Chapter 18 Raina #2
I draw a breath and start to sing. My voice is rough, but the melody is steady. The first verse is the same as always. I talk about a little house. I mention water and trees. Nadia’s shoulders ease. I see her mouth moving along with mine.
On the second verse, I change the words.
“Little house on the narrow white lake,” I sing. “Tall dark pines and one crooked birch. Old stone dam where the water runs thin. Road from the city with the broken third bridge.”
Sergei’s eyes lock on mine. He doesn’t blink.
Nadia mouths the new line, slowing on the details. She frowns in concentration.
“Say it with me,” I coax. “Little house on the narrow white lake. Tall dark pines and one crooked birch. Old stone dam. Broken third bridge.”
She repeats it in a small voice.
“Good,” I say. “Third verse now.”
The third verse holds more. I keep the melody simple so the words sit clear.
“Snow on the road past Klin’s cold sign,” I sing. “Blue roof line and carved red birds. Old well ring with three iron hooks. Two hours north when the roads stay clean.”
That is as clear as I dare. Klin is a real town. The rest points to a cluster of cottages we used once for a winter drop, long ago, before Nadia. Sergei remembers that trip. He remembers the hooks on the well, because he cut his hand on one when he pulled a crate.
“Again,” I say softly. “Together.”
Nadia stumbles over “Klin,” then gets it. She repeats “blue roof line” in a small chant. Sergei’s spine is rigid now. His face is still, but his eyes burn.
“I like that part,” Nadia says. “Blue roof.”
“I know,” I say. “You tell Papa all the new words later. Every part. You keep them in order.”
“I will,” she says.
I see Anastasia behind them. Her eyes are on Nadia’s face, not mine. Her hand is still on that small shoulder. I can’t tell what she hears in the song. She grew up farther east. The names may not mean anything to her.
I add one last verse. I keep it short. I do not dare more.
“Little star, count three tall pines,” I sing. “One small path past the tallest tree. Door with a fox and a bright red sun. Knock two times and then again three.”
That points to the right house if Sergei can get close. “Again,” I murmur.
Nadia repeats it, stumbling on the count, then smoothing it. Her lips move in time. Sergei’s hand flexes once against her arm.
“That’s our song now,” I say. “You keep it safe. You sing it to your bear later. You sing every word.”
“I will,” she says. “Mama, are you cold? Do you have your coat?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Are you listening to Papa and Anastasia?”
She nods hard. “Papa sleeps on my floor,” she says. “He says he won’t go far. He says he’s going to find you.”
I feel my chest cave and hold.
“I know he will try,” I say. “You help him. You tell him every word from the song after this call. Promise.”
“I promise,” she says.
Sergei leans closer to the camera.
“What did he tell you?” he asks. “What does he want from you?”
“He wants me to work with him,” I say. “He says your network is broken. He says most of your men are his now. He says I can keep a path to you and Nadia if I help him.”
Nadia’s arms tighten around his neck. She looks from his face to mine.
“And what did you say?” Sergei asks.
I swallow. The Courier is listening for this.
“I said I would work,” I say. “I said I would help.”
His jaw clenches. Rage moves under his skin, but his voice stays flat.
“Of course she did,” the Courier says from outside the frame. “She’s practical. She understands that the old world wants to die. She understands that clinging to it only pulls more people under.”
“You think you can buy her with your smoke,” Sergei retorts. “You think she will forget who walked into fire for her.”
“I think she will do what mothers do when the world collapses,” the Courier says. “She will move where she must to keep that child breathing. The rest is noise.”
Nadia looks confused and frightened. Her chin trembles.
“Stop,” I say. “Both of you. Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
Sergei looks at me. In his eyes I see hurt, fury, and a kind of fierce pride. He knows what I’m doing even if he hates each part of it.
“I’ll come for you,” he says. “Whatever game you think you’re in, I’ll break it. You hold on to that. You don’t give him anything that cuts deeper than names you already wanted to burn.”
The Courier gives a small laugh.
“You’ll try,” he says. “I look forward to watching.”
“I know you’ll try,” I say softly to Sergei. “I know you’ll move fast. I just need you to stay alive.”
“I’m going to keep Dada alive,” Nadia says in a small, fierce voice.
“My brave girl,” I whisper.
The screen flickers. A timer appears at the edge of the frame.
“Two minutes,” the Courier says. “Then we’re done for today.”
Two minutes is nothing. Two minutes is everything.
“Nadia,” I say. “Be a brave girl for Mama. My song will keep you warm.”
She nods, eyes huge.
“Good,” I say.
Sergei shifts her on his lap so she faces him more. His hand cups the back of her head. His eyes never leave mine.
“Remember the third bridge,” I say. “Remember the crooked birch. Remember the blue roof. Remember the fox and the red sun.”
“Time,” the Courier says.
The screen jitters. Nadia’s image shrinks. Sergei’s window moves. For a second, all three of us fill the display. Then the feed cuts. Their faces vanish. The black field with the white symbol returns.
The room around me feels too quiet. My own breath sounds loud. My hands shake.
“That was generous,” the Courier says. “Now you work.”
I don’t answer him. I stare at the empty screen and hold the last image of my daughter in my mind. Her mouth forming the words. Her hand gripping his sleeve.
If she remembers. If she repeats it. If he hears every part and fills the gaps. If he can move before the Courier shifts me again.
I sit very still at the small table, my palms flat against the wood.