Romanov(5)

“Well, Nastya. This might be my last time seeing them.” His blood disease was always threatening to take him from us. Life expectancy for someone with hemophilia wasn’t very high. Slightly higher if that someone was royalty with a devoted doctor.

I folded my arms. “You certainly won’t see them again if you continue to ride your toboggan down the governor’s stairs.” That had been months ago and Alexei was still recovering. I think he’d hoped he wouldn’t survive the ordeal. At this point, with no throne to inherit, a time of exile, and endless days of painful recovery, I could understand why he had trouble finding reason to live.

Dr. Botkin patted Alexei’s knee. “You shall be reunited, Tsarevich.”

Alexei and I shared a grin at the doctor’s assurance of something no one could control. But even empty promises could fill a heart for a moment.

Dr. Botkin applied the Fohn apparatus to Alexei’s joints and muscles to help keep back any atrophy.

“I can do that, Doctor,” I interjected, catching a cursory glance from Alexei.

The doctor glanced between us. Alexei nodded, so Dr. Botkin allowed me to spread the apparatus over Alexei’s legs as it warmed. Then he gathered his things and left the room. The moment the door closed, Alexei asked, “Do you have a spell, Nastya? I want to get better as soon as possible.”

I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out a small tin. “Only one. I used the last of the spell ink on this, and I don’t know how to make more.” I was lucky I’d found a bottle of spell ink in this abandoned governor’s house in the first place.

I unscrewed the tin. At the bottom, against the thin metal, a single painted word glimmered like a rainbow through a spattered window or like a bubble under sunshine. I had seen many lovely things in my life, but spell ink would always be my favorite.

Oblegcheniye—the only spell I knew how to make. Relief. “This will ease the pain, but not heal it.”

Alexei nodded. “It allows my body to relax. It will still help.”

I sent a furtive glance toward the door before I slid a finger along the bottom of the tin until the word squirmed and attached to my skin. I transferred the word to Alexei’s skin—a snail trail of glimmering ink.

Alexei clenched his teeth under the brief pressure of my touch. “Oblegcheniye,” I whispered.

The shimmery ink sank into Alexei’s skin. Alexei expelled a pent-up breath and sank against the pillows. I shoved the empty tin back into my skirt, my heart pounding. No Bolsheviks caught us.

“That’ll last a few hours. Be patient. Soon you’ll be well enough to travel.” I smiled, glowing beneath the rebellion of using a spell right under the enemy’s noses. “It won’t be long now.”

“We were still left behind.” Alexei sighed. “I am a burden.”

“Tishe.” I flicked his shoulder with my pinkie. “You’re not fat enough to be a burden.”

He rolled his eyes and I knelt on the ground beside him. “Imagine this.” I adopted a mysterious tone. “Mamma and Papa have left us behind for secret tasks instead.”

Alexei’s head lifted at our game. “Tasks of spying.”

“Tasks of mischief.”

“Tasks of adventure.”

“Tasks of . . . magic.”

His grey-blue eyes widened. “And imagine this: We are, in fact, soon to be their rescue. As we speak, Dr. Botkin is incapacitating the Bolsheviks.”

“Bravo, Dr. Botkin!” I applauded, and we both giggled at the image of our dear doctor wielding his stethoscope as a weapon.

Almost as quickly as the giggles came, Alexei sobered and his face fell. “But imagine that I never get strong enough to travel . . .”

I took his hand. “You’re breaking the rules, you know.” His fingers pressed against mine, a mere breath of a squeeze. I was careful not to return it too firmly. “You have been weak before and it has passed. Every time you think it’s the last time. And every time you regain your strength. This is no different.”

But it was.

This time the Bolsheviks were waiting to see the verdict after Papa’s trial. Once that judgment came, our fates would be decided. Then the Bolsheviks would take us where they willed. I much preferred the soldiers who let us play cards with them. Who shared their smokes with Papa and sat through my Sunday-night plays of silliness.

“We won’t be separated for long.” I stood. “In fact, I’m going to pack.” I left Alexei’s room at the same time his spunky little red-and-white spaniel pattered into the room. I glanced back long enough to see Alexei’s face brighten considerably as Joy plopped her two front paws on the side of his bed.

Then I went to the library.

The library of the Tobolsk governor’s house was a candle stub compared to the chandelier of the Alexander Palace library. Still, it was a place of light for me, no matter the size of the flame. Papa would read to us every evening in here.

Tonight, that wouldn’t happen.

No fire blazed in the hearth to combat the chill. The only fires lit were in the bedrooms. And even then, they were never enough to abolish the ice in our bones. Like St. Petersburg, Tobolsk was willing to release a heavy snowfall in any month of the year. The Irtysh River hadn’t even thawed yet.

No soldiers filled the library, but I browsed the shelves in any case, maintaining a constant posture of innocence—one of my more prized talents. I stopped at a book of poetry and flipped it open, scanning the words but thinking only of Papa’s departure— No. Of Papa’s mission. I would not think of the fact he was gone.