Romanov(81)

Dochkin rested his hand by the smaller vial.

“Nastya . . .” Zash’s meek voice came from behind me.

“It is not what you think.” Dochkin’s hand dropped to his side. “I cannot reverse time.”

I backed from the window. “But the first spell I used . . . this spell that we are in. It reversed the attacks on our bodies!” I was very careful not to say the word ajnin because that would send us back to the physical realm.

“That was not reversing time. That was reversing the actions taken on your body after the spell was used. It is a very different thing.”

“Can’t you reverse what Yurovsky did? The firing squad? The massacre?”

His expression showed that he wished he had a different answer for me. “Unless the proper spell was enacted beforehand, there is nothing I can do.”

I gestured halfheartedly at the little glass vial. “Then what is this for?”

“That is for you, Grand Duchess. And it is only because you are my grand duchess that I made it. For anyone else, I would have refused.”

I sensed Zash behind us but didn’t turn.

Dochkin knew my desires—that spell of his had whispered my secrets to him and he’d made me this new spell. “What does it do?” I peered into the liquid and caught some dark letters floating around.

“I used a Russian spell word for this one—pustoy,” Dochkin said.

“Blank,” I translated, entranced by the liquid.

“It will erase your pain.”

I tore my eyes away from the vial. “How? How can anything do that?”

“It will erase your story. Your memories. You will not know of the hurt—therefore you can never feel it.” He nodded as though officially passing the spell to me. To keep and to use as I willed.

Blank. It was exactly what I wished . . . for myself. To never have to think of Papa’s face again with a stab of loss. To never revive memories of my sisters being bayoneted and dumped down a mine shaft. I would never have to remember Zash’s betrayal or the fear that came from Yurovsky’s pursuit.

I would be free.

Free to start over. To start fresh.

“Nastya, wait.” Zash reached for my hand, as though to stop me from using the spell then and there, even though my ghost form couldn’t touch it. “You . . . can’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I, Zash?” I asked softly.

Dochkin raised an eyebrow at Zash. “It is her right. You have been part of her pain. It is not your choice to deny her healing.”

Zash’s hand slid from mine. Defeated. “But . . . Nastya, I want to be part of your healing. I want to be part of your life.”

“You need to go, Nastya,” Dochkin urged. “Remember that wherever you’re standing when you reverse the ajnin spell is where your body will join you.”

I turned from the windowsill to find Yurovsky stuffing bottle after bottle into his pack. I strode past Zash, not strong enough to meet his eyes after what Dochkin had given me.

“That spell does not carry over,” Dochkin warned. “It can be used on only one person—it’s not strong enough for two.”

“Nastya, please . . .” Zash jogged after me.

“I have to go.” My heart was breaking. “I can’t think about that right now. I have to save Alexei.”

Zash closed his mouth and nodded.

I didn’t want to silence him. But I meant what I said. I couldn’t think about that spell yet. I had to get this right. Once I returned, I would have mere seconds to try to save Alexei. My gaze slid to Dochkin’s body.

How could I leave him there to die? He was alive for the moment . . . and Alexei so craved Dochkin’s knowledge and guidance. I needed him to teach me spell mastery. Otherwise, what future did we have? Even if we stopped Yurovsky?

“You cannot save me,” Dochkin said, as though reading my thoughts.

“You should know,” Alexei said. “Nastya doesn’t really like when people tell her she can’t do something.”

I kissed Dochkin’s cheek. Then I ran and gave Alexei a tight hug, even though he’d yet to stand this entire time. “Please . . . hold on as long as you can.”

“I will, Sister.”

I took his face in my hands and stared hard into it. Painting it into my memory. A desperate flutter in my heart whispered that this was the last time I’d see his brave smile. No. No. I couldn’t acknowledge that. I had to cling to hope.

Finally, I faced the room. I faced Zash. He strode up to me as though to embrace me. But instead, he grabbed my shoulders and steered me to the river stone on the ground beside his body. The stone he’d dropped when Yurovsky smashed the spell ink jar against his head.

“Wake up here and use this to defend yourself. He’s too close to the hunting knife for you to start there.”

I nodded, trying to muster up the courage that used to come so easily when planning something risky.

Yurovsky examined a bottle of spell ink from the big table, sneered, and then threw it into the brick fireplace where it smashed to pieces. He reached for another, but then his eyes alighted on the windowsill—on Alexei’s healing spell.

My nerves spasmed. “I have to go.” I knelt by Zash’s unconscious body, my hand poised over the stone.

“Aim while his back is turned.”