Romanov(10)

I had to get it back.

The question was how. It was nightfall, and to wander around the house in the darkness would arouse suspicion. But I was good at sneaking around. My best time to search for the doll would be in the morning—with the light as my ally. Although we were to leave early. I needed to buy time.

A delay.

My favorite grin slipped out—the one that preceded a particularly fantastic prank. All it would cost me was a basket of eggs.

*

I rose before dawn, dressed, and carried my belongings to the entryway. Commandant Yurovsky would have no reason to accuse me of noncompliance.

I was an angel.

A few soldiers patrolled the corridors, eyes red and postures askew. They’d been on night watch and seemed far less rested than usual. Probably because now that Yurovsky was there, they actually stood watch the entire night.

Yurovsky moved into the entryway as I plopped my valise by the door. I acted as though he wasn’t there, but I felt his gaze and it boiled my skin. Thankfully he would not be accompanying us to Ekaterinburg.

I tried to look busy, and when the first startled cry broke the morning silence, I gasped like the rest of the servants. I must say, I almost convinced myself of my surprise.

Yurovsky tilted his head—a minor acknowledgment of the distressed person. When a second cry was followed by a third, I put on my most concerned face and strode toward the noise—toward the soldiers’ hallway.

Yurovsky was right behind me.

I added a panicked little run to my steps. Yurovsky’s methodical stride down the hallway did not increase or decrease. A clockwork commandant. I appreciated his lack of alarm, because it allowed me to burst into the soldiers’ quarters a few seconds before him and take in the scene.

Several soldiers sat on their bunks with boot in hand. Strings of egg yolk stretched from their gooey socks to the boot interior.

“What is going on here?” Yurovsky demanded, halting behind me.

“Raw eggs!” one of the Bolsheviks exclaimed. “Raw eggs in our boots!”

The soldiers who had not yet slipped their feet into their boots dumped them over and, sure enough, eggs rolled out. Several of them chuckled. I scooted out of Yurovsky’s way, but not before Zash met my eyes, a question in his.

He wore both his boots already, dressed and awake for duty. No egg debacle for him.

“Oh, is that all?” I said to the distressed room. “I thought someone was injured!” I turned on a heel and walked away, leaving Yurovsky to sort out the mess.

“You, go question the cook and find out who did this.” Yurovsky showed a level of control that didn’t surprise me from such a man as he. I didn’t want to be in his path, because the calmest voices could carry the cruelest words. But the footsteps that strode down the hall behind me were not clockwork. They were quick—a soldier on an errand. And I knew just which soldier the commandant had sent.

Zash came alongside me. “Interesting that I was spared.”

I shrugged and kept walking. “And why not? I would hate for you to track egg into the library. Or into my bedroom.”

“That was extremely immature.”

I rolled my eyes. “Those who cannot laugh cannot properly live.”

“It was wasteful. Those eggs could have gone to the people.”

Enough was enough. We rounded a corner and I faced him full on, coming to a stop in front of the kitchen door. “Why did I receive no report of the items you confiscated when you searched my room? Commandant Yurovsky has said nothing to me—did you report the items to him?”

Zash’s gait hiccupped and he straightened into official Bolshevik stance, as though affronted. My words implied that he had kept my items—my Matryoshka doll—for himself.

“I found nothing during my search of your rooms. Should I check again?” He sounded so serious. So confident. Even a little baffled.

That tiny glimpse of confusion made me pause. “N-No. I . . . I . . .” Oy, what to say. “I suppose I’m sensitive because of our swift departure. I feel so . . . out of sorts.” That sounded like a nice girlish response. Perhaps he’d buy it.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”

I watched him go, stunned by his denial. My confidence flattened beneath the stampede of fresh panic. Zash claimed he hadn’t taken any of my things. Liar. But usually I could detect lying. Maybe someone else had found the doll.

An icy finger of premonition slid down the back of my neck. I looked up the hallway toward the soldiers’ quarters. Commandant Yurovsky stood at the opposite end. Watching.

Suddenly I felt exposed. Found out. Known. I didn’t like it one bit.

I held his gaze—for my own sake. Not to be stubborn but because if I glanced away now, the needle of fear would pierce its way into my mind and the next time I encountered Yurovsky, I would be unable to find courage to defy him when I needed to.

With every heartbeat my confidence returned. I was the Grand Duchess Anastasia. I had snuck eggs into his soldiers’ boots without them catching a single whiff of the prank, and I was going to smuggle a Matryoshka doll filled with spells out of this house and to Ekaterinburg, right under Yurovsky’s or Zash’s watchful eyes.

I would save my family.

I dipped into a curtsy, then strode up the hall, posture perfected by my jewel-encrusted corset. My grin returned, despite my quickened breath. When I finally turned the corner, I sprinted to my room on the pads of my feet.