8. Every Blade Has Its Billet Fate Cannot Be Sidestepped
8
EVERY BLADE HAS ITS BILLET: FATE CANNOT BE SIDESTEPPED
The funeral of the beloved tsarina, Ludmila Marianka Sashenka Stepanov, was even grander than that of her late husband, buried only a few years prior. The entire empire mourned. Heads of state, diplomats, lords and their ladies, scholars, clergy, burghers, and even the impoverished, pressed their way to the capital to pay their final respects.
Those not invited to the ceremony left tokens of affection at the gates, palmed thoughtfully written notes with descriptions of kind words or acts the tsarina had done for their town or family into the hands of the Royal Guardsmen, or simply placed bunches of gathered fall wildflowers or left handmade gifts in baskets along the road nearby.
Stacia and Veru had the flowers, notes, and gifts gathered daily, sifted through them personally, and shared them with the staff. Those were the items that would have held the most meaning for their mother. Their mother’s favorite flowers, specially grown year-round in her greenhouse, were brought into their mother’s gardens, where they were placed on display along with the simple arrangements produced by their own servants and the commoners for the three days of viewing that took place before their mother was interred in the family crypt.
The nations loyal to the empire sent dignitaries along with more lavish gifts, each trying to show their devotion by the extravagance of the items or for the attention to detail given to the token. These were, of course, accepted as well with the grace and decorum expected for such an occasion. The twins were, after all, their parents’ daughters. Though they still postponed all major decisions, they stiffened their shoulders, bearing the burdens of leadership together, just as their mother had wanted. They knew what was expected of them, even during a time of intense mourning.
Rival nations’ responses varied. Some sent condolences while others quietly schemed, planning how they might use the tsarina’s death to their own advantage. The twins knew this, but there was nothing to be done about it at present. They had learned, above all else, to deal with the matter at hand first, and save other matters for tomorrow. Compartmentalizing concerns had been a large part of their training, but they were still very, very young. And now the two of them were orphans in truth with the weight of a vast empire and all the peoples living in it resting on their very narrow shoulders.
One thing all the people both rich and poor, royal and peasant, loyal to the empire and those scheming against it, had in common, the emotion underlaying the sorrow or greed or empathy or plotting, was unease. Everyone sensed change was coming. Each person wondered what would happen next. Would the tsarevnas rise up and rule seamlessly as their parents had before them? Would one or both of them marry advantageously, and would that man lead or let his wife rule? Would one of the twins choose a man from their own country, or would he hail from a rival kingdom? Would it be a political marriage? Were the twins even ready to take on such a challenge?
There were so many questions. So much speculation. It was all anyone could consider. Hushed whispers abounded in every corner of every town and every hollow touched by the empire’s reach.
It was only a matter of time until those whispers became shouts. Until voices demanded that they knew better. That their ideas were stronger. More viable.
But for now, the people knew the respectful and appropriate thing would be to at least wait until the tsarina was properly laid to rest before voicing their concerns. They would then let the twins make an announcement before making any hasty decisions. After all, the girls had the backing of the Royal Guard, did they not? Of course, there were those who favored Stacia while others preferred Veru, but most everyone agreed they’d feel much better about either one of the twins if they announced an engagement to a suitable match.
The people weren’t the only ones with matchmaking on their minds. Grigor himself was considering the idea. He wasn’t a particularly amorous fellow by nature, and he wasn’t exactly enamored with all the work that came with leading an empire. However, both girls appeared to be adept at the job, which would leave him free to do what he wanted. He’d then have the resources he needed to continue his search.
Even if they denied his suit, so long as he ensconced himself as a counselor, a healer, or even as a religious zealot, thereby gaining the favor of either young lady, it might be possible to attain his aims. He’d have to rid himself of the lovestruck soldier boy first. That one would cause trouble.
He could use him as a minion, Grigor supposed, but he had plenty of those already. True, there was something... different about the boy. It wasn’t his past abuse. No. He’d seen plenty of those cases over the years and had been inundated with enough sad little fellows in need of a mamenka. It wasn’t that. Surely it wasn’t that he identified with him.
Grigor loathed the very thought. The idea that he could have something in common with a young man who would risk his own life, the little power and freedom he possessed, for the mere possibility of obtaining the attentions of a beautiful woman sickened him. And yet... he couldn’t deny there was a depth of character that went unseen by most, a ruthless quality hidden just beneath that flaccid surface.
It was that spark that made the boy interesting. Otherwise, he would have been dead already. Like everyone else, Grigor lurked, watching and waiting for just the right moment to present his own proposal to the royal twins. It would have to be timed to perfection.
Interestingly enough, it turned out that the lad was more useful alive than dead. After the tsarina’s death, Grigor had been thanked, given a bag of coin, but then was summarily dismissed and shuffled quickly out of the palace. When he had requested a week’s lodging, he’d been reluctantly shown to the boy’s own bunk, where he slept as a medic’s apprentice in the soldier barracks.
Grigor was only aware of the goings-on in the palace thanks to his connection to the boy’s mind. It seemed the young man had indeed caught the favor of the tsarevna, at least in the way of camaraderie. After the tsarina’s death, he was relocated to rooms nearby his beloved, though, as far as Grigor could discern, the relationship was still completely platonic.
As Grigor watched their connection cement during the time of mourning, he knew this was his chance. After waiting the appropriate number of days for the funeral rites to be accomplished and for the visiting dignitaries to leave, he caught a mental glimpse of the young man heading to the royal stables. He quickly set off to intercept him.
“Hello,” said the Death Draughtsman from the shadowed corner of the stable.
Startled, Nik dropped the bristle brush. He’d been preparing Veru’s favorite horse for a ride. It had been Nik’s hope that he and his tsarevna riding together through the countryside might lift her spirits. Truthfully, he’d also hoped he’d seen the last of the frightening man who had just made a sudden appearance in the barn. Apparently, he wasn’t so lucky.
“You’re still here, then?” Nik asked, stooping to pick up the brush. “I thought you’d given up.”
“Not at all.” The man smiled, and Nik shivered at the sight of those white teeth in the shadows. “I wonder,” he said, coming closer, “if the two of us might help one another.”
“Oh?” Nik said, brushing the horse a little too hard. It danced away from him, neighing in protest. “How’s that?”
“You know, you and I are much the same.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. We are wolves, living among men. To hide, we fool them. They think we are tame, like loyal dogs who play fetch. But we are wild at heart, aren’t we? You have this same quality. I have seen it in your mind.”
“What’s your point?” Nik asked.
“My point, boy...” the Death Draughtsman said, placing his hands on the door of the stall, his long fingers wrapping around the wood.
Nik swallowed, noticing that the man’s fingernails were jagged, broken, and too long. They were crusted beneath with dirt, like he’d been sleeping beneath the ground with his undead army and had recently exhumed himself from the soil.
“... is that, though sometimes solitary, wolves are also known to run in packs, to take down larger prey. I propose that we do the same. Perhaps you’ve heard the saying that goes, ‘A wolf doesn’t claw its own kind’?”
“Yes,” Nik answered slowly. “And... what is it we’re hunting, exactly?”
Grigor smiled; reached into the inside pocket of his floor-length, voluminous robe; and pulled out the largest, gaudiest, ornate emerald ring he had ever seen. As Nik gaped, Grigor answered, “My dear boy, we are hunting brides.”
* * *
It was that very evening after having sent word to Veru that he’d canceled plans for their morning ride, claiming he’d fallen suddenly ill, that they arranged to meet with the sisters. To say Nik was nervous was an understatement of the worst kind. He actually felt physically ill. He was in it now. Either Veru was going to go along with this farce and marry him, or she was going to banish him from her side forever. It was the worst kind of risk he could possibly take, and yet he felt he had to do it. He was sick of doing nothing. That much was true. It was time to move forward, one way or another.
“Sit back, boy. Relax. Everything is going to go according to plan. Remember: it’s the best thing for the empire. Everyone gets what they want. The empire will be stable with two tsarinas engaged to be married to very worthy, eligible, and wealthy suitors. They will have plenty of time to decide which of them wants to rule, as neither of us desires such. And should Stacia wish to marry another at some point, we can arrange a dissolution with some sort of contract. As for you and Veru, the two of you can arrange your union as you wish. Trust me. It will work.”
“How can I relax when all I care about in the world is at stake?”
“You know what I can do. Even should they not want to listen to reason, they will not be able to resist the powers I possess. It’s for their own good and the good of the empire. When it comes to that, how can you doubt me?”
“I knew what you could do for their mother, and yet I saw you falter.”
“I told you; I did not falter. There was no hesitation or lack of skill on my part. The woman simply refused to live. Most beings reach for some semblance of life. She wouldn’t. It was a first for me.” He waved a hand in dismissal. Nik noticed that even though he’d cleaned up, slicked oil through his long, wiry hair, changed his heavy robes for more lavish clothing, and wore expensive jewels, he still looked... old . There was nothing modern about his selections. The jewels were garish and unattractive, his beard unkempt, his eyes wild, and there was still dirt beneath his too-long and cracked, broken fingernails. He brushed something from his fur-lined robe. “It was for the best anyway. Now we are in a better place to take what we want. No?”
“I guess,” Nik said, looking away from the man, trying to hide the disgust.
“What is with the guessing? Tonight you will be accepted. Tonight you will celebrate your engagement to your lyubit, the beauty of the empire. Enjoy this moment.”
“They aren’t duraki or simple nesting dolls you can shuffle around. It’s very likely they’ll see through all this.” Sweat broke out on Nik’s temple as he plucked at his vest. He yanked on the tight collar circling his neck. Why did the wealthy wear so many clothes? He longed to remove the tight jacket. “Where did you get these clothes anyway?” he asked, shifting in the bouncing carriage.
“Do you really want to know?” the man asked, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.
Nik could only imagine. He could almost smell the vague stench of the undead on the clothing despite the heavy splash of cologne the Death Draughtsman patted on Nik’s person when he climbed into the fancy vehicle. It was too much. He couldn’t even stand to be around himself. How could he expect a tsarevna to like it?
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t want to know.” Nor did he want to know how he and his newfound “father” had ended up being the exiled royals of a small island kingdom, along with the paperwork and enough wealth in the form of rubles, gold, and gems to prove it, and the sworn testimonies on paper from dozens of neighboring countries, dignitaries, and clergy.
That the papers were forgeries was certain since they’d only hatched the plan that morning, but the rolled and sealed forms were cleverly done, created by an expert. It was the wealth that boggled Nik’s mind. With all the treasure he had at his disposal, why in the world was a man that powerful searching for simple charms? It made no sense. Then to seek the hand in marriage of the tsarevna? Did he want to be the tsar? Was that his aim all along?
Truthfully, Nik was the one who felt like a durak. He was missing something. Biting his lip, he thought that he didn’t even care if Veru agreed to the marriage or not. If he could simply steal her away, even for a moment, then perhaps he could explain how he’d brought a viper into their home. Maybe she’d forgive him. Maybe she’d kill him. He probably deserved it.
But then what if she said yes? Then what would he do? Continue to play the man’s game? Pretend he was something he wasn’t? Watch as the man likely killed Stacia or, at the very least, controlled her like a puppet? Nik didn’t particularly like Stacia, but he didn’t hate her. He thought she’d make a very good tsarina, in fact. The empire needed someone to rule, after all. And Stacia was a good sort of person for that.
The thing was, if he could take the man at his word, the plan didn’t actually sound all that bad. Giving the twins more time wasn’t a bad thing. The empire did need stability. But anyone who promised to give you everything you ever wanted at no cost to you was lying. Making a deal with the devil always ended with regret.
Then there was no more thinking. They’d arrived. Whatever power the Death Draughtsman used to control those around him still worked on the soldiers, because they mindlessly opened the gate for their carriage, not even asking who they were. Then, when they pulled up at the front door of the palace, other servants, their eyes glazed over, opened the carriage and guided them up the steps and into the lavish front hall, taking them all the way into the receiving room, a place reserved for only the top dignitaries. Nik had never set foot in that room before.
Inside the opulent room with floors polished to a sheen that sparkled so brightly it was almost mirrorlike, the two of them were left, the heavy doors closing with a thump behind them. Above, sparkling chandeliers were lit with dozens of candles, their light reflecting from crystals dangling from the delicate gold-filigreed candleholders that were mimicked by other ornate candlelit sconces placed around the room at intervals, bathing the entire room in warm light.
At one end of the room was a raised dais with two gilded thrones and several padded benches flanking them on either side. Nik assumed these were reserved for Royal Counselors or other ranking officials. At the moment the thrones were empty. It appeared they were in a ballroom of some type. He was studying his image in the large mirrors that cast an “infinity” reflection since they were set on opposing sides of the room and frowning at his clothing, attempting to adjust the ill-fitting jacket and vest, when his “father” elbowed him.
The heavy red curtains behind the matching thrones shifted as if moved by the wind and then parted as the twins, dressed in courtly apparel, entered the room and were seated, accompanied by four Royal Guardsman wearing highly polished court armor, their swords at the ready. They took up positions on either side of the twins, and Nik, looking into the hard faces of the soldiers, knew instantly that these were not trainees but experienced men of war who had been recalled. He didn’t recognize a single one of them, which was probably both a good and a bad thing. It meant they didn’t automatically know him either.
He could see the shock register on the twins’ faces when they realized the two men standing before them were not, in fact, a king and a prince from a distant land but the monk who’d tried and failed to heal their mother, and Nik, the soldier they’d trained with for years, dressed up in new clothing.
Stacia spoke first. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Is this some sort of joke, Nik?” Veru asked. “Because I don’t find it funny.”
Almost in perfect synchrony, the soldiers stepped off the dais, their armor clinking in harmony, and they drew their swords.
Stacia held up a hand. “Captain Kostya, hold. Don’t throw them out just yet. I want to hear what they have to say for themselves.”
Thankfully for Nik, the Death Draughtsman stepped forward to speak first. As for him, he was speechless. He knew Veru, and she was livid. He’d betrayed her, and he wouldn’t be forgiven—he could read it on her face. There would be no accepting of his proposal today. The blood in his veins turned to ice. Frantically, he searched his mind for a way out, a way to save himself from the terrible mistake he’d made. If he was very, very lucky, she wouldn’t have him sent to the northernmost border to freeze to death.
“I understand your confusion,” the Death Draughtsman began. “My son has lived with you for many years in disguise, and this must seem like a terrible deception on his part. But I ask you please to bear him no malice. We were in hiding, you see. Something, as royals, I’m sure you can understand, even though you are still young girls in your tender years.”
Nik would have groaned and slapped his face if he could. Did he not hear how he was talking down to the tsarevnas? Just because they were female, and young, did not mean they were ignorant or needed a man to explain the way of things. The best thing for Nik to do would be to prostrate himself before them. He was about to do just that when he noticed how the four soldiers had lowered their swords and stood erect, staring into nothing, their eyes glazed over.
He started sweating again, wondering if the man was going to hurt the twins. Quickly he turned his attention to them, trying to warn them with a glance, but they weren’t paying him any mind. Were they also falling victim to the same spell? Nik inhaled, smelling magic at work. What could he do? His magic was nothing compared to this man’s. Would he kill them while they sat there on their thrones? Perhaps he would just mesmerize them like he was doing with the soldiers.
Nik wondered how long such a thing worked. Was it permanent? Maybe it only lasted as long as he was in the same room. He narrowed his eyes then, no longer sweating but curious, trying to figure out how the man was using his power. Trying to discern its limitations. Would he use his magic to force them to obey? To marry them? Nik was sick at the very thought. He wanted Veru, yes. But not that way.
As he watched the sisters, half-listening to the dialogue of the Death Draughtsman as he went on fabricating his falsehoods about their past and heard their questions coupled with his answers, he studied them for any signs of falling under his thrall and found none. The soldiers, on the other hand, not only appeared to be completely senseless but entirely unaware of their surroundings. What’s more, his new “father” didn’t seem to be paying the soldiers any further attention whatsoever, instead focusing all his efforts on the twins.
The more the man talked, the more frustrated he appeared to become. Nik tuned back in to their conversation and heard Veru say, “So you’re proposing we marry the two of you? And the benefit to us would be what , exactly?”
Stacia snorted. “Why are you even asking? There is no benefit to us. We don’t need your money, such as it is. You think we are donkeys to lead us out onto the ice? Nyet.”
“Perhaps the young lady is forgetting my considerable powers and the favors granted that allowed a final farewell to occur between her and her mama? Also, keep in mind an alliance with us will be favorable in other ways. Remember: neither of us possess a desire to rule. We are both in agreement that the two of you are as perspicacious as you are lovely and are therefore much more apt to leadership. Should you choose us for mates, we are prepared to sign over all rights and responsibilities to the empire as well as all decision-making to the two of you.”
Stacia sat back in her chair and crossed a long leg. Apparently, that statement had caught her attention. But Nik could see the naked doubt on her face. He didn’t blame her. After removing an invisible speck from her skirt, she said, “Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” the man mumbled distractedly.
Magic swirled in the room so thickly that Nik could almost taste it. The soldiers swayed in danger of falling over. Nik took a step toward the man and saw his eyes had gone black and beads of sweat dotted his brow.
“Are... are you quite well?” Nik asked him.
The man turned to Nik, tearing his eyes from the sisters. “I don’t understand,” he said. “There’s something about this family. They resist my powers.”
Nik nodded and took a few steps back, watching the man closely as he clutched at a token hanging about his neck and sputtering, continued. “In... in addition, should the coffers ever need filling to fund various wars, pay wages, feed the hungry or the winter-stricken, or whatever pet project the two of you decide to take under your wing”—Nik saw both the twins tense up at his words again—“you need never worry over funding. I will set no limit to the bounds of your cupidity. As your husbands, it will be within our power to grant you any amount of coin for any purchases you choose to make. The fact is, you need husbands to stabilize the empire, and we are offering you an option you might be able to live with. All we ask is that you consider us.”
Veru leaned forward then and simpered, blinking her long lashes. She sighed dreamily. “Could I wear a golden train? I’ve always wanted to have a golden train on my wedding dress.”
Nik knew they were in serious trouble if she was putting on a show.
“Absolutely, my dear. Anything you like. All I ask in return...” He glanced over at Nik, who had been continuously edging away from the man little by little. “All we ask in return,” he continued, “is that you help us attempt to locate these three charms.”
He held up a copy of the drawing he’d made for Nik. It was very detailed. Nik still had his own copy that he kept with his magical items in his hidden stash in the woods.
“Charms?” Stacia asked, her interest revived. “May we see your drawing?”
“Of course,” the man replied with a winning smile.
He approached the thrones, and that’s when the sisters finally noticed that their Royal Guard were frozen in place. But soldiers themselves, they simply gave one another a slight nod. Inside the thrones were hidden compartments. They pressed a button to ring a secret bell for other Guardsmen, and, at the same time, knives dropped from beneath the arms of the chairs and were quickly hidden behind their voluminous skirts or slipped into their boots.
Stacia took the paper from the man, who bowed and stepped back down from the dais, staring hopefully into the faces of the tsarevnas for any sign of recognition. Gazing long and hard at each charm, Stacia took in each one, nodded to the man, and then passed it along to Veru, who added comments such as, “Aren’t they so pretty?” and “Are they made of gold or silver?”
Though the twins were very good actresses and adept at hiding information from those they did not wish to share it with, the knowledge of the charms wasn’t something they could keep secret, at least not for long. Nik knew both of them far too well. It would only be a matter of time before he found out what they were hiding. The question then would be: Where did his loyalty lie?
Attempting to dismiss the man, Stacia said, “You have given us much to think about. May we keep a copy of this, consult with one another, and give you our answer within the week? You may, of course, remain here if you wish. Arrangements can be made for the two of you to stay in our guesthouse.”
The Death Draughtsman smiled, bowed, and replied, “That would be very acceptable. Isn’t that right, son?” He walked up to Nik and clapped him on the shoulder. The twins rose and turned, parting the curtain to leave. It was Veru who touched the charm hidden on a chain under the neckline of her dress. When she did, the shadow man felt the magic of the amulet like a wave.
The smile slowly died on his face, and his hand tightened on Nik’s shoulder until the younger man cried out. Whipping around, the Death Draughtsman laughed, and the sound was terrible indeed. Nik could almost see darkness gathering around the man as he whipped off the heavy fur-lined cloak. “You!” he said, in a seething voice, half mad, half gleeful. “You thought you could hide it from me!”
“Veru!” Nik pled, ripping a knife from his own vest. “Run!”
He plunged the dagger into the man’s chest. Blood spurt out from the wound, sliding across the knife and onto Nik’s hands. The man screamed in rage and pulled out the knife, tossing it to the floor before using his power to throw Nik across the room. The younger man thumped into the wall, hitting his head hard. The twins ran back into the room along with several new soldiers. Swords drawn, the soldiers engaged the Death Draughtsman but fell under his stupor one by one.
Only Stacia and Veru were left to battle. They fought hard, but their would-be suitor used his power to hide in a fog, only reappearing to grab hold of one sister and then the other. The twins, instinctively, turned back-to-back, protecting one another. They spun slowly, circling, and waiting for an attack that didn’t come. Sweat broke out on Stacia’s forehead, and she cursed the skirts that constantly threatened to trip her. Veru nervously passed her deadly sharp knife between one hand and the other, her eyes equally as sharp, waiting for the moment to strike, but it never came.
When the chanting of the monk-turned-suitor began, they froze. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Light suddenly filled the room, and a beam of it shot out from the fog, then it split in two, hitting the twins right in the chest. They screamed, and each one clutched the pendant they wore around their necks. Then they dropped to the polished floor on their hands and knees, their carefully coiffed hair tumbling around their faces.
Pain filled both Stacia and Veru as the blood pounded in their veins.
Nik, groaning and stumbling as he tried to stand, dashed the blood dripping from a cut over his eyes and gasped in horror as the two young women he knew, one he loved more than anything, the twins who were to rule an empire, changed into something monstrous and terrifying, something nightmarish made of teeth and claw.
The beasts rose and attacked. Then came the smell of blood and fur and magic mixed with his own vomit. The hot stench of his own death and fear hit his face, the warmth exploding over his skin until it was all he could smell and taste. Bile rose again, and then he knew no more.