The Breathing Sea II - Drowning

by E. P. Clark

  “I can’t believe he would do something so terrible!” Dasha exclaimed hotly. “Not if he really loved her!”

  “Not many lads of seventeen can truly love anyone, not even their own selves,” Aunty Olga told her. “No doubt it seemed like a jolly lark to him at the time, and how could anyone object, when he’d be having such a fine time? And probably he didn’t think his friends would take it so far. By the looks of him, he didn’t know what kind of friends he had, and didn’t know how not-fine a time everyone would have, and now there’s nothing he can do to take it back. So bear that in mind, girls,” finished Aunty Olga, wagging her finger at them half in jest, half seriously. “Just because you think it will be fun for you, doesn’t mean it will be, not for you nor for anyone else, and you can’t take back anything you’ve done, no matter how much you want to.” Another spasm crossed her face, but she swallowed it back. “Anyways,” she said, “Fenya has a powerful reason to want to hurt Tamara and her family, and who can blame her? Whatever happens to them, they brought it on themselves, and claiming they don’t deserve what happened to them, looking for some kind of perfect justice, isn’t going to get them anywhere, or fix anything for anyone.” And with that melancholy thought, Aunty Olga left them.

  Chapter Nine

  It was strange to wake up the next morning and know, after a month on the road, that they were going to stay in the same place all day, and the day after that and the day after that as well. They had originally planned to stay in Lesnograd for at least a month, perhaps all summer, but it was already clear that Lesnograd was not a very congenial place at the moment—or ever, if what Dasha had heard about it was true—and even Aunty Olga seemed keen to leave it as quickly as possible. Over supper she had waxed enthusiastic about setting off for Pristanograd with rest of them, and right away, before Midsummer.

  “And it’s not like I’m doing any good here,” she’d said. “I might as well be on the road. Vladya can take care of things here, can’t you, Vladya?”

  “Of course,” Vladya had said. “I already do anyway.” She sounded proud of that fact, but also…not. Dasha thought she detected a gleam of envy in Vladya’s eyes when the rest of them started talking about their future plans and the places they still wanted to see.

  “Would you like to come with us?” Dasha had asked, turning to Vladya. “We haven’t spent time together in so long! It would be so jolly if you came with us and could ride along with me and Susanna and Svetochka!”

  Vladya had looked them over coolly. “I’m not a child any more,” she had answered. “I have duties. I can’t just drop everything and run off whenever the fancy strikes me.”

  That comment had nettled Dasha—she wasn’t a child any more either!—and, she could tell, Oleg and Aunty Olga as well. As it had been meant to. A chill had descended over the table, and Dasha had opened her mouth to object, but Aunty Olga had started talking loudly about the villages they would see as they traveled, and the best road to take to Pristanograd, and how feasible it would be to go up even farther North, to Naberezhnoye, to see Dunya, and Oleg had said something about going to the sanctuary and how Dasha wanted to consult with the priestesses there about her gift, and then the conversation had moved on to the sorceresses currently in Lesnograd, and whether it would be advisable for Dasha to consult with them as well, and Dasha hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise for the rest of the evening, as Oleg and Aunty Olga planned out everything for her, and Vladya had sat there at her side, her mouth drawn tight, and a funny look on her face.

  Afterwards Dasha had hoped that Vladya would come up to their chamber with them, to talk without the adults present, but she had left the table before the servants had even finished clearing away the dishes, and Dasha realized that Vladya was one of the adults now, in a way that Dasha wasn’t quite yet, even if she was closer now than she had been a month before, and also that Vladya was terribly unhappy. Dasha tried to make her visions tell her what, exactly, was making Vladya so unhappy, but they were stubbornly silent and blank on the subject. She thought that perhaps it was because of what had happened to Lisochka, but when she tried to have visions about that, they showed her nothing, and she had to believe that Lisochka’s death was not the problem. Or not the whole problem, anyway. Vladya had never liked Lisochka very much, even though they were sisters, but it had to have had some effect on her. But Vladya didn’t seem to like anyone very much any more. She had always been proud and prickly, but she had always been friendly enough to Dasha, when they had been girls together in Krasnograd. So surely all Dasha needed to do was remind her of that fact, and everything would be the same between them as it had always been. Or so Dasha told herself when she went to bed, and again when she woke up the next morning.

  Buoyed by that cheerful thought, she dressed and tried to make her way down to what she hoped was the breakfast chamber before Susanna and Svetochka had even risen. The sun was already up, but the rest of the kremlin, it seemed to Dasha as she made her way down the dark narrow corridors, taking several wrong turns in the gloom, was not. There was never a time in the Krasnograd kremlin when you could walk around in solitude, not even in the middle of the night: there were always guards on duty and maids running errands, no matter the time, and the kitchens were always a whirl of warmth and light and activity, at midnight almost as much as at midday. But here everyone seemed to be asleep. Even the Great Hall, which Dasha wandered through twice by mistake, was just as cold and empty as everywhere else she’d been. She thought about returning to her bedchamber, but the tedium of lying there silent and unsleeping had no appeal, and she wasn’t entirely sure she could find her way back anyway. Then she thought of going out to the stable—surely they were already up out there!—and checking on Pyatnyshki and Poloska and Seryozha, but she had even less idea how to get there than she did of how to return to her chamber. After sitting on a cold bench for a while and hoping in vain that the others would show up, Dasha decided to continue exploring. Eventually she would run into someone, and how lost could she get, anyway? The kremlin might be old and confusing, but it wasn’t as if it were very big, was it? Not compared to the kremlin she’d grown up in. If she wandered for long enough, she’d learn to make sense of the whole thing, and at least it would take up the time between now and whenever everyone else deigned to rise from their beds.

  She didn’t wander very far, however, as the second door she went through took her into the kitchen, where, unlike the rest of the kremlin, there were people already up and about. The smell of baking filled the air along with the heat of the ovens, and the worktables were covered with flour. There were three women sitting at one of the tables, drinking tea and talking quietly, as, Dasha guessed, they waited for the bread and pies to finish baking.

  “And who are you?” asked the nearest woman, jumping up when Dasha came through the door. “This is the kitch…You’re one of the guests,” she said, changing her tone. She looked Dasha up and down, and a broad grin split her face. “You’re one of Oleg Svetoslavovich’s girls, aren’t you? One of Olga Vasilisovna’s little nieces? Which one are you?” She squinted at Dasha, and then continued before Dasha had a chance to answer, “You’re the Tsarinovna, aren’t you? Everyone’s been talking of nothing but you since we first heard the rumor you might be coming, and here you are! My, but Olga Vasilisovna must be glad, mustn’t she! She’s been pining for you something awful ever since…” The woman’s face fell, and she went on quickly, “But here you are now! My, but she must’ve been glad to see you! And your father, too—anyone would think he was her full brother, not her fourth-brother, the way she always keeps him about! But as alike as those two are, who’s to wonder at that? She doesn’t have anyone else who’s really kin to her here, you know? Not even her own sister, not even…well, it doesn’t bear speaking of, but anyway, here you are! Are you much like her? You look enough like her to be her little sister, I swear, not that that’s any surprise, but the line sure does run true, doesn’t it? You all are just three peas in a pod
, I swear, it’s like seeing a ghost looking at you, and they say there’s two of you, two of Oleg Svetoslavovich’s girls here, and you both look like full sisters—like twins even. But I think,” the woman squinted at Dasha again, “I can see your mother in you as well. In the eyes for sure. You’ve got those wolf eyes that she had. I remember ‘em well. I knew her, you know. She came in here, just like you’ve done, when she was here. She must’ve been carrying you, or near enough, at the time—funny to think of, isn’t it? She was such a little thing, and so quiet too, it’s funny to think of her having a baby, and even more of her becoming Tsarina, although—you could see it in her, you know, if you looked at her just right. She thought different from everyone else, you could tell when she came down here to talk to us, ask us questions, you could tell she was different than everyone else, and here you are too! Are you here to ask us questions too, Tsarinovna?” the woman finished with a little bow.

  “Ah…” said Dasha, feeling rather dazed by this outpouring of words and information. “Actually…I was just looking for someone to talk to. I got up and started walking around, but…”

  “Say no more,” the woman said, cutting her off before she could finish. “We’re not the earliest of risers around here, well, most of ‘em aren’t. Here in the kitchen we get up early no matter what.” She laughed heartily over that, as if she had just told a joke, although Dasha couldn’t see the wit in it at all. “I swear by all the gods, sometimes things don’t get started around here till midmorning, or even midday, and half the time no one even bothers with breakfast. Well, other than us, ‘course, as you can probably tell by looking at us.” The woman broke out into more laughter, although this time Dasha could understand why, as everyone in the kitchen was rather plump, and none more so than the woman talking to her, who was nearly as round as the pies she suddenly had to go pull out of the oven.

  “Not burnt, thank the gods!” she exclaimed, pulling out two trays of delectable-looking pies, one set boat-shaped and the other in perfect circles, both puffy and golden and steaming. “Are you hungry, Tsarinovna?” the woman asked, offering her a pie, but then just as quickly pulling it back and exclaiming, “No, no, not yet! What am I thinking? You’ll burn your mouth for sure if you don’t let ‘em cool. Here, have a seat and we’ll get you some tea while you wait. A growing girl like you—”

  “Actually, I reached my full height years ago,” Dasha interrupted her.

  “‘Course you did, my dove, ‘course you did, but growing isn’t all about height, is it now? A bosom like that takes constant upkeep,” said the woman, and laughed some more when Dasha folded her arms over her chest in embarrassment. “No, no, don’t hide it, how else’re you going to catch you a good husband? Not that you’ll have to chase ‘em the way the other girls do, will you? Has your mother already picked someone out for you? Some great prince? Or maybe,” the woman gave a shudder, as if overcome by a delicious thrill at the thought, “some foreigner. Now that’d be something, wouldn’t it? Only I doubt the princesses’d stand for it, would they? I know Olga Vasilisovna wouldn’t! More than once she’s said she hopes your mother won’t marry you off like her mother did her, and she’s sworn up and down that if she hears anything about something like that, she’ll ride all the way to Krasnogorod without stopping once to put an end to it, ‘cause no daughter deserves something like that from her mother. Not that your mother’d do something like that to you, would she? She didn’t strike me as the type, and Olga Vasilisovna doesn’t think she is either, but you know how she worries—well, about that at any rate. She’s not a worrier like Vasilisa Vasilisovna is, not like her sister, only she is sometimes, if you see what I mean, sometimes you can see they’re sisters, and that’s one of those times, you can see how she worries too when she talks about you. Always worried more about you than about her own daughter, to tell the truth, and everyone could see it, and it didn’t do anyone any good, either. Not that that’s your fault, my dove, not at all, you were just a child off in Krasnogorod, what could you do about it? But it wasn’t a good thing, and, well…but anyway, here you are! And Vladislava Vasilisovna, she must’ve been glad to see you too, only that one, she’s a funny one, isn’t she? The gods alone know where she came from. Not much like her mother, though you can see it in her face, not that either of ‘em likes to admit it, and as for her father…there’s many as thought she couldn’t possibly be the child of Vasilisa Vasilisovna’s husband, not that any’d blame the woman for taking a lover, now would they? Not when he was…as he was. Not that it was his fault, or that he meant to do any harm to anyone—he could be as sweet as you please, when the mood struck him, but when it didn’t..! But we all thought it was for the best when he passed on, even, my head for beheading, Vasilisa Vasilisovna, not that she’d ever admit it. Loyal to last, she was, not that it did her any good, and she always swore up and down that he was father to Vladislava Vasilisovna, unlikely as it seemed. There’s many as thought it must be Andrey Vladislavovich, Olga Vasilisovna’s husband, you know, but she always swore it wasn’t, and seeing as how Vladislava Vasilisovna turned out, well, she wasn’t any more like him than she was like her own father, so, well…it was a good thing when he went home, back to Vostochnoye Selo. Even he thought so, no matter that he went off kicking and screaming, just like he did everything else, but he never held much love for Lesnogorod or for the rest of us, and when his mother died Olga Vasilisovna insisted he go back and take up her place. By rights it should have gone to, well…you know, but she said she didn’t want it, she wanted to stay in Lesnogorod, and Andrey Vladislavovich did want it, you could tell even when he claimed he didn’t, which wasn’t often, ‘cause he never was shy about telling you what he wanted, what he deserved, but, well…he’s gone now, and good riddance, a lot of us can’t help but think, even though…you know, it’s a funny thing, but I think Olga Vasilisovna misses him, now isn’t that strange? She’d always hated him, and rightly so, too, cruel as she was to him sometimes, but he wasn’t husband material, anyone could see that, but once he was gone…you know, sometimes you pine for things you think you didn’t like, just ‘cause they’ve been part of your life for so long. And she and Dmitry Marusyevich—well, they’re still together, ‘course, but it’s a quiet thing, and he wasn’t the father of her child, when all’s said and done, even if he’s the better man by far, and after…well, anyway, it is what it is. Pie? Mushrooms or chopped egg?”

  “Ah…mushrooms,” said Dasha, having trouble finding her tongue after that barrage of words.

  “Always my favorite too, my dove, always my favorite too, and isn’t that a funny thing? Must be your Northern blood. Tell me: does Severnolesnoye feel like home to you? Did you know you were home as soon as you entered the taiga? They say it takes some people like that: you can spend your whole life off somewhere else, but as soon as you set foot in your homeland, you know, and the taiga’s just as much your homeland as the black earth district, isn’t it? And the steppe too, isn’t that right? Have you been there yet? They say there’s hardly a tree there to be seen, can you imagine? I don’t think I could stand it. I’m a city person myself, always preferred Lesnogorod to the woods or even living in a village, but I need trees, it’s not homey without trees, if you know what I mean? But you must do, for…”

  “Dasha!” called Aunty Olga, coming through the kitchen door. She straightened up, her head nearly grazing the ceiling. “There you are! We’ve been looking and looking for you!” She grinned. “Actually, I’ve been looking and looking for you. Your bedmates are still half-asleep, and no one else cared at all, but I thought I’d take you out to the stables, only I couldn’t find you. But here you are! With Sonya, I see. She’s been taking good care of you?”

  “Yes,” said Dasha, and Sonya, which seemed to be the plump cook’s name, launched into another wordy explanation of how well she had been taking care of Dasha, stopping only when Aunty Olga cut her off with more thanks, took Dasha by the arm, and pulled her out of the kitchen by main force.

&
nbsp; “Sonya’s a good woman and a better cook, but by all the gods, she likes to talk,” Aunty Olga told her as soon as they were free of the kitchen. “Has she been talking your ear off?”

  “Yes,” Dasha told her.

  “Filling you in on all the gossip, no doubt?”

  “Yes,” said Dasha. She wanted to say more, to ask about Andrey Vladislavovich, whom she’d never met, and Dmitry Marusyevich, whom she had met and whom she liked quite a lot, but who didn’t seem to be here at the moment, and also about poor, miserable, horrible Lisochka, and about why Vladya was so unhappy, and many other things, but she couldn’t find the words, and when she thought of saying them anyway, all she could see was Aunty Olga getting angry, or even worse, crying. There was something broken inside of her, Dasha could see, something that had always been a little bit broken but was now cracked clear through, and she was like a shirt that had ripped at the seam and was now being held together by a couple of big basting stitches. It looked whole, but one good pull and it would come apart entirely. So instead of asking the things that she wanted to know, Dasha merely said, “The stable sounds nice. I wanted to go there anyway.”

  When they arrived the stable was already a hive of activity, with girls and boys calling back and forth to each other as they threw hay down from the loft and brought pails of grain and water to the horses.