Romanov(31)

“That’s why you never asked Rasputin to heal you.” We’d begged Rasputin so many times to attend to Mamma’s heart, but Mamma always refused. Because he was the cause of her weakness and headaches. “You didn’t want us to know what you were sacrificing.”

I forced myself to think from her position. To think about how she had anguished over Alexei’s illness. How his hemophilia came from her bloodline. Wouldn’t I allow a spell master to do whatever was needed if I thought it would help Alexei?

“Oh, Mamma.” I embraced her gently.

She patted my back. “It is a small relief to have someone else know.”

“Thank you for telling me.” I tucked the information into the pocket of my mind, thankful I had it but not yet sure how to process it. In her attempts to save Alexei’s life as future tsar, her secrets had cost him—and Papa—the throne.

*

The next day when eleven o’clock signaled our time to enter the garden, Avdeev did not come to get us. Instead, Zash opened the door, Ivan at his side. “We will escort you to the garden today.”

Maria hung on Ivan’s arm. We filed out of our rooms and followed the soldiers. I was behind Maria at the front and Zash took up the rear. The call of the outdoors sped up my heart. We burst into the sunshine, but Maria pulled up short a few steps in front of me. I skidded to a halt to avoid running into her.

She held Ivan’s arm as she stared ahead into the garden. Ivan beamed as he watched her. I followed Maria’s gaze toward our garden. Something was different in the tiny space.

From the branches of the birch trees hung a flat board attached to two thick ropes.

A swing.

We both squealed and ran for it. The board was thick and long enough for both of us to fit. During our race to the new amusement, I caught a small collection of guards grinning ear to ear. Taking in our joy. They clapped two soldiers on the shoulders—the first was Ivan, to whom Maria blew a giddy kiss as she plopped on the seat.

The other was Zash.





10


Avdeev had forbidden us from speaking in any language other than Russian. He’d forbidden us from signaling anyone outside. He’d forbidden us from opening windows. But nothing could forbid us from squealing like children as we swooped back and forth on our swing.

He didn’t take the swing away. He might have even given permission for the soldiers to hang it for us. In fact, oftentimes he overlooked the fact that our half hours of exercise stretched to ninety minutes more and more frequently.

With each whoosh—back and forth, back and forth—my heart caught an extra gust of hope. The soldiers made us a swing. Many of them, beyond Zash and Ivan, seemed to relish our delight. They no longer wanted to kill us.

The Bolsheviks here were trying to keep us contained until the Soviet government decided what to do with us.

Papa took a turn on the swing and his boots flew high over his head. His laugh pierced the air, contagious as a revolution. Even the guards joined in. Alexei crossed the garden—sans wheelchair—and joined Papa on the swing. A few guards cheered.

I caught noise from behind us, near the giant gate. Guards in the opening with their rifles held in a threatening manner. “Walk on, Citizens, walk on. There’s nothing to see here.” They took a few menacing steps toward the street on the other side.

By now, all of Ekaterinburg knew the Romanov family was being kept at the Ipatiev House. I wasn’t surprised our laughs had lured the curious passersby.

“Well, if there’s nothing to see, then why can’t we stand here if we want to?” came an irritated reply.

I snickered and turned back to the fun.

I caught Zash watching me out of the corner of his eye. My smile stayed wide as I moved his way. He stepped from the clump of soldiers, and I could sense him trying to school his features once more into something controlled and firm. He lost the fight.

We met by the wall of the house and stopped with a good amount of distance between us. I leaned against the warm exterior wall and beamed. “I don’t know why you took part, but . . . thank you.”

Zash dropped his gaze. “Perhaps it’s hard to believe, but even as your guard, I—we—don’t wish despair upon your family.”

“I believe you.” Grateful warmth flooded my chest. “Because of you, Alexei is walking on his own again.”

A pause. “I am glad he is feeling better.”

As though sensing us talking about him, Alexei made a little mock-kissing face at me while swinging back and forth. I flushed. But when Zash followed my gaze to Alexei, Alexei had the decency to drop the mockery just in time and send an honorable salute to Zash.

To my surprise, Zash returned the salute.

“He is grateful.” I willed my skin to calm back to a regular temperature.

“I did nothing.”

Let him think I didn’t know. Let him believe his own lie. But I knew what he did for us. And it had crumbled a wall in my chest. “All the same. Thank you, Zash.”

A breeze picked up, blowing dark clouds across the city and toward our prison. With visible effort Zash resumed the soldier face. “You’d best enjoy the garden while you can.”

“Yes, of course.” I left his side, our interaction now concluded with a formal air. Perhaps it was best that we stayed Bolshevik and exiled princess.