Only Maria Danilovna stood motionless, Maria of the long brown braids and worried brown eyes, barely aware of the servant‑loyal, stocky Sasha—standing protectively by her side. The young woman bit her lip, trying to keep her face impassive all the while her heart was pounding wildly as other servants hunted all that large, crowded square for her sister.
Where can she be?
They'd come to the great market together, Maria and Vasilissa, with the retinue of servants no noblewoman went without. Vasilissa, as ever, had been lecturing her younger sister on the decorum proper to a boyar's daughter. No, Maria mustn't stop to listen to a mere peasant storyteller, love the old tales though she might, and no, Maria mustn't think of buying some mere peasant-woven ribbons, pretty though they might be. And, as ever, Maria had been letting the lecturing drift by her, interjecting a docile «Yes, Lissa," or «Of course, Lissa.» She'd learned from sad experience that it was the easiest way to keep the peace.
But then the running monologue had stopped, a fact that had taken Maria, her thoughts for away, a moment to realize. When she'd looked up in surprise, she'd found to her shock that Vasilissa was gone. Somehow, despite all that entourage of servants, she'd managed to slip away, to simply‑disappear.
Maria fought down images of her beautiful, elegant, naive sister in the hands of ruffians, slavers. Surely Lissa had more sense than to get snared by such as those! And yet, behind the lecturing and the facade of stern propriety was a certain… fragility of mind, a fragility their father simply refused to see, sheltering the young woman as he would some rare, delicate flower. Lissa saw things sometimes, ghosts or spirits or visions from the past: things that just weren't there. The aftermath of one of these sightings or wide-awake dreams or whatever they were (Maria flinched away from that all-too-easy word, «madness») tended to leave her almost morbidly depressed. But she was, Maria knew, capable of the most incredibly swift shifts of mood, of action taken without a thought to the consequences.
«It'll be all right," Sasha soothed roughly. «You'll see, young mistress, it'll be all right.»
Maybe it would, at that. Maybe Lissa had wanted some time alone… No, with her betrothed, of course! There was no denying that Vasilissa had fallen madly in love with her handsome husband-to-be, while he… At least he was in love with the idea of being in love, thought Maria, wishing her father had picked a man of strong enough character to give Lissa the strength she lacked. But Afron was every bit as flighty as Vasilissa, and if the two of them had decided it would be daring and romantic to snatch some unchaperoned kisses, they would have conveniently forgotten the tongues eager to gossip.
«Akh, Lissa, I'm not against the idea of love, I'm not. But I only wish you wouldn't—Lissa!»
That last was a shout, because she'd caught a sudden glimpse of her sister. And that had almost certainly been Afron with her, the two of them running guiltily down that alley.
But—had there been a third person with them, beckoning them on?
«Boyarevna Vasilissa!» cried Sasha. «Boyarevna, wait!»
Of course she didn't wait. Maria gave a sharp little sigh. Much as she'd like to simply let the two have their fun, her father would be the first to suffer if the ridiculous laws of propriety weren't observed. «We can't wait for the others. Sasha, hurry!»
The alley, little more than a space between houses, twisted its convoluted way between windowless, wooden back walls, splitting off again and again into a maze of paths. It was so abruptly quiet back here after the noise of the market that Maria's ears rang.
«I don't see her," she said over her shoulder to Sasha. «There are so many ways — "
A sharp whistle of air cut into her words, a crack of a blow. Maria whirled just in time to see the man crumpling to the ground.
«Sasha!»
Horrified, she dropped to his side. Was he… Thank the Lord, he was still breathing. There was an angry red mark on his forehead, a round pebble on the ground—a sling, someone had struck him down with a sling!
But who—why—
And then they strolled into view: four rough men, roughly clad, one of them still swinging his sling casually in one hand, and all of them with hard, predatory smiles.
And here I am, thought Maria desperately, a young woman alone, dressed in what's obviously an expensive caftan—oh, wonderful!
Trying to buy time, she snapped, «What do you want?»
They chuckled. «What do you think?»
While they were wasting those few seconds in swagger, Maria had the chance to palm Sasha's knife and quietly slip it into her wide sleeve. Now what? No point in wasting breath in screaming—not with only blank walls to hear her, and everybody probably at the market anyway, the market with all its noise. And she was no warrior-woman out of the ballads, to defeat all these scum. That left only…
Maria burst up and away without warning, hearing startled curses behind her as she ran with all her might. If only she could find her way back through this maze to the market's safety!
Of course the men weren't going to let her go so easily. Maria heard footsteps pounding loudly in her ears. But when a rough hand snatched at her sleeve, she slashed out wildly with the knife. There was a yelp of pain and her sleeve was abruptly released, and Maria ran on, grinning in a way that rather shocked herself. Now, if only she could somehow manage to lose the rest of the men-No, oh no! There were more of them, coming at her from a new direction! This can't be a casual attack! she thought in terror. It can't be. This has to have been planned!
No time to worry about it. She was being herded, no doubt about it, herded into this one passageway—that ended in a blank wall. Trapped, Maria whirled to face her hunters, knife in hand, fierce with rage and fear.
But she was no trained fighter, and there were just too many of them. They were being overtly careful not to hurt her, and that care added to her terror. She lunged, but then the knife was being jerked out of her grasp, and strong arms were pinning her against the wall for all her frantic scratching and biting and kicking.
Even in the heat of that desperate struggle, some cool, sane part of her mind was noting, They're wearing boots. Under those rags are fine leather boots!
What good did that do her? In a moment they'd have her down, and then—
And then, amazingly, the rough arms were falling away from her. Amazingly, her attackers were running in all directions, pursued by someone's servants—Alexei! Here he was in all his dark-bearded handsomeness, asking her earnestly:
«Are you all right? My dear, are you all right?»
Only sheer pride kept her from bursting into tears. Lost in helpless shudderings, Maria could only nod.
«My home is nearby," Alexei was continuing in a solicitous tone. «You remember, I have a house in the city. Come, you'll be safe there.»
She was too shaken not to go with him. He must have spoken to her, but Maria didn't hear a word. Indeed, she didn't really begin to come back to herself till she was in the boyar's small hall, seated across a table from him, holding a cup of wine that she needed both hands to steady lest she spill it all over herself. God, that had been a narrow escape!