I stir from the shallow sleep, the only kind of sleep I have known for weeks, as I bump against the cabin’s wall. I remain there, leaning against the lacquered panel that seeps coldness through my clothes onto my skin, then onward into my bones. This isn’t the first time the train screams nor the first it halts in the middle of the night.
Yet something is different, the stillness and slowness of time. I quickly get up, slip my feet into the sabots that have long since ceased to chafe me. Though the curtains of my cabin are drawn down, though the guards have told us not to look out, I swiftly part them.
We are in the middle of nowhere, where the vast expanse of snow stretches on forever, glittering regardless of the cost that such display of wealth might require. The sky is black and scattered with stars. My father’s gaze is kind, a golden halo against the velvet.
I know at once, this isn’t a planned stop.
For a moment, my heart throbs and my breathing comes in dizzying gasps. My fingers tremble as I slip out of my nightgown, into the simple woolen dress. Even though the buttons are big and on the front, I struggle to fasten them. If Lily were here, she’d hum one of her melancholy tunes. But she’s not, and I don’t know what became of my friend. She never revealed to me what her plan would be once the side we both supported triumphed. I thought her cautious, not wary of me, but perhaps I was wrong about that, too. Perhaps it’s better I don’t know what became of her, just as she’s blessed not to know what has and will eventually happen to me.
I lift my mattress’s edge and retrieve the stash of sequin necklaces. Celestia has a plan, but she hasn’t entrusted me with the details either. I loop the thin chains around my neck, around my wrists. This might be the night we are at last rescued, and in case it is, I want to be ready for every eventuality. For I’m partially at fault in my family’s demise.
I thought I could cease to be a Daughter of the Moon. I funded the insurgence. I gave away jewelry a thousand times more valuable than the sequins that pinch the back of my neck, that grow cool even as they press against my skin. Back when life was simpler, when we still lived in the palace and I sneaked out with the man who no longer remembers my name, I cherished the thought of absolute independence. I wanted to be a woman amongst others, nothing more. I naively thought the revolution would set me free. It didn’t.
I thought that I was so smart. I foresaw an exile of an undetermined length, not this bone-rattling journey to a destination yet unnamed. I knew to expect a wave of uncertainty, one that would pass soon after the people had accepted the new order. I thought my sisters and I could then return without our titles, to live a normal life. How foolish was I in my dreams!
Wait, are those approaching steps? I shuffle to the door and press my ear against the panel. Someone is running down the length of the corridor beyond. No doubt it’s the guard on the night watch. I don’t know if he’s the one who now ignores me, or one of the others that go by the nicknames my younger sisters have bestowed on them: Beard, Boy, Belly, Boots, and Tabard. While the nightly isolation is a source of comfort to me, for it gives me time to reflect, the thought that they may enter and leave as they please unsettles me. As it must unsettle both Celestia and Sibilia, though we never talk about it—how could we, without causing more distress to our younger sisters? Even though our guards rather pretend we don’t exist, isn’t it just a matter of time before someone less civil boards the train, someone who thinks that a captured Daughter of the Moon doesn’t need to be revered, but should instead be tarnished?
The train has fallen silent. I squeeze my ear against the panel so hard that it hurts. I can distinguish but faint cursing. For a long while, there’s nothing else. My sisters and I never make sounds during the nights. This is something Celestia forbade, and upon her insistence, we stick to the routine. She has a plan. She has thought through every eventuality, even the ones that the rest of us are too frightened to consider. That is how she is, rational beyond reason.
Even the cursing ceases. I pace the short length of my cabin. Five steps to the window. Five steps back to the door. Perhaps it was nothing. The train could have halted for many different reasons. Perhaps it hit a snow bank. Perhaps the coal shoveler fell asleep. Perhaps…
Then I hear it. Someone strides up the corridor. The rhythm, the footfall of hard heels, reveals haste. Could it be our potential rescuer, one of our seeds or a nobleman loyal to my family, Count Albusov or Marques Frususka, leading a platoon of soldiers in blue? Or is it someone who wishes us ill? How can I find out for sure?
I grab the gray blanket from my bed, but for a few surging heartbeats, I hesitate to pound the door. Why? For no good reason other than fear.
I bring the bottom of my right fist against the panel. Again. And again. If this is a rescue, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, apart from my disheveled state. If it’s one of the guards, I will have to come up with a very good excuse indeed.
The steps stagger to a halt before my door.
“In here!” I shout hoarsely, not daring to be too loud. For if it’s neither our rescuer nor one of the guards…
A lot is at stake here; not only what will become of me but also the well-being of my sisters. My throat tightens as I think of them. Are they sleeping through these moments? Or are they lying awake in their beds, too afraid to say a word? Do they think they are dreaming? Do they think this a nightmare?
A key turns in the lock. Would our rescuer have the key? How about those who despise us? Only one way to find out.
I push the door open, only to come face-to-face with the man whom I once loved.
“Yes?” His puzzled gaze seems darker than I remember, his moustache thicker, and his stubble has grown into a beard that covers his strong jaw and creeps up his cheeks.
No rescue then. No ill will either. Yet my heart sags, sinks into the bottom of the sea like a weighted sack. One excuse is as good as any, some more believable than others. At least the squeal in my voice is genuine. “What was the ruckus about? Why have we halted?”
He leans on the wall, his left hand resting looped against his blue winter coat’s leather belt. His gloves are red. A dusting of snow covers his shoulders. The strap of his rifle runs across his chest. When he speaks, his tone of voice is perfectly polite and formal. “We hit a frozen snow bank. It’s being cleared now.”
So that was it. I should be more disappointed. But for some reason I’m not. This is the first time we have spoken in private since the night we boarded the train, over four weeks ago. That night was the first I noticed the change in how he acted toward me. Was it from the shame of turning against my family? No, that’s not why it happened.
“You should go back to bed,” Captain Janlav says. Once I named him the captain of my heart. Now I can’t bring myself to address him by anything other than the rank he gained in my mother’s service. Curious thought, is he still entitled to that?
He shifts to push the door closed. I brace myself against it. “No.”
I do this because… Because I don’t want him to go. Because I want to see if anything remains of the man whose heart I once thought I knew inside out.
“No?” His mellow voice bears a hint of amusement. He still seems to revere my sisters and me. The other guards and servants treat us more like prisoners. It’s him who talks with us when the rest resort to silence.
“Please let me out, even if it’s only for a moment.” The pleading tone is genuine, and I hate myself for that. But it’s been over a week since we visited the witch, and though since then they have let us out at some of the smaller towns, it’s been only for enough time to stretch our legs. Celestia calls that a victory. No doubt her plan depends on these excursions growing longer and more frequent.