Chapter 21
Mikhail and Anastasia lost track of time as they sat in the sitting room of the boarding house. After the noise died down and the magic in Anastasia’s fingers had flickered out, the innkeeper peeked into the dining room.
She said nothing, ignoring the sight around her as if it were perfectly normal. Anastasia untangled herself from Mikhail as he stood first, helping her to her feet.
“The course of true love,” the innkeeper smiled and gave them a little wink, as if she knew what passed between them. Anastasia blushed, looking around at the remnants of the chaos.
“One moment,” she smiled, “I’ll fix this.” The woman nodded, unbothered as though this had never been a concern in the first place.
Anastasia quietly moved around the room, a wave of her hand and the flick of a finger helping to repair the fallen paintings and scorch marks on the furniture.
Mikhail watched, perpetually in awe, at how easily her magic came to her now.
He stopped when the innkeeper appeared at his side, gently putting her hand on his sleeve to get his attention.
“Da?” He looked at her, wondering how much they were going to owe this woman at the end of this.
“She will always come back to you,” the woman’s voice was quiet, almost trancelike. Mikhail took a step closer as her eyes glazed over. “Remember, Mikhail, all you need to do is help nurture her magic. She will do the rest. She will do everything. Just love her.”
The words shot straight to Mikhail’s heart as his mother’s words from years ago rang back at him. He studied the innkeeper’s face, his hand going to her shoulder as he peered into her gaze. His breath caught in his throat.
“Asya?” He dared to speak his mother’s name, but it broke whatever spell had been over the innkeeper. She blinked rapidly and looked at Mikhail with a slightly confused smile.
“Can I get you something, dear?”
“No, no,” Mikhail stood up to his full height and looked around for Anastasia. “That’s alright. Thank you, you’ve done enough.” The woman, satisfied with the response, slipped off into the kitchen.
Anastasia was sitting on a couch in the corner, waving her pointer finger in a circle as her magic restitched a hole in the upholstery.
“Good as new,” Mikhail murmured, coming up behind her and placing his hand on her shoulder. He paused for a moment, cursing himself that he was now hesitating to be intimate with her as freely as before.
“Don’t pull back from me now,” Anastasia said, giving him a small smile. The irony was not lost on her that she was now the one encouraging him to trust her. He couldn’t help but let out a deep chuckle, acquiescing as his hand slid effortlessly to her shoulder.
“Are you ready to go?”
Anastasia nodded, following him towards the door, not bothering the innkeeper with goodbyes as they slipped out. Once they were back on the street, night had fallen, and people were moving about more freely under the cover of dusk. The air was oppressive.
Groups huddled near trash cans with lit fires, under streetlamps with broken lights, tattered clothes moving about them like ghosts. They could see people infiltrating groups, speaking momentarily, and then sliding away. The spies for both sides were painfully obvious to spot.
Amongst the poor man’s espionage and the scattered clusters of light, people and dogs were fighting over the same scraps of food.
What had once been a crowded, quaint street had become overrun as society was caving in all around them.
Dozens of people seemed to hang out of door frames and windows, every house turning into a shelter.
There were young boys no older than fifteen tossing rifles to one another from second-story windows.
Anastasia’s heart clenched as she saw the children hanging off their mothers and pleading with grown men for scraps of food. Mikhail and Anastasia exchanged looks, somber as they took in the chaos the city had descended into—a perfectly preventable chaos, if not for the greed of a few.
Anastasia thought she had seen it all before when she had snuck out over the years, but it had never been this bad. She was pulled from her thoughts by a sudden commotion that broke up the crowds, as a massive Delaunay-Belleville touring car pushed through.
A troupe of imperial soldiers marched in front of the car, shoving people out of the way. Anastasia recognized the tsar’s favorite vehicle immediately. The soldiers aimed their weapons at civilians, pushing them out of the way and threatening them when they didn’t move quickly enough.
Anastasia grabbed Mikhail’s hand and tugged him further from the road, desperate to make sure they weren’t spotted. Of course, that assumed that the tsar was looking. There was such a large group of soldiers surrounding the car that she wasn’t sure he could see past them.
Maybe that’s the whole bloody point. Anastasia grumbled, another wave of righteous anger rising in her. Does he think that everything is okay? They’re organizing a rebellion in the street around him.
A shot rang out. The sound was sharp and hollow, followed by chaos as the crowds scattered. No one knew who fired first, but someone had.
The soldiers shouted, their bayonets stabbing wildly into the crowd as more shots rained down, this time from above. Men grabbed rifles and were hanging out of windows, firing aimlessly into the crowd.
Anastasia watched, a panic-stricken look of horror on her face, as her father and his men pushed through the masses as if they were cattle.
“Come on,” Mikhail urged quietly, attempting to tug her out of the chaos. “We don’t want to get caught in the crossfire. Let’s go!”
His voice grew louder as Anastasia fought to hear him amongst the madness. It was chaos. It was hellfire.
The soldiers started firing at will into the crowd, the people moving like a hive.
They sent wave upon wave at the soldiers, only to be met with fire and blades.
Bodies were piling up, in both tattered clothes and imperial uniforms, as the street ran red.
The car made a sickening thumping sound.
Anastasia gagged when she realized it was the sound of the Delaunay-Belleville running over bodies.
“No,” she stopped moving, pulling on Mikhail’s arm, “I need to help.”
“How do you plan on doing that?” Mikhail looked at the crowd. “This is chaos, Anya. No one emerges from fights like these. Please, I’ve seen them. Live another day with me, I’m begging you.”
“I’ll do it like this,” Anastasia squared her shoulders, preparing to face the crowd, and stared at him in defiance. “Are you with me?” Silence fell between them as the sounds of the skirmish faded away. They looked at one another, and Asya’s words rang in Mikhail’s head.
Encourage the Romanov magic.
Mikhail wrapped his hand around the back of Anastasia’s head, pulling her closer. He kissed her like it was their last day on earth, Mikhail letting out a grunt against her lips as he forced himself away from her just as quickly.
“I’m with you,” he nodded, and Anastasia grinned. She turned on her heel to face the worst of the fray and threw her hands up in the air. A sweeping wave of magic began rolling up towards them from behind, the beginning tremors of an earthquake.
Mikhail ducked and nearly fell as the force erupted behind them, Anastasia’s hands throwing it forward. The air moved around her as her palms exploded into bright, golden light, drawing everyone’s attention.
Anastasia looked like an Orthodox saint, born for vengeance, and some people squealed, and others shouted in fear. She screamed as she controlled the sweeping waves of magic, sending the forcefield into the line of soldiers.
It hit them in a crash, sending them falling and scattering like they weighed nothing. Any soldier who was still standing on their feet after the blast fell over from the shock alone.
A few attempted to stand again, but the men who had been hit with magic looked dazed and confused. The people around Anastasia started to cheer when they realized she was fighting for them. Her hair was slipping out of its braid, and a manic look was on her face.
Mikhail stood behind her, faithful and steadfast as he watched her back.
A few errant soldiers attempted to knock Anastasia to the ground, but he kept them at bay.
—His mind drifted to how her body was holding up under the constraints of using such power.
The first line of soldiers recovered from the shock, and it only took a few seconds for them to train their rifles on Anastasia.
“Anastasia!” Mikhail shouted from behind her, pulling them to the ground. Her concentration on her magic broke, sending another shockwave through the ground.
Peasants and soldiers alike fell, windowpanes shaking against the walls, as the tremor traveled for blocks around. As soon as Mikhail and Anastasia hit the ground, a volley of bullets went buzzing past them.
Anastasia jumped up to her feet; her mind consumed with one thing as her light and power danced across her hands. It burned in her veins, lighting her on fire from the inside out. The sight so dumbfounded the soldiers that they started tripping over themselves to get away.
There were cries all around them: from the people who believed she was a saint and the soldiers who thought she was a sinner. The fact that a priest accompanied Anastasia without his collar only fueled the Revelations-inspired panic.
The car gathered more traction as people cleared away, stray bullets still flying all around her. Anastasia didn’t know if her father recognized her, but the soldiers certainly had.
Anastasia’s magic was no longer a secret. It was one thing to help people in the shadows, but this open act of warfare against the Imperial troops was a declaration of her intent.
Anastasia and Mikhail needed to be prepared to face the consequences. The word would spread: Anastasia Romanov had magic, a mysterious priest at her back, and used that power against her father.