by L.K. Hill
***
Twenty minutes later, Taras, Yuri, and Sergei had secreted themselves behind the south wall of the stables. They’d told the younger boys that a hungry fox was headed toward the smells of the kitchen, and if they pelted it with snowballs, it would chase its tail in circles and fall down. The younger boys had laughed heartily and began packing snowballs as fast as they could.
Sergei scaled a nearby tree and shielded his eyes as he scanned the ground for the servant girl. After a moment, he shimmied back down.
“She’s coming!” His whisper was hoarse with excitement. The three of them took positions in the snow, and Sergei signaled the younger boys with one hand.
Taras grinned in anticipation. He thought of the little girl falling down, laughing, throwing snowballs back at them. She might get upset and run and tell Yehvah, which would mean all the boys would have to scatter. Taras had only been in the palace a few weeks, but Yehvah’s temper and her protectiveness were notorious.
As soon as Taras spotted the little girl coming around the bend, his fantasy of playful fun dissolved. This was a mistake. The girl wore outdoor clogs, but only a simple wrap covered her arms. She had not dressed for outdoor play as the boys had. Behind her, she dragged a small bucket full of ice. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and it looked as though it took every ounce of her strength to pull it along through the snow. She was still far from the kitchens, and every slow, painful step brought her mere inches closer.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Taras got to his feet to yell at the younger boys to let her pass. Before he could speak, a crushing weight landed on his back. One moment he could see the girl in front of him; the next, he found himself face down in the snow.
“Don’t spoil the fun, Taras,” Sergei whispered from atop his back.
“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Yuri chimed in.
“We. . .we shouldn’t.” Taras struggled to get out from under Sergei’s bulk. He was already too late. The sound of taunting shouts and triumphant voices announced the ambush had been sprung. Taras craned his neck to see, as Yuri and Sergei laughed.
The snowballs came in a barrage that hit the girl full in the face, chest, arms, legs, back of the head, and every other part of her body. She dropped the bucket of ice and it spilled into the snow. Her wrap fell from her arms, and she collapsed off the man-made path and into a patch of deep, undisturbed powder. The snow stood so deep that she disappeared completely, and the pelting stopped momentarily.
Taras pushed Sergei off him, but did not move to stop it. What could he do now? He felt only disgust and wanted no more to do with this. He wanted to see her sit up before he left, to make sure she was all right.
After a moment, her head popped up from the hole her body had left in the snow. She held her hand to her forehead, looking dazed. Taras’s eyes narrowed. What oozed out from between her fingers? She tried to stand, but the pelting started again and she sat down hard.
Before Taras could think what to do, a powerful hand grabbed the back of his collar, choking him, and swung him violently around in the opposite direction. He found himself face-to-face with Nikolai Petrov. Taras’s breath caught. Nikolai was a formidable man, having proved himself many times in battle. Not tall, but strong, his piercing, deep-set blue eyes blazed with anger.
A dark-haired man Taras didn’t recognize held both Yuri and Sergei by their collars up against the barn.
“What is going on, here?” Nikolai thundered.
“The younger boys are throwing snowballs at that poor servant girl,” Sergei offered, his eyes wider than Taras had ever seen them before.
“And why is that?”
“I—we don’t know. We were about to go stop them.” Sergei tried to dip his head obsequiously, but the dark-haired man had him pinned. It made Sergei look like a cooing pigeon.
Nikolai shifted his gaze from Sergei and Yuri back to Taras. He looked like they'd tried to convince him the grand prince had run off to become a juggler. Taras got the feeling Nikolai knew exactly what had happened.
“Come,” Nikolai said. “We will find out.”
Without another word, he dragged Taras from behind the barn and toward the scene of the battle. Taras could hear the other man coming behind them, Yuri and Sergei in tow.
Nikolai walked directly into the space between the girl and her tormentors. As soon as he did, the snowballs stopped flying and fell to the ground in droves. Nikolai’s hawkish eyes ran over the group of young boys. He settled on one, Boris, who was the ringleader of the group. Nikolai crooked a finger and Boris walked forward.
“What is going on here?” Nikolai’s voice was not harsh, but Boris jumped anyway.
“We are throwing snowballs at the maid-girl.”
“Why?”
Boris glanced toward Sergei and his mouth settled into a firm line. Then he glanced up at Nikolai, and it was obvious which one he feared more.
“They told us to,” he said, pointing at Yuri, Sergei, and Taras.
Nikolai glanced over at the girl in the snow. Taras followed his gaze. The girl did not look dazed anymore. She'd wrapped her shivering arms around her knees and stared at her clogs. Ugly welts had popped up on her head and arms and tear-streaked face, and the left side of her hair was matted with frozen blood.
“The girl is bleeding,” Nikolai addressed Boris again. “Mere snowballs don’t do that.”
Boris’s eyes stayed on the snow in front of him. “They . . . told us she was a fox. We thought we would kill it to impress everyone. We put rocks in the snowballs. We wanted to knock it out. We didn’t know it was a girl. Honest.”
Taras felt sick. They might have seriously injured her. And he'd been party to it.
Nikolai sighed.
“You should have stopped when you saw she was not a fox.” His voice became harsher as he spoke. “You ought to know better than to torment one of the grand prince’s own kitchen maids. I will speak to each of your parents about this tonight.”
The color drained from each of the boys’ faces. Nikolai dismissed them, turning toward the three older boys. The younger boys melted silently away toward the palace.
Taras could not meet Nikolai's scathing gaze. “Whose idea was this?”
When no one answered, Taras whispered, “We all participated.”
“That’s not true! It was his idea. He’s a bad English boy. He wanted to get us into trouble—”
“Sergei, enough!” Nikolai growled, and Sergei’s gaze hit the snow again. After a moment’s contemplation, Nikolai turned to the dark-haired man. “Take these two to my chambers. I will find their parents and meet you there.” The man dragged Sergei and Yuri away, and Taras felt the uncomfortable pressure of being the sole object of Nikolai’s stern gaze.
“Look at me, boy.” With great effort, Taras did. “You have not been here long, and your father is in great favor with the grand prince, so I will spare you. This time. Trouble here will not be tolerated. Is that understood?” Taras nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” he said. Nikolai’s eyebrows jumped. Taras didn’t know why an apology would surprise him. His gaze bored into Taras.
“I have been around long enough to know only Sergei could concoct such a scheme. I know he’s older than you, but he’s trouble. You would do well to steer clear of him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Off with you.” Nikolai nodded his head toward the stables.
“Sir?”
Nikolai waited.
“Could I apologize to the maid?”
Nikolai’s eyebrows rose almost to his blond hairline. He glanced over his shoulder to where the little girl remained seated. “I don’t think that is a good idea. She is not apt to want much attention right now. The best apology you can give her is to leave her alone. Or perhaps, if Sergei tries to torture her again, to keep him from it. Now, off with you.”
Taras turned to obey with some vexation. His mother was devoutly religious, and he'd been raised to ma
ke amends. As he headed back the way he'd come, he dared a glance at the little maid. She no longer stared at her shoes, but at him. Red rimmed her eyes and frozen tears speckled her cheeks. The look she gave him made his chest hurt so much he couldn't breathe. Not knowing what else to do, Taras turned and ran toward the stables.
He didn’t want anyone to see him cry.
