Chapter 12
A CHILD WITH SEVEN NANNIES HAS NO GUARDIAN
Kneeling and taking the child by the shoulders, Stacia peered into the face of the little snow girl. “Zima,” she said, trying to be patient. “Tell me what happened under the bridge after I left.”
Her thumb was back in her mouth, and she was soaking wet and cold. In fact, the little girl was so frozen her lips had turned blue, and her breath was turning to fog. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or a lack of it, but Stacia thought Zima’s pretty blond hair was turning white.
“Zakhar?” Stacia said. “Can you start a fire, please? Quickly? She’s freezing.”
Even Stacia herself could barely suppress a shiver. A brisk wind blew across the river and prickles of sleet came with it, pelting their already wet skin. They’d need to find shelter and fast. Saving Iriko would have to wait. They needed to get the girl warm, then they’d head back to the bridge.
“Wait,” she said as Zakhar turned to begin looking for firewood. “Zima? How far is it to your aunties’ house from here?”
“Not far. Why?”
“It’s getting cold. I’m going to take you home, and then Zakhar and I will head back to save Iriko.
” To Zakhar, she added, “Maybe in town we can trade something for coin. We’ll find out what the vodnik are likely to exchange for one of their victims. We’ll have to hurry, though, before they decide to have him for supper. ”
“Oh, they’re not going to eat him. Not yet, at least. I heard them arguing about who was going to get to keep him for a pet.”
“My, you have big ears,” Stacia said, smiling and standing. “But that’s a good thing. Don’t you worry a bit about Iriko. He can handle being a pet for a while.”
“But they use their pets for fighting,” the little girl added.
“What’s that?” Zakhar said.
Zima pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “Fighting. They have all sorts of pets. Giant fish with huge teeth. Monsters that live at the bottom of rivers. Huge snakes or swamp creatures. He might have to fight some of them. Then if he dies, they’ll probably eat him or feed him to one of their pets. That would be very sad.”
Zakhar and Stacia glanced at each other. Grabbing hold of Zima’s icy hand, Stacia said, “Yes. It would be very sad. Let’s walk a bit faster then, shall we? It’s sure getting cold out here.”
“I’m not too cold yet,” Zima said, “but my aunties get cold, too, sometimes.”
“Do they?”
“Oh yes. They complain about it all the time.”
They hurried along, listening to Zima tell stories about her aunties and how they only seemed to be happy when it was warm.
Then Zima started crying about Iriko, and the sleet fell in thick sheets, soaking their clothing and hair.
She kept saying she was sorry as the icy teardrops fell like diamonds from her eyes and pebbled her pinafore, creating two tiny icicles.
It wasn’t long before the warm lights of the little town came into sight.
The sleet and Zima’s tears finally stopped, thanks to Zakhar’s tale of tigers pulling sleds, but by the time they reached the outer walls, the wind had grown so fierce their clothes were stiff and crunchy with frost. Zakhar believed the temperature had dropped at least thirty degrees since they’d crossed the bridge.
It didn’t make sense to them. In fact, it seemed the more emotional the little girl seemed to be, the more frigid the weather.
And it appeared that the young lady was indeed very concerned about Stacia’s beautiful cat that had been left behind—not that Stacia blamed her; she, too, was worried about Iriko, but first she had to take care of their tearful ward.
Zima’s skin had become so pale and cold that Stacia feared for her life, and yet the little girl insisted she was fine.
Stacia peered at her tiny hand in the moonlight and noticed her fingernails had become blue in addition to her lips.
If she couldn’t get her seated by a fire soon, she feared the young thing might lose her fingers and toes.
Every so often, Stacia would rub Zima’s hands between her own and blow on them to keep them warm.
The gas lamps at the town gate were lit, but there were no guards stationed, so they passed through the entrance easily enough.
Most people appeared to be tucked inside their homes, which made sense considering the current weather.
They could see little cottages lining the main road, along with some small businesses.
All the windows were dark. The homes had puffs of smoke coming from chimneys and flickering candlelight behind their curtains.
Zima’s face brightened as she began to recognize the streets of her home.
Her pace increased, and she tugged on Stacia’s hand, hurrying through the dimly lit streets, ignoring the barking of dogs and the clucking of chickens while ducking between different buildings until she found a path lightly dusted with snow.
“That’s the way,” she said. “I live in a cottage on the edge of the forest on the other side of the town.”
She began to skip, and snowflakes fell heavy and thick around them as they walked up the path.
The flakes clung to her lashes, skirt, and hair, but she didn’t dash them away and still didn’t appear to be affected by the cold.
Stacia shivered violently and wished for her tiger body.
Her fur coat had kept her warm in the deepest of cold weather.
The snow was up to their ankles now. Zakhar slugged along next to her, saying nothing.
She hadn’t told him how grateful she was that he’d been willing to come on this journey with them.
He was a good soul. Maybe they could use a priest at the palace, she thought.
An adviser such as him would be a welcome addition.
Finally, a house came into view, tucked into a copse of trees, just as Zima had described.
It was a large cottage. Definitely big enough to house several adults.
What was better, it had two chimneys, and both of them were spewing a good amount of smoke.
Stacia didn’t think she’d ever seen a more welcome sight.
She couldn’t wait to warm her hands and backside by a crackling fire and get a dry change of clothing.
A hot meal to warm their bellies wouldn’t be a bad thing either.
Zima had skipped far ahead of them. They could hear the echoes of her laugh carried on the wind.
The dark clouds hung over them, ominous but silent, as if waiting to see what would happen next.
It was a reprieve they needed. Stacia and Zakhar were grateful not to have to shield their eyes, even for a little bit, from the snowfall and the sleet.
Before they reached the door, it opened widely, and she could just make out the outlines of several figures.
Stacia could tell they were conversing with Zima, who had stopped dead in her tracks just in front of them, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying to her until they got closer.
When she did, what she heard was shocking.
“Why did you return?” one woman asked.
“Look what you have done, child,” the other accused.
“You know it isn’t time.”
“What will the others say?”
“You know they will blame us.”
“They’ll say we can’t control ourselves.”
“How did you get across, anyway?”
“We made a deal.”
“They shouldn’t have reneged.”
“I told you we should have left well enough alone. But you wanted to be a mother.”
“You know I wasn’t the only one.”
“It isn’t her fault. Let the girl come in. She’s probably hungry.”
“They’re always hungry. Children eat and poop all the time. That’s what they do.”
“Stop being so moody. You’re getting old.”
“We’re all old.”
“Some of us more than others,” a voice said who wasn’t standing at the door. “Stop being rude and invite the strangers inside. Can’t you see they’re cold?”
The three old women, framed in the door, looked up then and noticed Stacia and Zakhar for the first time. “Who are you?” an older lady with gray braids and a moon-shaped face asked.
“Dobry vecher,” Zakhar said, bowing stiffly.
“I am Zakhar Balakin, a humble traveling priest accompanying my tsarina, Her Royal Highness, the Empress Stacia Stepanov. We discovered this lost malyshka on the other side of the river and took it upon ourselves to escort her home. She told us of seven lovely aunties who care for her. Are you perhaps the ladies she mentioned, or can you point us in the direction of their home so that we might find respite for the poor child?”
Stacia peered at Zakhar with a side-eye, a raised eyebrow, and just the tiniest lift of her lip, showing she was impressed.
Well done, Priest, she thought. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Zakhar went to her father’s diplomatic charm school.
He was far too good to be a simple priest. He had some skills.
She’d correct him on the tsarina title later.
Technically, neither she nor her sister had accepted the role as of yet.
They were still tsarevnas. But she supposed it didn’t matter to these women in either case.
She could actually see the bitter melting off the old lady as she batted her nonexistent eyelashes at Zakhar.
“Why, yes, we are Zima’s aunties. Thank you so much for escorting her home.
We are in your debt, good sir. Please,” she said, nodding more to him than to Stacia, “won’t you two come in and warm yourselves by our fire for a bit before you return to town? ”
“What a kind offer,” Zakhar replied, smiling warmly at the woman.
He then quite obviously blew on his hands and managed to blush, deftly apologizing.
“I’d offer my hand as a token and a blessing on your home, good lady, but I’m afraid they’re quite cold, and I wouldn’t want to offend anyone with skin so delicate. ”