Romanov(40)

“Do you think so?”

No. I didn’t. I couldn’t read this officer’s thinking. I didn’t trust it. It was too unpredictable. I’d spent the afternoon using up the last of Zash’s spell ink and filling an empty butter tin with four relief spells. The minute we heard the signal, I would apply a spell to Alexei’s knee and we’d escape.

But my body sat in unrest. The Matryoshka doll stayed resolutely sealed and this White Army officer lost my respect with every passing minute. His plan held barely any details. He was putting our lives in jeopardy.

And the lives of the Bolsheviks we’d come to love.

There was no way to alert Ivan, and I wasn’t sure that was a good idea anyway. Though, as a guard, he could possibly help if we were to get stopped by another guard. The logic in my head said it was best to keep him out of it. But the drumming of my heart urged me to do the same as Maria—to warn Zash. To invite him to escape with us.

I focused on the message of my head. I would miss Zash. I would leave that part of my story unfinished if we escaped and I never saw or heard from him again. But my family’s safety and survival were more important.

We waited. And waited. And waited.

Maria whispered for hours how sweet Ivan was. How thoughtful Ivan was. How caring Ivan was. I couldn’t disagree, but it was a relief when she finally nodded off. Papa and Alexei remained the most vigilant. Mamma sat with her eyes closed, but I knew she wasn’t asleep.

I slipped the Matryoshka doll free from my blouse. Having checked it so many times, I didn’t expect to see anything different, but this time there was a slight glow around the middle of the faceless doll. Not quite a seam, but definitely magic.

I gasped a whisper. “Papa.”

He moved to my side and I showed him the glow.

“The spell is almost ready.” He grinned. “This is a sign. Whatever spell that doll is going to release will help us. Save us. I am certain.”

Immense relief covered me. If this rescue attempt went awry, at least we had a backup plan. A spell from Dochkin, the great spell master.

The night passed without a signal. Neither Papa, Alexei, nor I slept. When breakfast came, I could hardly swallow the dry black bread. A basket of goods came from the sisters, but there was no new note. I was torn between longing for bed and longing for the sunlit garden to wake me up.

We’d had to untie the sheet rope and return the sheets to our beds so no soldiers suspected anything. My fingers hurt from picking at the knots. I dreaded reknotting the sheets tonight.

The time finally came for us to go outside. Alexei and Mamma stayed inside. Olga cared for them. Maria, red-eyed from a long night, burst into the sunlight and ran straight to Ivan. I didn’t blame her. She was going to tell him everything.

And there was nothing I could do to stop her.

Papa noticed the same thing after yesterday’s cake incident and, as a family, we agreed not to share any more fragile information with her. She had suffered the most in this house—being confined longer than the rest of us children without a companion.

Once I’d finally realized the rescue wasn’t happening last night, I had spent the hours of picking at sheet knots thinking about Zash. Letting my heart and head war. I acknowledged that part of me sought out every small motion or twitch of an eye that might insinuate kindness. But really, I knew nothing about him. I wanted to know more. I wanted to talk to him more. And I couldn’t bring myself to think of a good reason not to.

So when we were in the garden and Ivan and Maria whispered away in their tree corner by the swing, I approached Zash. Avdeev wasn’t joining us today, so there was little risk of scolding. Soldiers muttered about his vodka supply. I’d heard the constant clink of glass on glass followed by a splash and a cough. Papa said that there was always a reason behind drink. Perhaps Avdeev was indulging more and more because the White Army was closing in. Or maybe because he was growing to like us and wasn’t sure how to handle his position.

My heart felt for him. Even the soldiers took turns visiting his office or picking up some of his dropped duties.

Zash watched me cross the garden, right up until I stopped in front of him. “I heard your sister had an excellent birthday.”

I smiled brightly, though the sun stung my dry eyes. “Better than any of us could have hoped for.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He broke eye contact. We both watched Ivan and Maria take a turn around the garden. Under the sunlight with her new head ribbon she looked radiant. Instinctively, my hand drifted up to my own head. It was prickly with tiny growth and I recalled Zash’s and my last conversation.

“It becomes you,” Zash said.

A laugh burst out of me. “Becomes me? Baldness?”

“It captures your strength, Nastya. That is what I meant.”

“Oh.” Every time he used my name, a different part of me melted.

Zash breathed out a long sigh. “What do you need? What can I—we—do for you to make you like”—he gestured toward Maria, a walking sunbeam of delight beside Ivan—“like that?”

My knee-jerk temptation was to respond in jest. But if we were leaving the Ipatiev House tonight, I wanted to be fearless in my conversation with Zash. “Why do you want me like that?” I lifted my eyes, nervous to see his reaction.

His gaze was open. Real. Not the stiff soldier persona, and it made every word skip my head and land on my heart. “You find joy in so many little things. For once . . . I want to see joy find you. Surprise you. You deserve it.” His fingers brushed mine, ever so lightly. My breath caught and I found myself fighting the urge to move closer. To twine my fingers in his.