Chapter 5 #2
Another sharp cry pulled her back into the moment as she watched the wolf lunge for Alexei, its maw spread wide.
The horse pivoted to the right at the last moment, working with what small range of motion it seemed to be confined to.
The wolf missed and landed gracefully, spinning with an efficiency that should be impossible for an animal that large.
It went to lunge again, surely, Alexei right in its path…
“Alexei!” Anastasia screamed, throwing out her hands in fear as an ice-cold sensation flooded her body and burst through her as if she was exploding.
A great pulse went hurtling over the gardens, and with a loud yelp, the wolf tumbled over as if it had been hit with a battering ram. Anastasia watched in shock as the wolf started convulsing, twitching like a grotesque experiment, until its cries turned to screams.
Her head spun as she watched the creature morph into the body of a naked man, writhing on the ground and cursing as if he was holding a live wire he could not let go of.
Alexei watched on, the blood drained from his face, and his expression was fearful until Anastasia realized that he was looking at her. He was more afraid of Anastasia than the wolf.
She started swaying in her saddle, her hearing muffled and her vision beginning to fail. The icy sensation in her body turned hot as she became flushed all over. Vaguely, she heard her guards snap into action somewhere near her, galloping over the short distance towards the prince.
Not again… oh God… not again… not again… I swore… never again… they’ll die…
Anastasia slumped forward against her horse’s neck and descended into the blackness as it rippled through her.
???
Anastasia thought she was fairly acquainted with fear. She had made friends with it, even welcomed it. Anastasia blinked her eyes open and learned the difference between fear and panic.
Fear had a way of being deathly quiet and stoic, sending chills and stealing breath, but panic was loud. It was fast heartbeats and sweating palms. When Anastasia woke up in her bed, she panicked.
“Alexei!” she screamed before her eyes were even fully open.
“I’m right here, sister,” Alexei’s voice, calm as ever, resonated from her bedside.
Anastasia blinked her eyes a few times to adjust to the light. She was once again in her chambers, waking up to an audience. Horrible memories came rushing back to meet her as she saw the tsarina, the tsar, the tsar’s ever-faithful three lords, and now Alexei.
“What happened?” She turned towards her brother and grabbed his arm. Alexei brushed his hand over her hair, kissed her forehead, and squeezed her shoulder.
“You saved my life, Sashy.”
“That… thing… that creature!” Her voice trailed off as she sat back in bed, trying to rationalize what she had seen.
Anastasia was well-versed in the world of angels and demons; it came with the territory of being cursed, but seeing such a violent shapeshift pushed the boundaries of her imagination.
After years of being sheltered from the world and her own powers, what else existed beyond the limits of her knowledge?
What other things could only be explained by magic?
“A khlyst,” the tsarina’s voice was sharp as glass, interrupting her children, “a zealot. Clearly, one who had made a deal with the devil. Sent here to attack the future tsar of Russia and god’s followers.”
Her voice had a level of fake piousness to it that made Anastasia want to roll her eyes. She knew her mother was only outraged because none of her religious zealots had ever displayed that kind of power.
“And I…,” Anastasia trailed off, looking down at her hands in her lap, her knuckles splitting as her fists clenched. Her mind jumped through hoops as she thought about what reaction her family would have.
“You stopped it,” it was the tsar this time. Anastasia’s head snapped up to attention, unwittingly, when he spoke.
There was a deathly quiet as she ran her gaze over the faces of the lords, their expressions betraying nothing. “It seems as if this could be an interesting development,” the tsar paused and ran his hand across his chin.
“As you know,” one of the lords spoke up, with a voice that sounded like a snake-oil salesman, “the great Romanov line is under intense persecution. Your family’s enemies are hiding in plain sight and spreading lies among the people.
There are many,” he paused and smacked his mouth a few times as if tasting the next word, “political advantages to a gift like yours.”
Anastasia’s eyes grew wide with shock. Her chest ached with sadness and disgust, threatening to cave in under the pressure. “Political? All this time —”
“Do not forget your place,” the tsarina snapped, her hands coming to rest over one another at her navel. “You have also killed someone, Anastasia, so do not get righteous now.”
Cold shame flooded Anastasia, her shoulders hunching over. She squirmed uncomfortably like a child, once again cornered in her chambers by a suite of people determined to wield her like a weapon. Her future was being drawn and quartered before them all.
The tsar coughed once and held up a hand, “You will pursue this, Anastasia.” A quiet, cold command. Anastasia’s head began to spin at the sharp turn that her life was taking.
“I… I don’t…,” she stuttered, unable to meet her father’s gaze even after fifteen years, “I don’t know how.”
“Your mother will arrange for a tutor,” he snapped, taking one step closer to the bed, “and they will let us know hourly how you are progressing. We will all return to St. Petersburg. You are to be removed from court,” Alexei and Anastasia both let out sharp gasps of surprise, “and you will dedicate your days to figuring out your curse until we have a use for you.”
“Think of what you can do for God,” the tsarina offered up a smile that was as sadistic as it was contrite. Anastasia was going to be sick. God had never done anything for her, so why should she be concerned with what she could do for him?
“You will start tomorrow. Do not leave your rooms,” the tsar commanded as a way of goodbye, flicking his finger towards the door, ordering everyone to depart.
Alexei was the last to leave, pausing at her door and turning to look at his sister. She knew that look. It was one he had perfected over the years. It was the ‘shall I talk to father’ look. Anastasia shook her head once and nodded her chin in the direction of the door, encouraging him to go.
If I’m going to be a weapon, I’m afraid of the collateral it will require.
???
Anastasia’s life was now the picture of perfect control. After they returned to St. Petersburg, any semblance of freedom she had before in her already over-regulated life was gone.
Every movement was now monitored, each conversation recorded, and every waking hour laid out for her. Yet not long after Anastasia rediscovered her magic when saving her brother’s life, there was one small flicker of hope.
Every Sunday morning, the palace emptied as people headed to the nearly day-long church services. It was as much of a place to be seen as any ball or masquerade, making it a must-attend event.
The court attendees went in one of two directions: either still wearing their outfits from the night before, a testament to their debauchery, or changing in the early light of the morning to showcase their piety.
During those blessed morning hours on Sunday, Anastasia noticed very quickly that even her attendants and her father’s babysitters had left her alone.
It was one of those fateful Sundays that, for a moment, Anastasia might have believed in God. She found herself engrossed in watching the last of her father’s attendants depart, her current priest with them.
For most of her confinement, she had been too afraid to try anything during these brief moments of reprieve.
She knew her father had commanded her to explore her magic, but it was daunting. She had been afraid of that power for most of her life. She didn’t trust the tsar. The last thing that she wanted was to become one more cog in the wheel of her father’s empire.
Something in the air had shifted, making her feel reckless. Her life couldn’t shrink down any more than it already had, so what did it matter if they caught her trying? She was a woman with nothing to lose.
Anastasia found herself moving quickly, changing into a simple shift in her bedroom.
A lady-in-waiting had left it behind in a stroke of luck, since everything Anastasia owned was ostentatious.
It’d gather too much attention. She crept towards the door, listening for any noise.
When she heard none, she slid it open and peered out.
Anastasia was shocked to see her father hadn’t bothered to place her typical rotating guards at the door; always watching, even in her own chambers.
Anastasia sprinted down the hall, not bothering to look behind her. She didn’t give herself a moment to react or breathe, moving on instinct and refusing to let her fear get the better of her. The halls were empty as she had assumed, not even a drunken straggler to be found.
Before too long, she found herself standing at the back door to the palace. Anastasia pushed against it once, twice… nothing happened. She cursed, thinking it was locked, but the heavy, forgotten door swung open on the third push.
Anastasia was taken aback by the cold air on her face. She refused to let the shock stop her. Everything was moving in a blur, and before she knew it, she was exiting the palace gates and was on the streets of St. Petersburg.
Her memories of the city were few and far between, mainly from her childhood, always from the back of a moving car or carriage.
She was paranoid as she moved through the streets, stopping to stare at the most mundane things.
People hawking wares on the street, passing children with newspapers, an older woman selling fruit—all of it held a particular wonder for her.
No one looked at Anastasia twice, allowing her a freedom she hadn’t felt since childhood.
She took stock of the city block, and as she surveyed her surroundings, the pit in her stomach began to sink further.
Asya had told her years ago that things were not well in Russia.
The atmosphere in the palace was an anomaly; the country wasn’t partying until dawn.
They were starving. The street was overrun with people moving quickly as if they were always late, desperately clutching groceries to their chest or fighting over half-loaves of bread.
This was the first time Anastasia had seen it, and it pulled at her. The place she held in her heart for her family calcified further, and she wondered how much farther it could go until it fossilized.
It wasn’t until she stopped in front of a small house, the door half off its hinges, that she was able to look away. Anastasia peered into the house and could see a woman, desperately fanning the embers of her fireplace.
From the looks of it, she had no money for coal or wood, and keeping the fire alive in their home would consume her waking moments. Something came over Anastasia, something she wasn’t familiar with. It caused her magic to flicker alive within her.
It startled her, for a moment, how naturally it warmed in her bloodstream and flushed her cheeks. She had been keeping her magic suppressed for years, and now the strength of it was coming over her, nearly overtook her on the spot.
What’s happening to me?
The sparks danced over her fingertips, and she found herself taking a few steps forward, as if on autopilot. She knocked on the door frame, startling the woman.
“Privet,” Anastasia smiled softly, “May I?” She pointed to the fireplace.
The woman seemed utterly confused, more than anything, but nodded. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing a stranger offer to stoke the fire. Anastasia walked inside, her shoulders tight as a wave of anxiety crashed over her.
Why in God’s name am I going to try this? I’ve killed someone with this fucking magic.
Her thoughts raced. There was something in her overriding the fear, an instinct that drove her to abandon those concerns as soon as they arose. It kept coming back like the tide.
She was nervous about the ebb and flow of the terror and magic within her. As she approached the fireplace, she let her mind go numb and extended her hand out.
The stranger watched on in awe as Anastasia let the magic flow through her fingers, causing the embers to glow hotter until they erupted into flames. Her cheeks grew hot, and she grew weaker, watching on in equal awe as the woman next to her.
“My God,” she muttered, before turning up and looking at Anastasia with tears in her eyes.
For the second time in her life, Anastasia had used her magic for someone else.