“Why, is it really…” Sibilia’s voice trails off. She can’t quite believe what she is seeing either. She rubs her eyes, the movement already clumsy from the cold.
But as my sisters so often remind me, my mind is ever cold and rational. This isn’t as I planned. There is but one troika waiting for us, and the three horses munch hay contently as if they had been about it for hours already with no end in sight to their blessing. Where are the soldiers ready to escort my sisters and me to safety? There, by the stable, two astride chestnut horses, two on the ground, cigarettes jutting out from the corners of their mouth. They wear lamb fur coats and red gloves. Are they loyal to my seed or someone else?
General Monzanov waves again. Why is he drawing attention to himself? The smell of raw onions reveals Beard approaching Sibilia and me. What should I do? Ignore my seed or acknowledge him?
“What is General Monzanov doing here?” I wonder aloud as if I were puzzled to see him.
Beard strokes his chin, and I am not sure if he is doubting my performance or equally confused by the general’s presence. Eventually he says, “Your seed bears a message to you.”
This is the time I must remain calm so that the cogs and wheels of my mind can spin fast rather than be jammed by emotions of any sort. If Beard knows that General Monzanov bears a message to me, this means that one of the guards—Captain Janlav, no doubt—noticed him as soon as the train halted and has talked with him. This must be why it took the guards longer than usual to let us out. Was talking to the guards my seed’s idea, or has something gone terribly wrong? Why do I think it might be the latter? There is only one way to find out.
“Then I shall go and talk with him,” I say to Beard. I brush Sibilia’s arm as I pass her. “Wait here.”
I stride down the creaking plank stairs, sabots clacking.
As I wade through the snowy path, toward the stable, I catch a glimpse of Elise, Merile, and Alina. She still clings to Captain Janlav’s arm as if she had a hard time staying up on the icy street. The dogs dash from Alina to Merile, bringing back twigs that the girls toss at them. Elise veers to a halt as she notices me alone. I swing my right hand up as if I had slipped and needed to balance myself, a sign agreed on beforehand. She should delay on the street. She doesn’t yet know it, but we might need to soon part ways with each other.
For my seed has brought with him only one troika. It can’t fit the six of us. If it comes to choosing between some of us fleeing or all of us staying… During the five long weeks of solitude, I have considered every eventuality. I have already reached the decision that is by no means easy but the best of our available options.
If need be, I will remain behind. Elise and the girls shall go with my seed. Elise understands my people. Merile and Alina are the youngest. And there is the sad truth that I can but acknowledge. As the witch warned me, the price for bleeding away the gagargi’s seed is high. I may not be able to have other children, though only years may reveal the true state of matters.
I glance over my shoulder, though I know I shouldn’t. Sibilia shivers on the platform, gray blanket folded tight against her chest, with only the magpie as her company. My poor sister, she is still but a girl, and yet there is nothing I can do for her. To save Elise and the little girls, I will have to sacrifice Sibilia’s freedom. It isn’t fair of me to decide for her, but this isn’t something I could exactly have asked her opinion about either. If she knew, she would only hate me.
As I approach my seed, the wrongness intensifies. The reins of the brown horses are tied to a wooden rail. Why would someone preparing for a speedy departure do so? Closer still, I notice no belt cinches my seed’s coat, and I can’t see the telltale bulge of a sword either. No strap of a rifle runs across his chest. He is unarmed—why? To deceive the train guards into thinking that he is on the same side? Mother always said that hope isn’t something an empress can count on. It isn’t the wind that chills me, but recalling her sober tone.
“Celestia,” my seed greets me when I am a mere ten steps away. He spreads his arms wide, palms up. The movement is stiff, as if he were wounded. His smile betrays nothing, but his gray eyes reveal his pain.
“General Monzanov…” I can’t quite hold on to my composure. I dash to him, through the crunching, ice-crusted snow. For this is the man I have always been able to rely on. It is he who sided with the gagargi because that is what I asked of him. It is he who has now forsaken the same man, simply because I sent him a letter.
My seed clasps his arms around me. I bury my head against his shoulder, the snow-dusted wolf fur that smells of smoke and gunpowder. He has come to set us free. With his help, I will reclaim my empire. With…
“Celestia,” he whispers. And there it is again, the wrongness.
I don’t want to break the embrace. But my own needs or wishes bear secondary priority to those of my empire. Even if the train guards believe my seed to be on the same side, the sooner we are on our way, the higher the likelihood that at least a part of the plan will work.
I steel myself and say what needs to be said. “Untie the horses. Take Elise and the girls. I will remain behind and delay the pursuit, no matter the cost.”
He steps away from me then, and this single act of rejection hurts my heart, my body, as if I were a creature of glass fracturing against granite. “No.”
His gaze is very gray, pale as icicles. I meet his eyes, dreading what I might see. What is the reason behind his refusal? Has the gagargi tampered with his soul as he once did with mine? I know now what to look for, the absence of emotion, of memory. But my seed’s gaze is bright, his own. He isn’t under the gagargi’s power.
“Why?” I ask, unsure of how much time we have left. Elise still lingers at the street with the girls. Sibilia paces back and forth on the platform, the magpie skimming beside her. Belly and Tabard have joined Beard. My sister will soon grow afraid of them and dart to me. Of that I am sure.
“The Crescent Empress is dead. General Kravakiv has been defeated. Every noble close to you or your mother has been either converted or executed.” My seed’s voice is level, that of a man who has delivered bad news to his empress too many times to count. “Gagargi Prataslav learned of our plan. I don’t know how. It doesn’t matter now. My men and I were ambushed yesterday, just a mile away from this village. I was captured. My company was rounded up and shot before my eyes. One after another.”
I can see the blood staining the snow, the smoke parting after gunfire, even without closing my eyes. And closing my eyes would benefit no one. I can only consider the facts and try and craft a new plan. “The soldiers by the stable?”
My seed glances at the red-gloved soldiers. He shrugs as if they didn’t matter. Perhaps they don’t. “They have their orders. They are beyond reasoning with. It is as you said. Their minds are not their own.”
My stomach clenches, a pain trivial compared to that which I had to suffer to rid myself of Gagargi Prataslav’s seed. He has grown powerful indeed. How many men and women does he have fully in his control, with parts of their souls captured into glass beads?
“What are their orders?” I ask, refusing to give up. For fear can only cloud one’s mind, and that is something I will never again let happen to myself.
My seed pats the neck of the closest horse, a thick-furred brown mare tacked on the troika’s left lead. He has always loved horses; the ones he owned, the ones that gave their lives in the battles, the ones he met just in passing. The mare swishes its tail and continues munching hay. My seed smiles faintly, but then his expression turns somber. “Once the train leaves, they will shoot me dead.”