Chapter 17 #2
“I would imagine struggling to feed his family outweighs it.” Her voice was quick and cutting; Anastasia responded before she could think.
She thought of the fathers she met who couldn’t feed their own children.
They were never able to sleep, caught in a never-ending torment of the tsar’s own creation.
It was a burden she wouldn’t wish upon anyone.
A burden the tsar had never come close to knowing but inflicted upon others.
Anastasia knew now the hunger that plagued her country, her people, was a policy choice.
The tsar’s eyebrows went up slightly in surprise at her rebuttal. If he’d been expecting Anastasia to be more agreeable without Mikhail standing behind her, he was wrong.
“All of the people in Russia are the tsar’s children,” he tilted his head to the side, their chess match officially engaged.
“Then you must be fraught with worry,” Anastasia struggled to keep her anger contained, rage taking the place of her anxieties, “Knowing all of your children are starving.”
“Sometimes the best thing a parent can do for a child is to let them find their own way.” The tsar was unbothered, shrugging slightly as if there was nothing to be done about the problems plaguing the country.
“Is that what you did to me? Let me find my way?” Anastasia snapped back, some of her fury rushing to the surface. She retorted too quickly, cursing herself under her breath, trying to remain cool-headed.
The tsar held up his hands in mock surrender and relaxed against the chair, picking absently at the velvet. “You did find your powers, didn’t you?”
“I did. No one else, and it was certainly not because of anything you did.” Her voice rose in pitch.
She could feel the golden magic beginning to flare in her fingertips as it responded to her fury, and she moved her hands behind her back to hide it.
“Everything I am is despite you, not because of you.” The tsar managed to look surprised for a brief second before plastering a placating, neutral expression on his face.
“Let’s not fight,” he tutted. “I came here to speak to you cordially.”
“I believe we are far past cordial, moi tsar.” Anastasia couldn’t believe her father’s gall, although it should be no surprise that he would walk into her room and suggest pleasantries.
“We don’t have to be,” he remarked smoothly. The tsar still looked effortlessly put together, despite the stressful situation. Anastasia’s blood pressure rose.
Mikhail, dear God, if there was ever a time to read my thoughts, it’s now. Please come back!
Sweat was breaking out on Anastasia’s palms, and her magic was getting harder to tamp down as she stared at her father.
The sight of his face in her rooms alone threatened to pull her back into that traumatic place in her mind, a place where she was caged and prodded, bound by her own gifts, abandoned by her family.
“I’m listening.”
The tsar looked at his daughter, searching for any sign of sentimentality he could use against her.
“You should wed Nikolai,” he sensed Anastasia’s interruption and held up a hand, silencing her, “It will not be permanent. We can have the marriage annulled once you dispose of him.”
Anastasia shuddered. She knew firsthand how brutal and cruel her father could be, but it was still shocking to hear him discuss murder so casually. She remembered the greasy boyars and their crude suggestions of seduction and assassination.
“Yes, your confidants made it very clear how they thought I should approach that situation.”
“And I saw how you responded to their suggestion.” The tsar responded swiftly.
“You can do the same to Ruzsky. Don’t you see?
” He stood and took a few steps towards her, an enigmatic smile on his face.
The tsar was the trickiest of predators, who knew how to wield charm like a weapon, and it broke Anastasia’s heart.
What would I have done as a child to see a smile like that on his face? Anastasia’s resolve was firm, but there was a small child inside of her who was desperate for her father’s approval. It was a drug she had been chasing for most of her life.
“It will be so easy,” the tsar said, getting closer, holding out an arm.
He approached like he was attempting to soothe a wild animal.
“You can handle Ruzsky, and then everything will be simpler for us. The threats against our family will be dissipated, and we can focus on making things better.” The tsar’s voice was like honey, almost hypnotic as he painted a picture for Anastasia of familial bliss. She didn’t trust it.
“Better for who?” She took a step back, away from her approaching father, but couldn’t bring herself to leave the room.
“It will be better for everyone. You wouldn’t have to be in hiding, and you could marry Rasputin.” Anastasia cringed at his insistent usage of Mikhail’s unused name. “We’ll make you a commissioner for the people. Or maybe a liaison or an ambassador. Whatever you’d like!”
Dangerous glimpses of hope danced in Anastasia’s vision, but the words coming out of her father’s mouth tasted like poison. She knew it was nothing but smoke and mirrors. Still, hearing those words come out of his mouth was a devastating blow all its own.
“We could be a family again,” he grinned, now only a few steps away from her. “Wouldn’t you like that? It’s been years since we had all my children at one table.”
Anastasia bit back a curse, unable to help it as tears sprang to her eyes.
The loss of her siblings, one by one, hurt her the most over the years.
They all trusted their parents far too much and slowly gave up trying to visit or write to Anastasia while she was exiled to her apartments.
It didn’t matter if they were all living under the same roof; it might as well have been miles apart.
“I had a family,” Anastasia rebuked the tsar, backing away from him. “I had Asya.” Her hands were shaking furiously now, golden sparks flickering off them and floating down towards the floor. The tsar noticed and tutted his tongue, shaking his head.
“Ah, yes, dear Asya. I know you loved her. We don’t want any more accidents like that, do we?” Anastasia avoided making eye contact with the tsar, biting her lip. “You can handle Ruzsky, and then you’d never have to use your magic again, if that is what you want.”
“No,” Anastasia shook her head. “No, I was a child. What happened to Asya wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault!” Panic began to descend on Anastasia, and rational conversation began slipping away from her like smoke. She started shuffling her feet, unable to keep still.
The tsar grew more frustrated, studying his daughter and only seeing weakness. He needed to get her to agree to their plan, and quickly, before her lap dog of a priest came back.
“It was your fault!” The tsar yelled, his booming voice echoing in her empty apartments. The thin grasp he had on his control snapped. People always fell to the tsar's will; he’d never had such a difficult time convincing someone to do his will.
“Stop it!” Anastasia shrieked, the tears now fully streaming down her face. Power was flickering across her palms like an electrical current. She pressed her hands to her ears, unable to block out the tsar. “Stop it!”
“It was your fault we had to kill that damn woman!” The tsar cursed, shaking his finger in Anastasia’s face. As soon as he said it, he froze. Neither Anastasia nor the tsar breathed. He took a step backward, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
Anastasia couldn’t move, frozen to the floor when she stood. All the blood rushed out of her head, and she was wavering on weak legs. It was taking all her concentration to remain upright. Her pulse pounded in her temples, threatening to take her out at the knees.
“What did you say?” Her voice was quiet, and she lifted her head, staring at her father. Decades of guilt started to crumble.
“He said they killed Asya.”
Mikhail’s voice cut through the deathly quiet.
Anastasia gasped, her head snapping towards the sound.
Mikhail was standing in the doorway, his face etched in fury, an expression of rage so all-consuming, she’d never seen it before on his face.
She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but he’d heard enough.
Anastasia’s head started to pound, a thousand hammers descending on her temples, nearly driving her to her knees.
“For fuck’s sake,” the tsar growled, looking between them. “You couldn’t keep a lid on that damn magic, Anastasia. When it exploded, we had no choice.”
“Of course you had a fucking choice!” she shrieked, launching herself at her father. The rage boiling inside of her erupted. Without a moment’s hesitation, her hands found their way around her father’s throat.
She clawed at him, intent on choking the life out of the tsar. Unfortunately, she was no match for his superior strength, and he tossed her to the floor without any effort.
Mikhail had been struck dumb by the door, trying to process the revelation. Anastasia fell, and it pulled him from his stupor. He crossed the room towards the tsar, and by the time Anastasia looked up from the ground, Mikhail was aiming a pistol at her father at point-blank range.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t pull the trigger,” his voice had a deadly calm that made Anastasia shiver. “I told you once if you touched her again, I’d kill you.”
“You can’t kill me!” The tsar roared, pressing his forehead up against the barrel in a challenge. “What do you think will happen? I am the tsar of all Russia!”
“And I’m in love with that woman!” Mikhail bellowed, pointing towards Anastasia. “Tell me, moi tsar, which one of these do you think inspires more passion in a man?”
Anastasia gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Amidst the chaos rapidly unfolding all around them, of all the insanity spoken by her father, she couldn’t believe what she had just heard. The tsar scoffed, shaking his head.
“Do you really think she loves you, too? She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s a spoiled woman who’s hardly ever left the palace. She doesn’t know what love is.” The tsar spoke as if Anastasia wasn’t even in the room.
“I do know,” Anastasia’s voice was firm.
She rose to her feet, getting Mikhail and the tsar’s attention.
“I knew love when I was with Asya. I forgot… God, I forgot for a long time. You made sure of that.” Anastasia accused her father.
“Mikhail reminded me,” she swallowed thickly, unable to shake the fact that this was potentially the worst time to have this conversation. “And I love him.”
Mikhail’s smile was so bright that it could light every lamp in the Winter Palace.
“Ha!” The tsar shook his head again, “No better than peasants, both of you, with your ridiculous obsessions.” He took a step back from Mikhail and stared at the end of the pistol, which was still aimed at him.
“Let him go,” Anastasia murmured, coming up and putting her hand on Mikhail’s arm. “His end will be much more public than this.” The tsar sputtered, insulted more than he was afraid for his own life. His face went red at the threat, and his hands clenched into fists.
“Go,” Mikhail’s voice was rough as he waved the pistol in the direction of the door. “You’re dismissed.”
Anastasia watched as Mikhail tensed, pulling her to his side with an unreadable expression, and dismissed the tsar of Russia from his presence.