Chapter 22
Anastasia shook her head.
“Nyet,” she grabbed the man’s hands, smiling warmly. “There are no saints here. I only want to help.”
He grinned before removing himself from her grasp and jumping up to his feet, whooping as his smile spread from ear to ear.
The young man turned and rushed over to his mother, wrapping her in a hug and spinning around the small space.
The woman was openly crying, hugging her son, and expressing her gratitude for Anastasia.
Mikhail placed his hand on Anastasia’s back, helping her to her feet. His awe was never-ending when it came to her potential.
“Shall we?” He grinned, his hand sliding into hers. She squeezed it and leaned into Mikhail’s side, enjoying the physical reminder of his support.
“If he didn’t realize that it was me in the street, my father will know about me now soon enough,” Anastasia nodded. “We can’t stay here. He’ll come looking for us. It’s safest for everyone if we’re in the palace.”
Mikhail’s brow furrowed. He turned around and gave a small wave of goodbye to the room, tugging Anastasia outside to finish their conversation.
“What do you mean by ‘the safest place for everyone’?” Mikhail frowned, his gaze peering through to her heart.
“It’s safest for everyone if we don’t draw the tsar out into the streets. He’ll come looking for us now. You saw what happened today. He’ll burn half the city to keep me under his thumb.”
“You want to go back to the palace?” Mikhail tried to keep his voice from rising.
He assumed that if Anastasia used her magic openly against the imperial guard, there would be no returning to the palace. It wasn’t safe anymore. They had declared war and were acting on it.
“I don’t want to, no,” Anastasia shook her head. Mikhail hated how easily he could detect the fear in her eyes. “But it’s the safest option we have.”
“You mean it’s the safest for everyone but you,” Mikhail corrected her.
They were standing close enough that Mikhail had to bend down to look Anastasia in the eye. There were still flecks of blood around her nose, and her braid was only half-assembled. She looked tired but not drained.
“Yes,” her voice was slow, “but I couldn’t bear it if I caused more harm to anyone. You know I’m right.”
Mikhail made a frustrated, grunting noise, running his hand over his face.
“This time, yes. I know it’s what we must do. But I need you to get out of this headspace that ‘what is right for everyone’ doesn’t include you. You matter, too.”
Anastasia nodded, focusing more on the fact that Mikhail agreed with her than on what he was saying. Anastasia was used to denying her own needs. Whenever Mikhail presented them to her, it made her uncomfortable.
She trusted herself more every day, but the thought of doing it without him still made her anxious. Anastasia knew the secret to fully understanding her potential meant she’d need to do it without him one day, but right now, she needed him.
Mikhail could tell she was lost in her thoughts and knew, unfortunately, it wasn’t the time to press the issue.
The streets around them had returned to their state before the skirmish. This wasn’t to say they looked much better, but at the very least, there were fewer people.
Windows had already been boarded up, and there were no bodies in the road. They moved through the city, trying and failing to think about the day’s disastrous loss of life. Anastasia paused and let Mikhail step in front of her, holding her hand as he guided her through the city.
The closer they got to the palace, the quieter it got.
Fewer people were milling out. Everyone wanted to avoid the looming, ominous presence of the Winter Palace and everything that happened within it.
The silence made Anastasia uncomfortable.
It was oppressive and quieter than she’d ever experienced.
“Mikhail,” she whispered, stepping closer to the warmth of his body, “Do you…?”
“Yes,” his voice was tight, and he stood up a little straighter. The air around him changed as he looked down the block, keeping his head on a swivel. “Something’s wrong.”
“The streets have been cleared out,” Anastasia murmured. Her eyes went wide in fear. On instinct, magic sparked to life around her fingers. Her heart rate skyrocketed, and the sparks evolved once more, turning to wisps of flame. The light caught Mikhail’s attention, and he raised an eyebrow.
“That’s new,” he nodded with a small smile towards her palms, trying to lighten the mood. “Flames?”
“Apparently,” Anastasia looked down at her hands and willed them to calm down, her magic muting itself just as easily as it sparked.
“You’re getting good at that.” Mikhail’s voice was cut off as a sudden gunshot cut through the silence. A bullet flew past them and ricocheted off the ground.
“Move!” Mikhail yelled, grabbing Anastasia’s hand and pulling her through the streets.
They ran mindlessly towards the Winter Palace, not sure who was shooting at them.
Anastasia covered her head with her hands on instinct, even though it offered no protection.
They were tripping over their feet on the rough road, the bullets pinging around them like flies.
“Where is it coming from?” Anastasia yelled, trying to get Mikhail's attention as they fled.
“I don’t know! Blyat,” he grimaced as a bullet hit dangerously close to his foot, “We have to split up!”
“No!” Anastasia protested fiercely, gripping him tighter. Mikhail wrenched himself free of her hand. “What are you doing?”
“I think they’re only shooting at me.” his voice was hoarse as they looked up, only a few blocks now from the palace. “You can’t get caught in the crossfire!”
“If you think for one second—”
There was a momentary pause as the unseen riflemen reloaded. Anastasia and Mikhail ducked into a nearby alley for cover.
“Listen to me,” he grabbed Anastasia by the shoulders. “I can’t have them shooting you, do you understand me? The people will need you. On my count, I want you to run like hell towards the palace.”
“Are you crazy?” Anastasia slapped him on the chest. “I won’t leave you! I won’t!” Anastasia’s panic was rising like the tide, and behind it, her exhaustion was gaining strength. She was tired of running, tired of scheming, and tired of constantly being afraid.
“You must! I will catch up with you, I promise.” They stood still as they stared at one another, their chests heaving with exertion and fear.
“How can you promise that? What if they shoot you?” Anastasia was wringing her hands together, her fingers sparking.
“Then I’ll find you in the next life, my Anya.”
Mikhail pulled Anastasia closer to him before she could respond, crushing her into a kiss.
It was passion and desperation, a physical manifestation of his desire for her despite the circumstances.
Mikhail swore to himself one day that they’d have the time and safety to explore each other without the threat of death hanging over them.
Anastasia could taste his fear, too, and she wished she could take it away. Mikhail released her with an expression on his face she couldn’t decipher. While she was distracted, studying the look in his eyes, he pushed her into the street.
Anastasia had no time to react. That fucking bastard!
As soon as she was out in the open, her survival instincts kicked in, and she sprinted. Mikhail knew this and forced her hand, driving them apart.
For a few seconds, there were no sounds. No gunshots, no shouting, just the sound of Anastasia’s feet slapping against the pavement. She could see the gates of the palace now, just out of reach. She didn’t know if the shooting would stop once she got there, but it was her only option.
A single gunshot rang out.
Anastasia froze, her feet coming to a complete stop. Her only momentum nearly sent her tumbling to the ground. She turned around, scanning the street. Mikhail had emerged from the alleyway.
They were shooting at him again as he started running, purposefully moving in and out of doorways. He took a less direct route to the palace, moving at almost a jog and not a run.
He’s distracting them. Anastasia’s chest clenched. He’s offering himself up as bloody fucking bait until I get to the palace.
Mikhail had been right; he was their target, not Anastasia.
I’ll be damned if he’s the only one who gets to play this game. Anastasia’s mind turned to violence. She was tired of the abuse from her family. If Mikhail wanted her to use her magic, then she was going to use it. Her hands flew up on their own accord, the magic already sparking between them.
“Let’s see what else you can do,” she whispered to the sparks as they rose into flames on her command. She flicked her wrists forward, and a shockwave of magic spread out from all around her.
It shattered a window nearby, but Anastasia didn’t turn to look.
She thought she heard a gunman fall to the ground.
She warped her magic, twisting it until the air spun in a golden circle in front of her.
It took everything in her to push the magic forward, to send it away from her as she manipulated it.
Her heart threatened to burst, a pounding headache settling in at the pulse of her temples.
The exertion was immediate and consuming, but Anastasia pushed through it.
Time slowed down. Her magic went hurtling down the street until it wrapped itself around Mikhail. It rushed to Mikhail’s place in her stead. He stopped moving, looking up with wild eyes. Anastasia was three blocks away, holding her hands up.
Mikhail didn’t even have a moment to panic as the magic wrapped all around his body, enveloping him. The city around him changed, as if he were looking through gold-colored glasses.