Romanov(60)

“Nastya, what are you doing?” Zash hissed. We could hear them closer now. Their movements, not their voices.

“The spells,” I panted. “His pocket watch detects them. He wants my doll.” My fingers closed around the small tin of relief spells. I put one in the large Matryoshka doll shell and left the other in the tin. Then I threw the tin as far as I could to my left and the other relief spell to my right. “Okay, let’s go. But quietly.”

“We need to keep running.”

“They’ll hear us—”

“They’ll find us, Nastya. If his watch does what you say it does, we need to get out of here.” Without another consideration, he bolted forward, leaving me to catch up. I ran, too, letting Joy use her own four legs, and I prayed my plan worked. Those spells would lure Yurovsky in. Perhaps he’d think they were the doll or me hiding. And he would spend several minutes following his pocket watch until he found both spells.

Only then would he realize it was a diversion.

I tried to keep pace with Zash, but even carrying Alexei he managed to stay ahead of me. The jolt of each step sent a serrated spike of pain into my chest that grew and grew until I finally couldn’t push myself any farther.

I had to walk—it went against every instinct. It went against every ounce of my willpower. But I couldn’t push through the pain of the bullet that had bruised or possibly snapped my ribs. Zash must have sensed the change in my pace because he looked back and slowed. I wanted to apologize for my weakness, but how could I apologize to the soldier who caused my injuries?

“Keep running,” I told him.

He maintained a walking pace I could match. “No. We will go together.”

“For Alexei’s sake, you must keep going!”

“If I leave you behind, you won’t know where to find us.”

I should shove the Matryoshka doll into his hand and force him to go, but the stubborn set of his jaw told me how successful that attempt would be. I returned the doll back to my camisole. “Where are you even leading us? The hospital?”

It scared me that I had followed blindly to this moment, putting my trust in him through instinct. I reined it back in to the spool of suspicion and growing bitterness in my mind. I must not relax. I must not trust Zash except for the moments that I had no other choice. Like now.

“I know someone who might be able to help.”

Help who? Him? Alexei? All of us? I still hadn’t caught my breath, so I didn’t voice my questions. I just followed Zash through the forest toward the war-zone city of Ekaterinburg. Forced to place my trust in the man who helped execute my family.

We tromped through the forest, silent in speech but growing louder in footsteps due to exhaustion. I glanced over my shoulder every other step, certain I’d see Yurovsky on our trail.

“You have to remember he’s been awake even longer than you,” Zash panted, now carrying Alexei over his back like a turtle would its shell. “No matter his desire to persist in following us, his soldiers will be too tired.”

“You are not too tired.” I wanted to accept his logic, but my fear ushered in too many doubts. If Zash could persist for so long, so could Yurovsky.

“My energy is from a different source than mere willpower.” He said this so quietly, I almost didn’t hear. And when I did process it, I wasn’t sure how to respond.

We walked for another hour before stopping at the tree line of a little village not far from Ekaterinburg. The sun hung low in the sky opposite us, sending the shadows of the small carved houses spiking toward our hideout. A long stretch of field rested between the trees and the village. To cross it would bring every eye turning our way.

“The house is not far in.” Zash assessed my appearance. “But perhaps you should cover your head.”

I used another strip from my skirt as a scarf for my baldness. “What about you?” I tried not to let my words sound cutting but didn’t quite succeed. “You look like a Bolshevik.”

“No one will question me for that.”

“And Alexei?” Alexei still wore his tsarevich soldier uniform. Zash lowered him to the ground and we stripped off his coat and stuffed it into one of the packs. Even against the dark strips of skirt wrapping his hip wound, I could see the bloodstain that had soaked through. There was no time to waste. No time to fear. I took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

Zash lifted Alexei and took off across the field. I pulled Joy into my arms and pushed my legs to carry me across the field, though not nearly as fast as Zash. Every muscle ached, every breath stung, but once Zash entered the shadow of a house, he stopped and waited for me.

No one filled the streets around us, but open windows and fluttering curtains betrayed the presence of a few observers. What did it matter? Let them see. Let them see that Anastasia and Alexei Romanov were alive, even if just barely. Maybe word would reach the White Army.

Zash led us down a side street, though there weren’t many to choose from. We walked now, keeping our heads low, and passed a few cottages. He turned down a lane and we walked to the end where a classically quaint house of stone and stucco rose from the shadows.

Without even a knock Zash lifted the latch and entered the house. I had no choice but to follow. The interior smelled of old cotton and hot supper. An uneven wood floor creaked beneath our feet. Zash closed the door behind us, shutting out most of the light, and laid Alexei down on the floor, using Alexei’s coat for a pillow.