Romanov(87)

“There’s a village not far—a few hours’ walk. I venture there at least twice a month.” He opened his arms to gesture to the landscape around us. “Peace, quiet, and safety are all well. But community and relationship are what truly fill a person’s life. Of course I use an alias when in the village, but the people there are good. I help them where I can.” He tossed part of his carrot toward Joy, who sniffed it once and turned away in disgust. “Tell me, Grand Duchess . . . why so many questions?”

I flicked my gaze to Alexei. He knew my aspirations and dreams. But would telling Dochkin imply that I wanted to act on them? I played with the berries remaining in my bowl. “I’ve always . . . always wanted to be a spell master. And this type of life—learning and farming and serving the people—is similar to the dreams Papa would speak of for our family. I can’t help thinking about how much he would love it here.”

Alexei nodded sadly, setting aside his now-finished second helping of berries and milk. “He would have loved it, but he wouldn’t have stayed. Not with the current unrest.”

“Please expound.” Dochkin folded his hands on the table in front of him.

Alexei lifted his head. “I want to entreat your help, Spell Master. You have healed me, which shows you are loyal. Would you consider serving with me?”

Dochkin looked politely interested. “How so, my tsarevich?”

“I would like to rendezvous with the White Army. They are gathering as many spell masters to help them as will join. You know many spell masters across the country. And you are the most powerful. I invite you to take up the fight. Though I am not your tsar, I am a soldier of the people. And I know you are, too.”

I couldn’t read the expression on Dochkin’s face. But I was more interested in understanding Alexei. He was ready to return to the front lines. To help his fellow soldiers and his country in the only way left to him. In the way he was designed to do.

I was not designed for that. The very notion of returning to battle and leaving this place made me want to crawl into the nearest bedroll.

“I’ve been waiting many years for you to enter my home,” Dochkin said. “I always knew that once you came, it would be time for me to leave.”

“So . . . you will join me?”

“At your command.”

“No, at my request. I will not command you to leave your life and follow me.”

“That is why I shall join you, young Tsar.”

“Alexei.”

Dochkin’s eyes twinkled. “Alexei.”

They shook hands and shared grins. I saw a bond form—between an old spell master and a young boy who never let his illness hold him back from his dreams and duties.

*

We were allowed back in the house long enough to grab thick blankets to spread out on the grass. Dochkin gathered some peasant clothes from his dresser for Yurovsky while Zash set to bandaging Yurovsky’s wounds. I looked forward to dumping him in an alleyway. It didn’t seem fair that he’d be able to start a new life. Not when I wasn’t sure what I would do with mine yet.

“Take those blankets and get outside,” Dochkin barked.

Alexei and I scrambled back out into the light. I still tensed watching him move with such ease, having seen him bedridden for the past several months. It could happen again in a second—with a single trip or accident. But I had to let him live and risk and bruise.

Because we were all at risk of accidents. Pain could strike us all in a moment. And just because it could strike Alexei more severely and more swiftly didn’t turn him timid.

We spread the blankets on the grass and rested. Truly rested. Dochkin would not allow us back into the house until we’d done so and I was only too happy to oblige, lying side by side with my healthy brother, soaking up the sun in a way we were never allowed to do at the Ipatiev House or even Tobolsk.

Clouds passed. Time passed. I didn’t count either. I just watched. Zash and Dochkin worked inside the house. I didn’t allow myself to imagine what chores they were tackling or conversations they were having.

Alexei propped himself up on his elbows. “Nastya?”

“Mmm?” I responded sleepily.

“What do you wish to do, Sister?”

I opened my eyes fully. “I want to stay with you, of course.”

Alexei shook his head. “This is your crossroad. This is where you get to make your own way. Do not let me be a tether.”

I pushed myself up until I sat cross-legged. A tether. Like the spell Yurovsky had used on Zash—the one that ate at his insides the farther he got from Yurovsky. “You’re not a tether. I go with you willingly.”

Alexei gave me a stern frown. “You know what I’m asking.”

I picked at a snag in the blanket beneath me. “You know better than anyone else that I wish to learn spell mastery.”

“Ask Dochkin to teach you. Who better to instruct you?”

I shrugged. “He has a different mission . . . young Tsar.”

A shadow fell across us. I spun to face Dochkin. His wrinkled face held warmth in every crease. “There is no greater joy than to pass on one’s passion to an eager student.”

I gulped down a breath. Dochkin sat with us. Across the way Zash pushed a wheelbarrow of soiled cleaning cloths and dumped the contents in a burn pile. He seemed too far. I yearned for him to take part in this conversation, so when he turned our way, I gave a little head jerk. An invitation to sit with us.