The train has fallen silent. I squeeze my ear against the panel so hard that it hurts. I can distinguish but faint cursing. For a long while, there’s nothing else. My sisters and I never make sounds during the nights. This is something Celestia forbade, and upon her insistence, we stick to the routine. She has a plan. She has thought through every eventuality, even the ones that the rest of us are too frightened to consider. That is how she is, rational beyond reason.
Even the cursing ceases. I pace the short length of my cabin. Five steps to the window. Five steps back to the door. Perhaps it was nothing. The train could have halted for many different reasons. Perhaps it hit a snow bank. Perhaps the coal shoveler fell asleep. Perhaps . . .
Then I hear it. Someone strides up the corridor. The rhythm, the footfall of hard heels, reveals haste. Could it be our potential rescuer, one of our seeds or a nobleman loyal to my family, Count Albusov or Marques Frususka, leading a platoon of soldiers in blue? Or is it someone who wishes us ill? How can I find out for sure?
I grab the gray blanket from my bed, but for a few surging heartbeats, I hesitate to pound the door. Why? For no good reason other than fear.
I bring the bottom of my right fist against the panel. Again. And again. If this is a rescue, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, apart from my disheveled state. If it’s one of the guards, I will have to come up with a very good excuse indeed.
The steps stagger to a halt before my door.
“In here!” I shout hoarsely, not daring to be too loud. For if it’s neither our rescuer nor one of the guards . . .
A lot is at stake here; not only what will become of me but also the well-being of my sisters. My throat tightens as I think of them. Are they sleeping through these moments? Or are they lying awake in their beds, too afraid to say a word? Do they think they are dreaming? Do they think this a nightmare?
A key turns in the lock. Would our rescuer have the key? How about those who despise us? Only one way to find out.
I push the door open, only to come face-to-face with the man whom I once loved.
“Yes?” His puzzled gaze seems darker than I remember, his moustache thicker, and his stubble has grown into a beard that covers his strong jaw and creeps up his cheeks.
No rescue then. No ill will either. Yet my heart sags, sinks into the bottom of the sea like a weighted sack. One excuse is as good as any, some more believable than others. At least the squeal in my voice is genuine. “What was the ruckus about? Why have we halted?”
He leans on the wall, his left hand resting looped against his blue winter coat’s leather belt. His gloves are red. A dusting of snow covers his shoulders. The strap of his rifle runs across his chest. When he speaks, his tone of voice is perfectly polite and formal. “We hit a frozen snow bank. It’s being cleared now.”
So that was it. I should be more disappointed. But for some reason I’m not. This is the first time we have spoken in private since the night we boarded the train, over four weeks ago. That night was the first I noticed the change in how he acted toward me. Was it from the shame of turning against my family? No, that’s not why it happened.
“You should go back to bed,” Captain Janlav says. Once I named him the captain of my heart. Now I can’t bring myself to address him by anything other than the rank he gained in my mother’s service. Curious thought, is he still entitled to that?
He shifts to push the door closed. I brace myself against it. “No.”
I do this because . . . Because I don’t want him to go. Because I want to see if anything remains of the man whose heart I once thought I knew inside out.
“No?” His mellow voice bears a hint of amusement. He still seems to revere my sisters and me. The other guards and servants treat us more like prisoners. It’s him who talks with us when the rest resort to silence.
“Please let me out, even if it’s only for a moment.” The pleading tone is genuine, and I hate myself for that. But it’s been over a week since we visited the witch, and though since then they have let us out at some of the smaller towns, it’s been only for enough time to stretch our legs. Celestia calls that a victory. No doubt her plan depends on these excursions growing longer and more frequent.
Captain Janlav shakes his head curtly. He still keeps his hair in a topknot, but he no longer shaves the sides of his head. One day he will sport an auburn mane much like a lion’s. Just as I’m changing, so is he. But whether he’s becoming a dangerous man or just a different man, that I can’t yet say. “So that when I’d look aside, you could wander off on your own. No, I don’t think so.”
I roll my eyes at him, a gesture better suited to Merile or dear Sibs. He makes it sound as if he’s concerned that I’d fall off a cliff or be captured by someone else. Then let’s play by his rules. “We are in the middle of nowhere. There’s no one around for miles. My father’s gaze is bright. No one can harm me tonight.”
His brows rise.
“I peeked through the window.”
He chuckles. “Now did you?”
“I did.”
He studies me for a while, the uncombed hair that falls tangled on my shoulders, the blanket I clutch against my chest. I know he finds me beautiful, though he no longer says it aloud. He gazes at me for so long that I’m sure he has noticed the looped necklace or bracelets that the thick fabric of my dress barely conceal, that he will push the door closed and lock it behind him. But at last, he says, “Come, then, but be forewarned, it’s freezing outside.”
Before he can change his mind, I hasten out of the cabin. When we were allotted our cabins, it was done in the order of age. Celestia’s cabin is closest to the day carriage, at the end of the corridor, to my left. As I walk toward the other end of the carriage, I pass Sib’s, Merile’s, and Alina’s cabins. I hear nothing that would indicate that any of them are awake. That guarantees nothing. Celestia suspects that Alina doesn’t sleep at nights. My little sister has lately talked more and more of the shadows, though as the youngest it’s not possible for her to glimpse into the world beyond this one. I suspect the decay that affects her mind has spread during this journey. I know for sure that we have run out of her medicine.
It’s horrifying to come to the conclusion that there’s nothing you can do for your sister. And since this is the case, and since this is one of the rare chances to breathe uncaptured air, I stride past little Alina’s cabin.
When we come to the heavy door that leads out of the train, Captain Janlav pulls a key ring from his belt. The dozen keys of brass and iron jingle with promises of freedom. He turns his back to me so that I can’t see which one he uses to open the door. It pains me that he doesn’t trust me. But if I were in his boots, would I trust me either?
Come to think of it, I did trust him with everything. That didn’t end too well for me or my sisters. Or our mother . . . Even if we have only Alina’s word of her demise, Celestia believes it true. Our mother is dead. Eventually, my sister will become the next empress.
Unless something were to happen to her. And something might well happen now that the battle lines have been drawn and the soldiers’ hands are bloody on both sides. A betrayal or murder most vile, poison slipped in tea or a knife thrust between the lowest ribs.
The door squeals as Captain Janlav pushes it open, an interruption most welcome. Immediately the winter exhales a snowy breath upon us. He glances at me, grinning. “Do you still want to go out?”
I wrap the gray blanket better around my shoulders and brush past him onto the covered platform, fleeing the ghastly thoughts. He closes the door behind us, but doesn’t lock it. Why would he? Where else would I return than back inside?
The night is very black. The rails stretch before us, the two lines of iron reaching toward each other, but never quite meeting. I used to think of the railroads as the veins of my mother’s empire. Now, looking at the grimness of iron against snow, I think of them as wounds that won’t ever heal.
A chiming click of metal breaches the silence. I turn to see Capt
ain Janlav flicking open a silver cigarette case. It’s the one I gave him as a gift, before he told me of the cause, of the life beyond the palace walls. How curious for him to have kept it when all of us lead equally austere lives here on this train. Why didn’t he donate it to fund the cause?
“What?” He glances at me from under his brows before his attention drifts back to the cigarettes and the case itself, the delicate crescent clasp and the etched, straight lines representing rays of the Moon, master workmanship at its finest.
“It’s a beautiful case you have. How did you come by it?” Does he really remember nothing?
He shrugs as he lifts a cigarette to his lips. His moustache is unoiled. Whiskers curl against the rolled paper. “I really can’t say. Curious, though, isn’t it?”
I wrap the blanket tighter around myself. The chains of sequins weigh heavy against the vulnerable skin of my neck. He really, really doesn’t remember the moments we once cherished. That is a relief to me. There was a time I thought he had knowingly deceived me, that he had only acted to get into my favor, that the love we had shared hadn’t been true. It was only after Celestia told me of what Gagargi Prataslav had done to her that I understood he must have altered Captain Janlav, too.
As Captain Janlav blows smoky clouds into the night, I feel not only cold but also dizzy. I seek support from the rail, lean on my left hand. The metal bites my flesh with teeth of ice. My whole body jolts, yet I curl my fingers around the rail. I’m past caring about pain. Every single one of us was led astray, in one way or the other.
Celestia feared for the empire’s future and consulted Gagargi Prataslav for advice. He stole a part of her soul and used her as a puppet to advance his wayward plans. He . . . it’s too terrible to think of, but I owe my sister not to ignore it, not to pretend that what befell her could really be forgotten and hence hadn’t happened at all. The gagargi manipulated his way into her bed. He sowed his seed, and made her think she wanted it.
“Watch out or your fingers will freeze and you’ll never get them off that bar.” The voice belongs to the one who doesn’t remember who I became, only who I was before we first met. He touches my left hand, and even if I wanted to, I can’t move an inch. “Ah, too late.”
I stand so very still as he attempts to pry my fingers loose. To no avail. The metal pinches my skin possessively. I’m stuck to the rail. How embarrassing.
“May I?” he asks, bending his head close to my hand. What is he after? What have I got to lose?
“You may.”
He blows gently at my hand, moist clouds of salvation. On the third breath, I manage to free my hand. My fingertips, the inside of my palm, are raw red. My handprint remains on the rail, a dull, dark shape against the faint sheen of ice.
He moves as if to examine my hand, a crease of alarm on his forehead. I quickly hide my hand under the blanket, against my palpitating heart. “I’m not hurt.”
But Celestia was, still is. My sister confided in me when she didn’t bleed when she should have. I assured her that it was due to stress only. That happens often enough, I have heard. She didn’t say it out loud, and it would have been too early to know still, but she feared that the gagargi’s seed had taken root inside her.
The deal my sister made with the witch benefitted them both. But when trading with witches, the cost always runs deeper than one can anticipate. Even a week after swallowing the potion, Celestia continues to bleed. No longer as heavily, but . . . She must fear that the witch’s potion has left a permanent mark on her body, that . . . No, I won’t think of it. Our mother is dead. Celestia will be the empress, even if there hasn’t been and won’t be a ceremony in the near future, even if she hasn’t yet married the Moon. Her daughters, let there be many of them, will rule after her. Not mine.
“We should go back inside,” Captain Janlav says.
He’s right. My left hand aches. The fingertips hurt as though a heavy object had fallen on them. And yet . . . If the cost of freedom, even a momentary one, is pain, I would be a fool to not pay it.
“Not yet,” I reply, and without waiting for his answer, I climb down the steep, narrow ladder, onto the snow-veiled tracks.
His boots crunch against the snow as he jumps after me. He reaches out to grab my shoulder. I evade him. I stride farther away from the train. Perhaps I can’t flee, and I won’t, not without my sisters. But maintaining the illusion of freedom, for even a moment, is worth more than anything I have ever owned.
“Please . . .” The pain in his voice, it pierces my heart like a spear. “Please don’t try to run away from me. I’m only trying to keep you safe.”
I falter to a halt, for the crossties between the rails are slippery. I hear him stop behind me, the uneasy rhythm of his breath. The walls of snow around us are stained by coal smoke and stripes of blue paint from the carriages. This aisle, almost a tunnel, reminds me of a time gone past, of the times I followed him through other tunnels. Curious, how much has changed and yet so little.
“I know I shouldn’t say this . . .” A silvery click betrays his need for another cigarette. And then later, the wisp of malty smoke his hesitation.
“Then don’t,” I reply, tired of games. Though who am I to blame him—wasn’t this little escapade of mine a silly move on my part? For where would I go from here, in the middle of the night? Follow the trails to the village where we stopped for fuel earlier? Why tease myself with a prospect of freedom when I know all too well that our lives are not for us to live but are in the hands of others?
“But I want to, need to say it aloud.” His fingers come to rest against my shoulder, on the blanket, lightly like raindrops. He coaches me to turn around, and I can’t resist his plea. And yet, he lacks the courage to meet my gaze. He stares past me, into the distance. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than for the duration of this journey.”
Just as the icy rail burned my hand earlier, his words scorch my heart and mind alike. A part of him does remember me. This thought warms me, though by now my eyelashes must be frozen, though my earlobes feel numb, though my cheeks ache when I smile.
“Is that a happy smile or one reserved for fools?” He knows me well indeed, even if he doesn’t realize it.
What do I have to lose if I tell him now? This information can’t possibly endanger whatever plan Celestia has in mind. “We have known each other since last autumn, since we danced at little Alina’s name day festivities.”
He laughs. His chuckles form white clouds that are cold by the time they reach me. “That’s impossible. I would remember that.”
“You courted me for months,” I say, slightly annoyed at him, at everything.
“Don’t be a cruel woman.” He fidgets with the cigarette, clearly tempted to toss it aside but aghast at wasting an almost untouched treat. My father decides for him—the cigarette slips from his gloved fingers. His sad sigh echoes a loss of immeasurable magnitude. “Not when I’ve made a fool of myself already.”
Every breath hurts, but not because of the low temperature. It hurts me that he thinks me cruel, that I’m jesting at his expense. Even worse, he might think that I’m trying to manipulate him, wrap him around my little finger so that my sisters and I could at last go free.
That’s of course an idea, one that I can only see failing, and besides, that isn’t what I want now. I want him to believe me. I want him to remember what we shared for those few blessed months. “You took me to workhouses and hospitals.”
“Stop it now.” He stomps his heel on the cigarette and crushes it against the frozen crosstie. “I should have . . . I should have known better. Oh, I’ve heard it said that the Daughters of the Moon are witches better to watch out for. Now I see what they meant by it. Don’t say a word more to me.”
I want to slap him so badly. Instead I force myself to simply take hold of his hand. I’m not sure where my actions will lead me, but any place is better than letting the distance between us grow, for letting him continue believing that he neve
r loved me. For that hurts; it hurts more than I’m capable of admitting to myself. “You took me to an orphanage where we shared bread with the nameless children. You wanted to carry me over the puddles, but I didn’t let you. That would have gathered too much attention.”
His eyes narrow a fraction. His hand feels tense through the red leather of his glove. “I don’t recall such.”
“You also took me to a workhouse where sounds harsh and loud filled the night. The very air smelled of sticky tar and dry hemp. There, the poor worked in the smoke of the cheapest tallow candles. They squinted at the lengths of rope, fraying it to pick oakum. To me, they all looked the same. At first, I didn’t realize why. I wondered, was it the desperation writ all over their faces? The concentration of one desperate enough to give his life into the hands of others in exchange for something, anything to eat? But no, in the end I realized it was their faded gray uniforms, so worn that no two garments looked exactly the same, so valued that every single person in the room wore theirs with something that eerily resembled pride.”
“Please don’t.” Captain Janlav runs his free hand through his hair, scattering snowflakes. He lives in denial or then simply doesn’t remember, but he wonders. How could I possibly know these details? No one would tell such to a Daughter of the Moon. No one would write these ugly truths on paper, not even as their reflections about the scriptures. “I’m just a man, and I’m not sure of many things, but I’m sure that before I was tasked with the honor of escorting you and your sisters to safety, I had never seen you, only heard of you.” He winces as though struck by a sudden headache. “And even if I had, I would never have taken a girl like you to a workhouse.”
The Five Daughters of the Moon Page 17
