vladislava and Oleg Svetoslavovich in tow, when Mirik came up to her and stopped her.

  “I had a question, Krasna Tsa…Tsarinovna,” he said, shuffling his feet and looking embarrassed but determined.

  “Of course,” said Slava kindly. “What did you want to know?”

  “Have you seen…him?”

  “He means Andrey Vladislavovich,” Oleg Svetoslavovich put in. “He can’t stop thinking about him, even though I keep telling him he’s not worth it. Milochka’s story has a happy ending.”

  “Yes,” said Slava.

  “And is he…Do you know, Tsarinovna, if he’s suffered for what he’s done? For what he did to our village? Not that it would ever be enough…But I wanted to know if he was suffering, even just a little bit. I couldn’t catch more than a glimpse of him while I was in the kremlin, and now I’ve no chance of seeing him, let alone avenging her…”

  “There is no need,” Slava told him comfortingly. “Andrey Vladislavovich is a very unhappy man, Mirik. There is nothing you could do to him that would equal the suffering he has already inflicted on himself. And besides, you heard what was said: your sister’s story has had a happy ending. You should forget your dreams of vengeance, and turn to better things. You could come to Krasnograd, you know, and seek her out.”

  “I can’t just let it go like that!”

  “Oh, grow up and be a man, Mirik,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “Do what the Tsarinovna says and go to Krasnograd, or go back home, or do something other than hanging around here and wasting your time. You’re not helping anyone.”