The Sparrow in Hiding

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  Lizaveta’s eyes turned toward the floor. “He went out riding and fell from his horse.”

  Evgeny pinched the bridge of his nose. Grigori was a far better rider than he was, and the chance of his falling to his death was slim. But at least this way the Church wouldn’t bar him from being buried in sacred ground, separated forever from Nadya. Evgeny’s eyes burned, but no tears fell. “Could it have been her?”

  “I don’t know,” Lizaveta whispered. “It could have been.”

  Evgeny crossed the floor and wrapped his arm about her, and his little sister began to sob again. There were only the two of them left. He held her until her tears stopped. She drew back and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her cheeks.

  “I am sorry,” she told him. “I thought I had already cried enough.”

  “You are crying for both of us,” he said, cupping her pale cheek.

  She dashed tears from her eyes and briskly said, “I came to fetch you. Mikhail is taking all of us to France until we know it’s safe to return. I want you to come, too. You’ll be safer farther away from her.”

  Evgeny wondered if Irina had known this was coming. Had the trees told her that? Was that why she’d suddenly turned so quiet the night before? “I cannot, Lishka. I gave my word that I would stay here.”

  Lizaveta took a quivering breath. “Evgeny, I fear that she has had me followed, that she will come here for you. She wants all of us dead.”

  So there would no longer be any proof. “And I want you and your family safely away. Are you taking Grigori’s daughter, too?”

  “Yes, the babe was with me when we heard the news.”

  “Remember, Sidonie came from France,” he said. “That may not be a safe place.”

  “Then we will go on to England,” she said with a quick nod. “We will send word to Illarion Razumov so you will know where we end up.”

  Evgeny put his hand on her cheek. “Then go with my blessing, Lishka, and my love.”

  She opened her mouth to say more, but seemed unable to decide what to say. He suspected that she would try to urge him again to leave with them. “Lishka, go. Waste no time. I want you and your family safe.”

  Lizaveta reached up to kiss his cheek and then stepped back. From about her neck she removed a small cloth bag on a string and pressed it into his hand. The priest would look at him askance if he saw it. “It’s a bit of protection, a twig from the forest near the old dacha,” she said. “The leshy there gave it to me.”

  It was a great gift, protection offered by one of those inhuman creatures. Evgeny thanked her and pushed her toward the aviary door. Every moment she stayed, the danger was greater. And with one last touch of her hand, she was gone.

  

  Irina walked quickly along the pathway toward the aviary, hoping that Evgeny was there now. As she neared the aviary, a woman veiled in black emerged—Evgeny’s beautiful sister. The woman had been crying yet was still far more beautiful than Irina would ever be. When she saw Irina approaching, she held out her hand. “Please, may I speak with you?”

  Irina went to her side. “You’re Evgeny’s sister, are you not?”

  “Yes. He needs someone to comfort him,” she said. “We are abandoning him here, when he is in danger and grieving.”

  “Grieving?”

  “His eldest brother died yesterday.” The woman laid one delicate hand on Irina’s. “He cannot cry because of the curse, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t grieve.”

  Irina blinked, her mind recalling her mother’s words in the dream—that his eyes shed no tears. “I’ll go to him.”

  “Thank you.” The woman tugged her veil down, covering that lovely face. “If you are the one for whom he’s staying, please keep him safe.”

  “We will do our best,” Irina promised, but paused before running to the aviary. “Did the leshy never think of a way to remove the curse?”

  Lizaveta sighed. “He did. He said that when Evgeny cries, the remainder of the curse will fall away.”

  “But . . . Evgeny isn’t able to cry.”

  “He hasn’t cried, not a single tear after any of the terrible things that have happened. And I cannot imagine what could cause him more pain than what he has already endured.” The woman pressed her hand once more and then walked away toward the village, a figure swathed in anonymous mourning.

  Irina watched her only a second before running the remaining distance to the aviary and pushing open the door. Evgeny was nowhere to be seen, but he had to be close by if he’d just been talking to his sister. She walked back and peered into the workroom, but didn’t see him there. There was the other room, she recalled, the one that the farm worker had occupied. She went to that side of the aviary and found the door closed. She tapped on it softly. When there was no answer, she pushed it open. This was evidently her week for scandalously invading men’s bedrooms.

  Evgeny lay on the narrow bed, his arm flung over his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice her there, lost in his own world of pain, so Irina went and sat on the edge of the bed. There was barely room for that, but he lowered his arm, his black eyes pained but dry. His sister was right; he didn’t cry. She hated that the witch had done this to him, stealing away his ability to grieve for a brother whom he must have loved.

  “Your sister told me,” she said softly. “That your brother is gone, I mean.”

  Evgeny took a shuddering breath. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Well you shouldn’t have been in the forest with me after dark last night.” She touched his cheek. “I am so sorry, Evgeny.”

  His lips pressed together and his lashes hid his dark, tearless eyes.

  “Why has she done this to you?”

  “When I was fifteen,” he said in a dull voice, “my father traveled to France and came home with a new bride. He was under her spell, although at that time we didn’t understand how much so.”

  “The witch?” Irina asked.

  “Yes. My father bought jewels for her, yet she always wanted more. He spent everything satisfying her desire for jewels. He mortgaged all he owned.”

  “All for jewels?” Irina sniffed disdainfully. “Jewels are merely stones.” She wore only one ring—a black onyx ring that had come not from Sergei, but from her father when she was a young girl—and a pair of diamond earbobs that had been her mother’s. They would have little value were she to try to sell them.

  “There were seven of us,” Evgeny explained, “and seven children are expensive, so she found a way to be rid of us.”

  “All for jewels.”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “Our lives were ruined so cheaply. I can only pray that Lizaveta flees far enough to escape her grasp.”

  That would mean the witch would only have Evgeny left to focus her ire upon, but Irina didn’t point that out. “I will pray for her safety, too.”

  That brought a faint smile to his lips. He pushed himself into a sitting position. Irina almost rose, but then decided to stay put. That left her sitting facing him, closer than was proper. He went still, surprise on his face.

  Then he lifted his hand. His fingers cupped her jaw and his calloused thumb came to rest against her lips. “What do I do?” he whispered.

  “You should kiss me,” she told him.

  His brows drew together, but he leaned closer. And stopped as if unsure.

  Irina closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his. They were soft and warm, and his short beard brushed her chin. She pulled back, her eyes meeting his. His were dark and unreadable.

  It was quiet all about them, and she had no idea what he must think of her now.

  “I am not what my husband accused me of being,” she said quickly into the silence. “I am not a whore.”

  “I never thought that,” he insisted. “Not for a moment.”

  She felt her cheeks flush. She’d made a fool of herself. She rose and murmured, “I have . . .”

  She’d meant to claim that she had work to do, but in truth, nothing
awaited her.

  “There is a male,” he said then.

  She gazed at him quizzically as he rose to stand next to her. “A pheasant cock,” he clarified. “He’s in the aviary now. You could . . .”

  She felt horribly awkward, but recognized the invitation in his words. Evgeny was asking her to stay . . . and she didn’t want him to be alone. “I would like that.”

  He nodded quickly. “I’ll go see if I can find him.”

  He left the tiny bedroom, apparently expecting her to follow, but something on the blankets caught Irina’s eye. Against the faded blankets lay a single feather, one of pure white. She picked it up. It must have been caught in his shirt when he lay down.

  There wasn’t a single white bird in the aviary.

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  EVGENY WENT ABOUT his normal tasks in silence. Irina thought he simply wanted her presence—he wouldn’t have told her about the bird, otherwise—but he wasn’t ready to talk about his brother yet.

  The cock preened and strutted for the hen, as prideful as a peacock, his weird call the only sound in the aviary. She worked for a couple of hours, in the end completing a drawing of the pheasant cock that was a perfect complement to the sketch of the pheasant hen she’d done earlier. She closed her sketchbook and packed up her pencils. “I’ll go back to the house now,” she told Evgeny. “If there’s anything you need, just ask.”

  He nodded once. “Good afternoon, then, Irina Alexeievna.”

  His voice was hesitant, and she feared he would walk away from her now. She left the aviary, with every step feeling further from that easy companionship they’d had the day before.

  When she entered the kitchen, the household staff was in an uproar, rushing about. Some news had come with the post, the cook told her, and Illarion was preparing to dash back to St. Petersburg that afternoon. Given the sudden furor among servants who usually strove for invisibility, Irina was shocked.

  She headed up the stairs, saw Kolya, and knew it was something bad.

  And all her questions about him vanished. He was merely Kolya, the Kolya she’d known most of her life. She didn’t care if he’d once been someone—something—else.

  Kolya was furious. She’d only seen him that way a few times. When he was angry one couldn’t tell. He would seem fine save for an edge to his voice. But when he’d found her in forest after Sergei had beaten her senseless, he’d looked like he did now—jaws clenched and nostrils flared, his green eyes all but burning. Heaven protect whoever was the source of his anger.

  He spotted her there in the hallway and strode toward her. “Where is Evgeny Vorobyov?”

  “The aviary,” she said, “or he was a few minutes ago. Why? What’s happening?”

  Kolya scowled. “Ilari wants to take him to St. Petersburg with him.”

  Irina shook her head, baffled. “Why is Illarion going to St. Petersburg? Is this about Evgeny’s brother?”

  “What? No. It’s Lysov,” Kolya said tightly. “He wants me back.”

  “Oh, no.” Irina laid her hands over her face. “What will we do?”

  “Ilari says he has a plan, and he needs your paramour’s help.” Kolya threw up his hands in disgust or helplessness, she wasn’t certain which, and then headed down the stairs past her toward the aviary.

  

  There hadn’t been time for any preparations other than to open all the aviary windows and put out as much seed as he had to fill the bowls for his absence. He’d spilled seed about in the process, his hurried one-handed efforts sloppy. He left a note excusing the smith’s son, who would come Saturday afternoon to see if Evgeny needed help with any chores. Half an hour later he sat in a carriage across from a brooding Illarion, heading toward St. Petersburg.

  This venture would distract him from mourning his brother. It would keep him busy enough that he wouldn’t spend hours thinking about the kiss that he and Irina had shared. Evgeny craved the distraction, something to do rather than following the twisted trails of his thoughts.

  “Morozov said you had a plan?” Evgeny waited to see if Illarion would respond. “It would help if I knew what you need me for.”

  “I am thinking,” was all Illarion said.

  Evgeny watched his old friend, recognizing that expression. Illarion didn’t show his feelings like some others did, but his lips were pressed in a thin line, his eyes fixed on some place within his own mind. Illarion was angry. Evgeny didn’t blame him. Even back when they’d been boys at school, Morozov had been Illarion’s closest friend, letters constantly going back and forth between them.

  So Evgeny waited while Illarion sorted out his plan. He watched out the window of the coach, staring into the trees and worrying over the birds back at the dacha. St. Petersburg was only a few hours by coach, but that wouldn’t make any difference. He might as well be a thousand leagues away. The coach rattled on toward the city as the afternoon crept by.

  “I need you to deal with Lysov,” Illarion said abruptly.

  Evgeny turned away from the window and regarded him. “How?”

  “He won’t deal with me, but he might deal with you. Convince him that you want to purchase Kolya to gain leverage over me in a business deal or . . . to spite me.”

  Given that the Razumov family had been owned by the Lysov family only two generations before, Evgeny could see why the landowner might consider himself above dealing with Illarion. He only hoped the man might be more reasonable with him. “And what if he won’t?”

  Illarion’s worried look returned. “I’ll make that decision when the time comes.”

  

  Before Varvara could come to dress her for dinner, Irina remembered to pull the white feather out of her bodice. It was a bit worse for having lain between her breasts for so long, but she smoothed each side until it appeared whole again. She tucked the quill into the frame of the mirror, thinking foolishly that if she could keep it safe, Evgeny would come back safe as well. Varvara almost snatched the thing away when she saw it, mumbling about filthy birds in the house, but Irina forestalled her. “No, leave it, please.”

  The old woman wasn’t pleased but turned her attention to getting Irina changed. Kolya didn’t even show up for dinner, leaving Irina to dine alone with her distracted father. She tried to engage him in conversation but to no avail, so she fretted over Kolya’s quandary and Evgeny’s absence while she ate in silence.

  After she escaped the dining room, she hunted through the house for Kolya. She finally found him in his office—the first place she should have looked. He sat on the small sofa near the wall, holding a glass of ice to his forehead. His feet were propped up on the table and his eyes were closed. He’d set the empty bottle under the table.

  Irina closed the office door and went to join him. When she settled next to him on the sofa, Kolya set the glass aside and slid down so his head came to rest on her shoulder. Her father would be furious if he found out about Kolya’s familiarity, but Irina doubted Father would leave his rooms again that night. She shifted so she could wrap her arm about Kolya’s shoulders. His eyes had a red-tinged look, as if he’d been crying. “Why now?”

  He sniffled. “A clerk at one of Lysov’s mills was trampled by a team of oxen, and Lysov wants me to replace the man.”

  “A clerk?” Was that intended as an insult? Kolya was far better trained than a clerk. It was like asking a concert pianist to chop the wood to be made into pianos. Surely plenty of men at the mill would jump at the chance to take over that job. It seemed spiteful. “What did Illarion say?”

  “Just that he’s going to St. Petersburg to talk to Lysov.” Kolya moaned. “My head is throbbing.”

  As angry as Kolya had been earlier, she wasn’t surprised. “Why do you think he took Evgeny with him?”

  “He has a plan,” Kolya said acidly. “He wouldn’t tell me what. Don’t fret—he can’t trade your Evgeny for me, darling Irinka. No free man would take my place.”

  Illarion might make that sacrifice for K
olya himself if it were possible, but would never ask another person to do so. “What if his plan doesn’t work?”

  “I’ll go to France,” Kolya said, “or Belgium.”

  He’d been there during the wars and spoke French fluently, so that didn’t surprise her. He would be a free man there but might never be able to return to Russia. She hated the idea of never seeing Kolya again. And then she realized how much worse it would be for him. “What about Illarion?”

  “I asked him to come with me,” Kolya said, “but . . .”

  “But he thinks he has to take care of Father and me.” She could fend for herself here at the dacha, and Father would simply continue to withdraw from the world, but Illarion felt responsible for them. Irina turned her hand to stroke Kolya’s hair. “Does he not understand that if he stays, you must as well?”

  His eyes lifted to meet hers, a line between his brows.

  “My mother told me,” Irina said.

  “Ah.” Kolya pinched the bridge of his nose. “I never intended for you to know.”

  No, she suspected not. “Illarion knows, though, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. He has almost from the beginning. He knew I was not the Kolya he’d known before.”

  How like Illarion to keep a secret like that to himself. “Then he should understand you can’t leave without him.”

  “He does. That’s why he’s forcing your Evgeny to help him,” Kolya said. “In return for giving him a home in the aviary. But I will leave if I must, rather than serve Lysov. Either way, I would be failing in my duty.”

  True. Yet if Kolya was forced away from Illarion, unable to protect him, it should be on his terms. She doubted Kolya would be able to bear it. Not for long. “I’m sorry, dearest.”

  He sighed and pulled away. “My head truly is raging, Irinka. I should go on to bed.”

  Irina rose, drawing him up with her. “I think you should.”

  Kolya loomed over her for a moment, his straight hair falling over his brow. “Come with me,” he whispered. “I don’t want to be alone.”