A roaring of laughter came faintly up through the floor, and almost covered the rattle of the doorknob, but I heard, and as it turned, I folded the book shut in my lap with my ringed hand beneath it, hidden, swiftly. It was too early for my father to have sent anyone up for me, and somehow it didn’t surprise me to see Mirnatius standing in the doorway, alone in the hallway, slipped away from the feasting. Magreta went silent and rabbit-frozen next to me, her hands closed over her work. My veil wasn’t even drawn over my face yet, and we were alone, so she should have chased him off. But of course, he was the tsar, and if he were not the tsar, she knew what else he was, too.
“Well, well,” he said, stepping into the room. “My little protector of squirrels, grown less little. I do not think we can call you beautiful, alas,” he added, smiling.
“No, Sire,” I said. I couldn’t make myself drop my eyes. He was beautiful, and even more seen close: a soft sensual mouth with his beard trimmed short like a frame around it, and his unearthly eyes like jewels. But that wasn’t why I kept my eyes on his face. I was simply too wary of him to look away, the rodent watching the pacing cat.
“No?” he said softly, and took another step.
I rose from my chair so he wouldn’t loom over me. Magreta, trembling, stood up next to me, and when he began to raise his hand towards me, she blurted, “Will Your Majesty have a glass of brandy?” meaning the bottle on the sideboard, with its cut-crystal glass, in a desperate defense.
“Yes,” he said at once. “Not that. The brandy they are serving downstairs. Go and fetch it.”
Magreta locked in place beside me, her eyes darting sideways. “She is not permitted to leave me alone,” I said.
“Not permitted? Nonsense. I give her permission. I will guard your honor personally. Go,” he told her, the command brushing against me like a burning iron fresh from the fire, and Magreta fled the room before it.
I pressed my fingers tight on either side of my ring as he swung his eyes towards me, drawing its cold into me, gratefully. He took another step and gripped my face in his hand, jerking it up. “So what did you tell your father, my brave grey squirrel, to make him think he could force me to take you to wife?”
He thought my father meant blackmail, then. “Sire?” I said, still trying to cling to wooden formality, but his fingers tightened.
“Your father is spending gold like water on entertainments, and he has never been loose with his purse strings before.” He stroked his thumb over the line of my jaw, leaning in; I thought I could smell the sorcery in him, a sharp pungent mix of cinnamon and pepper and resin of pine, and deep below it burning woodsmoke. It was as lovely and seductive as the rest of him, and I felt as though I could choke on it. “Tell me,” he said softly, the words heating my face like breathing onto a cold pane of glass in winter to cover it with fog.
But my ring stayed cold, and the flush faded out of me. I didn’t have to answer him. But not answering—that would be its own answer. “Nothing. I wouldn’t have,” I said, giving him that much honesty, trying to pry him off me.
“Why not? You don’t want to be tsarina, with a golden crown?” he said mockingly.
“No,” I said, and stepped back from him.
Surprise loosened his fingers and slipped them off my face. He stared at me, and then a terrifying eagerness rose up through his face, distorting the beauty for a moment like the ripple of the air above a bonfire. I thought there was almost a red glow in his eyes as he took another step towards me—and then the door opened and my father came into the room, alarmed and also angry: his plans were being spoiled, and he could do nothing to stop it.
“Sire,” he said, and his lips thinned when he saw that my hand was concealed beneath my book. “I was just coming to bring Irina downstairs. You are kind to have looked for her.”
He came to me and held his hand out for the book, and reluctantly I gave it to him, the silver of my ring flashing cold between us as he took it. I looked at Mirnatius, and waited grimly for a frown of puzzlement to come into his face, to see the magic catch him, but his eyes were already alight with hunger and pleasure, and his expression did not change at all. He was watching me, only me, and he had not a glance to spare for the ring.
After a moment’s longer staring, he blinked once, that heat-shimmer glaze clearing from his eyes, and turned to my father. “You must forgive me, Erdivilas,” he said after a moment. “Your words kindled an irresistible desire in me to see Irina again, without the noise of the hall between us. You have not spoken falsely, at all. There is indeed something most unusual in her.”
My father paused, surprised; as if the rabbit had suddenly turned and leapt at the hound. But his determination carried him past this unexpected moment. “You honor my house by saying so.”
“Yes,” Mirnatius said. “Perhaps she might go down without us. I think we should discuss her marriage at once. She is destined for a very particular bridegroom, I think, and I must warn you that he is not inclined to patience.”
Chapter 10
Every day that week, Miryem’s father asked me, a little puzzled, “Wanda, have you seen Miryem?” and every day I reminded him that she had gone to Vysnia. Then he would say, “Oh, of course, how foolish of me to forget.” Every day at dinner, Miryem’s mother put out a fourth place, and filled it, and then they both looked surprised again to find her gone. I didn’t say anything because they gave me the full plate to eat.
I did the collecting, writing the lines carefully in the book. Sergey and I looked after the goats and the chickens. We kept the yard tidy, the snow packed hard and brushed smooth. On Wednesday I went to the market and did the shopping, and a man who had come in from the north selling fish asked me if Miryem had any aprons left: he had seen others wearing them and he wanted them for his three daughters. There were three aprons left in the house. A huge daring knot rose in my throat. I told him and said, “I can go and fetch them if you want. Two kopeks for each.”
“Two kopeks!” he said. “I can’t pay more than one.”
“I can’t change the price,” I said. “My mistress is away. She hasn’t sold them to anyone for less,” I added.
He frowned, but he said, “Well, I’ll take two.” When I nodded and said I would go get them, he called after me to bring all three. I went and got the aprons and I brought them back to him. He inspected them backward and forward, looking for any loose threads, faded dye. Then he took out his purse and counted out the money into my hand: one, two, three, four, five, six. Six kopeks, shining in my palm. They weren’t mine, but I closed my hand on them and swallowed and said, “Thank you, Panov,” and then I took the basket and walked out of the market, until no one else was looking at me, and then I ran all the way back to the house and burst in breathless. Miryem’s mother was putting dinner on the table. She looked at me in surprise.
“I sold the aprons,” I said. I thought I might cry. I swallowed and held the money out to her.
She reached out and took it, but she didn’t even look at the coins. She put her hand on my face—so small, and thin, but warm. She smiled up at me and said, “Wanda, how did we manage without you?” She turned away to put the money into a jar on the shelf. I hid my face in my hands, and then I wiped my eyes with my apron before I sat down at the table.
She had made too much food again. “Wanda, could you eat a little more? It’s a shame for food to go to waste,” her father said again, sliding the fourth plate to me. Miryem’s mother was looking out the window with a strange expression on her face, a little confused. “How long has Miryem been gone?” she asked slowly.
“A week,” I said.
“A week,” her mother repeated, as if she was trying to fix it in her head.
“She’ll be home before you know it, Rakhel,” her father said, in a hearty way, as though he was trying to convince himself.
“It’s a long way,” her mother said. That strange anxious look was still in her face. “It’s so far for her to go.” Then she pulled herself around and smiled at me. “Well, Wanda, I’m so glad to see you enjoy the food.”
I don’t know why, but the thought came into my head very clear: Miryem is not coming back. “It’s very good,” I said. My throat felt strange. “Thank you.”
She gave me the day’s penny and I walked slowly home. I thought, Miryem would always be about to come back. They would wait for her and wait for her. Every day they would set a place. Every day they would be puzzled she had not come. Every day they would give me her share of the food. Maybe they would give me her share of other things, too. I would take care of Miryem’s work. Miryem’s mother would smile at me again the way she had today. Her father would teach me more numbers. I tried not to want those things. It felt like wishing she would not come back.
I went and buried my penny at the tree, and then I went to the house and stopped near the door. There had been footprints in the road all along the way as I walked. That was not so strange. There were other people who lived along the road. But now I saw the footprints had turned off the road and gone all the way to the door of my house: two men, with leather boots, and that was very strange. It wasn’t time for the tax collector. I slowly went closer. As I came near the door, I heard laughter and men’s voices, making a toast. They were drinking. I didn’t want to go in, but there was no help for it. I was cold from the long walk, I needed to warm my feet and hands.
I opened the door. I didn’t have any idea of what I would find. Anything would have surprised me. It was Kajus and his son Lukas. They had a big jug of krupnik on the table and three cups. My father was red in the face, so they had been drinking a while already. Stepon was huddled in the corner by the fireplace, making himself small. He looked up at me. “Here she is!” Kajus said, when I came inside. “Close the door, Wanda, and come and celebrate with us. Go on, Lukas, go help her!”