Romanov(75)

“It makes sense, Zash.” In a way it brought me a pinprick of comfort. Not enough to erase my pain, but enough to erase my confusion. At least now I knew Zash did not take part in the execution because he wished to see us dead.

“That was the only bullet I shot, Nastya. And in that moment my soul fractured.”

“I know what will heal you, Zash . . . and I’m trying. I’m trying to forgive you.” If that didn’t work, I had the spell I was going to demand from Dochkin. The one that would take us back and allow Zash to choose a different path.

His mouth opened in a vulnerable show of disbelief. “That is . . . Nastya, that is far more than I could ever ask.”

My lips slid up in a half smile—an acknowledgment that we were both broken and this new life of an ex-princess with an ex-Bolshevik was scary and dangerous and dark for us both. But there was still light—we were just learning how to find it.

*

Sleep came for us all, navigating us through the night and into the dawn when the train brakes squealed. I jolted upright out of the burlap bags. Zash was curled like a turtle in his own spot in the burlap across from me. I wasn’t sure if he’d slept. When he lifted his head, he didn’t seem as though he had.

“We’ve reached Perm.” I pushed myself to my feet.

Zash followed suit and let out a long breath. “Nastya, it’s getting better.”

“Bravo! You just needed sleep!”

“No. I didn’t sleep. What I mean is the pain—that ripping feeling—is subsiding as we slow down.” He didn’t seem happy about it, and neither was I. Because that meant that if his pain was from the Dochkin spell, we were traveling the wrong way.

Alexei had mere hours before his agony returned, and we might be days from finding Dochkin.

The train stopped and Zash stumbled free of the train carriage. I joined him, basking in the nature. Zash breathed in the relief for a moment, then strolled away from the train—back the way we came. He walked for about a minute, stopped, then turned perpendicular to the train and walked into the forest on the right.

“What are you doing?” I called when he reappeared.

He tromped across the tracks to the other side of the forest. “Assessing which direction hurts the least.” He finished his experiment and then rejoined me.

“Verdict?”

“East.” His mouth formed a grim line. “Dochkin must live a lot closer to Ekaterinburg than we thought. We might have already passed his village.”

All this running. All this danger and bribing and escaping . . . wasted. “That means we have to head back toward Yurovsky.”

“This might actually be a good thing. The last thing he’ll expect is for us to turn around and travel back the way we came.”

My spirits lifted. “You’re right. Let’s find Alexei.”

Before explaining to Alexei, we bid farewell to the Whites. They headed into Perm to find their spell master. Would the spell master be like Vira? Unwilling to join either side of the fight?

Once they were gone, it took some long explaining to share our conclusions with Alexei. In the end he agreed that we should return. “It seems we’ll be on foot. The conductor cannot send the train in reverse for a long period of time—it is meant only for fine adjustments.” He swayed on his feet.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Unlike myself. I feel as though I’ve expended the last of my energy—for Kostya and the others. But just because I can’t feel the pain doesn’t mean my body doesn’t feel the wear and tear.”

Practical. Matter-of-fact. Alexei.

“We will get you to Dochkin.” I gritted my teeth and climbed back onto a train hitch. “Let’s get our things. Not a minute to lose.” As we dispersed belongings, set Joy on the ground, and prepared ourselves for walking, I kept thinking, Soon. Soon this will be over. It is misery now, but not for long. We would find Dochkin. He would heal Alexei, reverse the execution, and the pain would be over.

Alexei settled things with the conductor and we left. “He thinks we’re heading to Perm, too. That way, if Yurovsky questions him, he won’t have accurate information.”

“Well done, Alexei.”

He pulled his coat tight around himself, even though we walked under the heat of the July sun. “Let’s hope the Whites find their spell master and get out of there before Yurovsky goes digging.”

Once again we set off following Zash. Trusting him with our lives and hearts and futures. Only this time it didn’t frighten me so much. We’d been through enough that I knew he was on our side . . . and I didn’t want to lose him.

If Dochkin reversed our execution, would that change Zash? Would he forget everything we had gone through? What if he resumed being a Bolshevik? Yet how could I allow the deaths of my family? I could not continue living with the knowledge I could have saved them all. This action of finding Dochkin was me saving them as I should have in the first place.

We walked inside the tree line—for both shade and cover, the pace slow for all our sakes. Every few minutes Zash would veer one direction or another to continue testing his spell’s reaction. It kept us due east. I hated the feeling of traveling back toward Siberia. That place held only captivity and death for us.

But at least we were doing it under the open sky. Every step brought a breath of freedom with it—a snub at the whitewashed shoe box that was the Ipatiev House. We were back in nature—the same place we had spent the majority of our childhood. Even though Siberia was Siberia, nature was always connected to itself. In that sense, we could always find home.