Romanov(64)

I’d never had to deal with money or payment, so I tucked the pearl back into its spot, my face warm. I hadn’t meant to insult her. I tied the new scarf around my bald head. “Thank you again. Your kindness will never be forgotten.”

“Babushka . . . will you be safe?”

Vira shook her head. “Likely not, but who is in these times?” She kissed Zash’s forehead, then saw us to the door.

Before we exited, she turned to me. “You are right, Grand Duchess. Dochkin could save your brother. He is likely your only hope. But finding him will be like searching for a strawberry in a field of blood.”





28


Vira sent a stretcher with us, on which we carried Alexei once we made it back into the forest. It was a long piece of cloth with two wooden poles sewn into each side. We balanced them on our shoulders, but I was significantly shorter than Zash, so poor Alexei slipped every time we jostled too much.

“We should head toward Revda,” Zash said from ahead of me. Joy trotted around his ankles. “We could board a train there.”

“We?”

“To get you away from Ekaterinburg.”

I knew nothing about the surrounding villages. My life had been in western Russia. The Bolsheviks had kept any new information from us once we were exiled. “How far is that?”

“About a day’s walk. Ten hours, perhaps.” The wood pressed into my shoulders, already forming bruises. At this moment—after a night of bloodshed and walking and grieving and worrying for my brother—ten hours might as well have been ten years.

But what logic remained in my brain reminded me that it wasn’t impossible. I could do it for Alexei. It would make Papa proud.

We walked for an hour. There were no stars by which to navigate due to the midnight sun, but Zash had a compass. Again, I was forced to follow. And to trust. I stared at the back of Zash’s head and let the anger bubble. I recalled his face as he lifted his pistol. The sweat—the nerves—sliding down his brow. What had gone through his head when he shot me?

He stopped and lowered the stretcher. “It’s time for Alexei’s spell.”

Every step had been agony to both my body and my mind. I understood the importance of waiting for Vira’s spell to mature, but marching while aching and watching my brother bleed weighed me down far more than any stretcher could.

Zash pulled the spells from his pocket—each one labeled. Joy popped into my lap, curling up to rest the moment her paws were off the ground.

“Do you think Yurovsky has stopped to rest? Perhaps he is no longer hunting us?” The pattering of my heart told me otherwise. It told me not to stop. To run. Run. RUN.

“We can only hope.” Zash’s fingers shook and his eyes drooped as he peeled open a paper. “Once we use these, we should walk until the sun dips. Push ourselves as far as we can and then stop to sleep.”

The word sleep struck my mind like a spell of its own. A golden reward I would do anything to win.

Zash handed me the spells for Alexei. I was too tired to pay mind to my bitterness toward him, but not too tired to feel gratitude for him handing over the spells. He knew what it meant to me to help my brother.

I sent the stitching spell onto Alexei’s hip and hand wound. “Stezhok.” The spell glowed and then the skin over the wounds came together, meeting in the middle and bonding as though entwining miniature fingers. It left a messy scar in its wake, but was far more efficient than my sewing had been.

Alexei groaned and twisted. I took his hand. “It’ll be okay. This will help you.” For now. “I will save you.” Maybe. “I love you.” Always.

The next spell—the numbing one—was less visible but far more comforting. The moment I spoke it, Alexei’s entire body relaxed and he breathed the most contented sigh I’d ever heard exit his lips. He looked, almost, to be merely resting. Oftentimes quality rest was a body’s best healer.

“Let’s go.” I reached down to lift the stretcher. I wanted to get to the end of our day so Alexei and I could sleep. My own body craved the same sigh Alexei just gave.

“There’s a spell for you, Nastya.” Zash held out another square. “We need to do that one first. Babushka said you were injured?”

I took it and turned my back. “Thank you. I’ll do it.” As if he didn’t know I was injured. He sent a bullet into my torso. I checked over my shoulder to ensure his back was turned before untucking my shirt and releasing my corset enough to reveal my skin. Each movement stiff. Each breath more painful than the last.

A blossom of purple spread across my ribs, with a dark spot in the center like something I might see in the night sky when watching for the aurora borealis with Papa. Only now it was on my skin. And Papa would not wish to see it.

I let the spell slither onto my finger and then pressed it to my ribs with a wince. I whispered its name and it sank into my skin. The bruise did not change, but something shifted inside my body with a dull pop. I cried out and steadied myself on a tree.

“Nastya, are you—?”

“Stay away!” I flung my free hand toward Zash, palm out. The pain had lessened but not completely abated. I straightened, returned my corset to its place, and tucked my shirt back in. “I’m ready to go.”

He nodded and allowed me to lift my side of Alexei’s stretcher before he lifted his own. We placed Joy on the stretcher with Alexei, then heaved it onto our shoulders and continued into the forest.