by Raye Wagner
Vasilisa’s stomach roiled, and disgust for her tsar bubbled up in her chest. Still, she would say nothing to embarrass her papa.
“You will leave in an hour, Casimir,” Tsar Baine said, turning his attention back to her father. “If the Cervene army crosses the border, it will mean the end of us. Holy Djinn, if even a tenth of their army slips through, Beloch will fall.”
“No.” Casimir stood and leaned over the table. “We had a deal. I’m not asking for more. I don’t want more. I just want the time to which we’d agreed.”
“What about the djinn?” Vasi asked desperately.
The two men looked at her. Tsar Baine’s lip curled as Casimir’s eyes widened.
“What if a witch or the djinn could fix the Phoenix Fire? If the Fire was put back in place, all of Cervene’s soldiers would be banished back to their country.” She was desperate, grasping for a solution that would allow her father to stay. Her palms slicked with her anxiety, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to save her papa from going to Cervene except the myths of the djinn and magic of the stars. “The Four Horsemen are said to still live in the woods. We could give them an offering. Can’t we go ask them for help?”
She didn’t finish the rest of the story her mother had told her—how the djinn waited for someone to redeem humanity.
Casimir shook his head. “Forgive my daughter. My late wife was fond of such myths.”
“How can you say it’s a myth, Father?” Vasi was perplexed with the willful ignorance of these men. She looked at the tsar and asked, “How can you agree The Phoenix Fire exists and not believe the djinn do too?”
“She sounds like she’s studied under the Celestial Sisters,” the tsar scoffed. His features hardened as he addressed Vasi, “The wall is an ancient relic . . . because the Celestial Beings have always favored Beloch and the Baine dynasty. It’s time for you to grow up. Aside from beasts, the only thing living in those woods is the witch, Baba Yaga, and she eats little girls like you.” The tsar’s disdain deepened into something much darker as he turned his attention back to Casimir. “Do not force my hand, Casimir. I’m losing my subjects and my land every day. I would hate to see your loved ones suffer.” As the words passed his lips, Tsar Baine blinked, and a slow smile spread across his face. He turned to Vasilisa with a gleam in his eyes. “How would you like to be a guest here at the palace? I’m sure I can find entertainment to keep you occupied.”
Casimir’s face blanched, and the energy of his protest drained from him. “No,” he gasped. “I’ll go. I will leave as soon as my family has returned home.”
The tsar sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers. “You may say your goodbyes here and walk your daughter out to the carriage. Marika and I have unfinished business, but I’ll be sure to send her home when we’re finished. She and her daughter, I understand, are being entertained, so she’ll come home later. With . . . your wife.”
As the meaning of what the tsar was saying settled, Vasilisa’s jaw dropped. She glanced at her father to see if she’d misunderstood the tsar’s implied intimacy with Marika, but Casimir hadn’t flinched.
“You will send my daughter home, and . . . no one will harm her?”
The tsar nodded.
Casimir extended his hand and said, “I have your oath on this?”
Tsar Baine’s face visibly relaxed, and he shook Casimir’s hand. “Of course. None of my men will even touch her. You have my word on it.”
The repulsive truth settled, and Vasi wished she could uncomprehend it. Her heart pounded, threatening to flee her chest, and she clenched her hands, the ache in her wrist muted as the horror her father’s departure would mean hit her. Desperate for something, she sent up a silent plea to the djinn that one would rescue Vasi and her papa from this nightmare. She swallowed back the sob trying to escape. Her father was leaving. Her father was leaving. And Marika . . . The tsar . . .
“Let me say goodbye,” Casimir said, his shoulders sagging. “Your soldiers can wait outside.”
The tsar stood. Whatever regal or noble thoughts Vasi once had of her monarch were gone. She watched with growing abhorrence as he brushed nonexistent lint from his tailored doublet. For a moment, another view of the tsar appeared. His hands elongated and his fingers warped, the tips turning into heavy chains, but as quick as she saw it, his hands returned to normal.
“Good-day, Lady Kavka,” Tsar Baine said to her with a shallow bow. Then he crossed the room, opened the door, turned back, and looking at Casimir, said, “I’ll bestow the title and lands right now and have them ready for occupancy when you return, Duke Kavka. Beloch thanks you for your service.”
Then the tsar closed the door.
Casimir dropped his head in his hands and mumbled incoherently.
Vasi was rooted to her seat in shock, but when she heard her papa’s ragged breathing, she pushed out of her chair and knelt before him. “Papa.”
Casimir took a deep breath and faced his daughter. Cupping her cheek in his hands and with tears streaming down his worn face, he said, “I’m so sorry. I’ve failed you, my sweet girl, and I am powerless now to save you.”
Watching her father mourn, Vasi’s heart cracked and splintered. He’d negotiated her release and her safety. She wasn’t totally naive, and she couldn’t stand to have her father weighed down with such a burden. She needed to give him some measure of peace too. “I’ll be fine, Papa. I’ll take care of things until you get home.”
“Just take care of yourself. Do whatever you have to do,” he whispered as the guards marched in around them. He leaned closer and said, “Do whatever you must to stay safe.”
Vasi’s heart shattered, and she knew she would never be whole again.
Everyone at the court seemed to have conspired to interrupt Vasi’s and Casimir’s tender goodbye. First, messengers needed Casimir’s attention. Then, several guards carrying heavy trunks of wealth demanded instruction from him. And finally, the soldiers accompanied the pair to the carriage and encircled Casimir, forcing him to leave.
Her father stood on his toes and waved at Vasi. She blew him a kiss, and he smiled. But it was a sad attempt at levity, and neither the one he offered nor the one she returned did anything to lift her spirits.
Casimir disappeared amidst the guards, and then the group vanished into the castle.
Vasilisa swallowed the lump in her throat as her eyes filled with fresh tears. She sat alone in the carriage, no longer able to see her father, just the soldiers surrounding him as they led him away. Their images blurred, and she wiped furiously at the tears and stared up at the faded-red fabric on the ceiling of the coach. There was a small tear in the worn material, but the riches at Vasi’s feet would probably be used to buy a new carriage, not just fix this one. She turned her attention back to the window as the group approached the castle.
Vasi wanted to be strong. She wanted to do something to fix her predicament or even have someone fix it for her, but what was she to do?
Her hand went to her apron pocket where the doll would be, only to realize, once again, she wasn’t wearing her apron. A longing for a better time filled her, a time when Vasi lived with her mother and father, surrounded in their love, when life had been beautiful. Life was hideous now. Filled with defeat and despair, Vasilisa pounded on the front of the carriage and shouted, “Home, please.”
But it wasn’t even her home anymore. It was Marika’s by marriage, and Vasi knew she was only going back to the house to become a servant once again.
As the wheels began to trundle over the loose gravel, a figure appeared in the doorway, blocking out the light as the carriage halted.
“Hello again, Vasi,” the prince said, and Vasi squinted at his shadowed face. He opened the door, fell into the seat across from her, and closed the door before meeting her startled gaze.
Vasi stared at the smirking prince, and her anger rose. She’d obviously misjudged him. He was far more than a scoundrel if he came to torment her after his father’s cruelty. “G
et out, Henryk.”
“Why are you angry at me?” His brows rose, but he kicked up his boots onto the seat beside her. “I’m told we are to be married.”
Vasi didn’t answer. With everything else that had happened today, her engagement had completely slipped her mind.
He continued, “And my brother is engaged to your horrid sister, the vapid puppet with a minx for a mother. So, as much as I’d love to leave it at that, given the alternative . . .” He sighed, a forlorn sound of utter weariness. “I am not quite that selfish. My brother and this kingdom need you. I’m here to offer my services in making that happen.”
Vasi glared across the space into Henryk’s vibrant silver eyes. “You’re sick and . . . delusional. I don’t want to marry either of you. At all. You can both marry Roza and go live in the woods for all I care.” Who did he think he was offering to help her marry Nikolai? She hated Nikolai. And with his absurd proposal . . . “I hate you. All of you. Get out of my carriage. You have no right to be here—”
His hardened expression interrupted her because he did have every right to be here with her. Henryk was a prince and now her fiancé.
Vasi’s eyes filled with tears, and she repeatedly blinked, desperate to keep them at bay until she was alone to mourn.
The prince’s boots hit the carriage floor as the carriage lurched forward, and he leaned across the space. His expression melted from hardened arrogance to clear concern. “What’s the matter, Vasilisa? What’s happened?”
Her pain turned to anger in a flash. “You know why I’m upset. Otherwise, how would you know we’re engaged? Maybe, in your apathetic heart, you just can’t fathom why I’d be upset . . .”
“I’ve never pretended to be kindhearted,” he said slowly. “But I don’t know why you’re upset. Will you tell me?”
She didn’t answer, gritting her teeth while she fought back the tears threatening to spill.
The carriage continued on silently but for the rattle of the wheels beneath them. She felt his intent concentration on her face, but she refused to meet his gaze. And she refused to cry before the prince, even if he was her fiancé.
The continuous crunch of gravel was interrupted by the shouting of Nikolai, “Vasilisa, wait!” and then, “Stop!”
Vasi ignored the familiar voice, but the driver slowed. Her frustration flared anew, and the emotion ignited her anger, the flame burning hot, demanding release. As Nikolai approached the carriage, Vasi pounded on the ceiling as she hollered to the driver, “Continue driving!”
The look of concern on Henryk’s face deepened as he peered between Vasi and the window where his brother’s figure was disappearing. “You’re not going to hear him out?”
“No. I never want to hear anything he has to say ever again.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Henryk. “Do you know what I can’t understand? Everyone mocks me about believing in the djinn. But if magical creatures didn’t really exist, then why are there all the festivals, and why is everyone afraid of Ctyri Forest? What happened to Zelena if not magic? The djinn are still out there.”
She was as certain of it as her own name. Danica had known it. And the more Vasi thought about it, the more convinced she became that the djinn were the answer. If no one else would go into the woods and find them, she’d do it.
She glared at Prince Henryk, her irritation growing with the prince’s smirk. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.”
He tilted his head to the side and said, “I would say you’re more . . . yelling it at me.”
“Well, I would tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not. And I’m not marrying your brother—”
“In the name of Beloch, stop the carriage!” Nikolai yelled.
There was a loud, “Whoa,” from above, and then the coach trundled to a stop.
A moment later, Nikolai opened the door and then ducked his head in. A fine layer of sweat coated his forehead, and his hair curled around his face and neck. After a heavy breath, he pinned her with his gaze and said, “Vasilisa, please, let me explain.”
19
Vasi glared at Prince Nikolai as he leaned in, but she said nothing. Whatever tenuous threads of friendship they’d still had snapped and burst into flame. He’d been charming when they met, but Vasi refused to be fooled by his kind words and easy smiles; Marika had been charismatic in the beginning, too. This Nikolai lied to Vasi’s face, was insistent on sending her father to his death, and stubbornly refused to look for djinn. None of that was friendship. Not even close.
“Henryk, could you give us a moment?” Nikolai asked.
Henryk and his silvery gaze once more searched Vasi’s face as if, maybe, he was seeking her permission. When she only turned away, he sighed and said, “Of course, Your Highness.”
Vasi could feel the movement of the carriage as one prince exited and the other entered, but she refused to look at either of them.
Nikolai grabbed her hands, and she yanked them away.
“Don’t touch me,” she said.
When he spoke, his voice dripped with anguish. “Vasi, we’ll lose this war. Their armies outnumber ours thirty or forty to one, and they are well trained. Furthermore, their artillery outmatches us far beyond that. We’ve relied on alleged verbal treaties that are nothing more than tradition, and if the wall completely fails, we have no real defense against Cervene’s thirst for blood. Your father is not only our best hope, he is our only hope for stopping this war. I would not see millions of my people slaughtered or enslaved. Please, Vasi.”
Vasi turned to the crown prince, and shame wrenched her heart. “I’m sure you want me to acknowledge the horrible choice you had to make and alleviate your guilt. Maybe you want me to tell you that sacrificing my father’s life is worth it to save Beloch? Well, I can’t.” Vasi glared at him and demanded, “Are you even going to try to find the witch? Are you even going to send men to search for a way to reinforce or repair the Phoenix Fire? Your father laughed in my face when I suggested it. Or, if you really want peace, why don’t you or Henryk go negotiate it?”
Nikolai ran his hand through his hair. “I understand you want there to be another way. I wish there was.”
Vasi clenched her hands. “You aren’t even going to try, are you? You’ve already given up because you think the djinn aren’t real.” She dug her nails into her palms to keep herself from hitting him and sucked in a breath. Finally, she snapped, “You’re wrong. You have evidence of magic around you even down to your precious Phoenix Fire. And you still don’t believe. But you are wrong.”
“Wanting something to be true isn’t enough to make it happen, Vasilisa. There is a war on our doorstep, and I have no time to chase after myths.” His handsome features hardened. “I’m sorry you’re angry. I’m sorry this sacrifice fell on your shoulders. I’m sorry I had no better option.” He studied her; the intensity of his gaze felt strangely intimate and forlorn. “But mostly, I’m sorry because I can see you are determined to hate me, and I’d hoped . . . I’d hoped it would be different between us. I’d wanted it . . . since we were . . .”
Her eyes heated, but she pushed back the tears. She would not cry in front of him. She would not let him charm her now and make her believe his lies only to be let down again. “Don’t. Just don’t,” she said, holding up her hand to stop him. “Don’t pretend you care. Don’t pretend to understand how I feel. And don’t pretend to know about what you won’t even look into. Now, please excuse me, Your Highness.”
He drew back as if she’d slapped him, and the vibrant blue of his eyes dimmed. His shoulders slumped, and he studied her face for a long moment before closing his eyes and nodding. Nikolai withdrew from the carriage, his features ravaged with loss. As he closed the door, he said, “Of course.”
Vasi heard the crunch of rocks under his boots on the path as he walked away. With her hands and voice trembling, she called, “Drive on.”
The hour dragged on, but eventually the coach pulled up to the stables of her home, and
Vasi leaped from the carriage. Two other royal coaches were parked as well, but Vasi dismissed them. They were probably here to deliver more of Marika’s wealth.
If no one else would go into the Ctyri forest, Vasi would do it. She’d been there many times with her mother, and there was nothing to fear. All of Beloch refused to believe in magic, but Vasilisa would not only find it, she would find the djinn and make them help her. First thing, she’d find the witch who knew the djinn because everyone still believed in Baba Yaga.
As Vasilisa considered what she would need to pack, she allowed herself only one brief moment of hope that she’d come across the witch’s hut within a few hours. If that happened, then she could be on her way to locate the djinn. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst. Which meant she needed to pack for more than the day.
Vasilisa thought of her mother leading her through the forest, and the memories of happier times solidified Vasi’s determination. But her confidence and enthusiasm slipped as soon as she crossed the threshold and stepped into the kitchen.
Chaos had exploded in Cook’s normally organized and orderly space. The pots, pans, cutlery, and every single kitchen item they owned was strewn across the counters.
“Now see ’ere. Don’t you dare—” the thin new cook snapped at a soldier, and then her shoulders sagged with relief when she saw Vasi. “Where’s your mother? These people say they’re from the tsar and tha’ we’re moving to the duchy of Trava.”
Brida bustled into the kitchen with Danek on her heels.
“I’m sure the master would’ve let us know,” Danek said. With a furrow of confusion, he asked, “Where’s Master Casimir?”
Vasilisa pushed away her emotions, burying them deep within her heart. Perhaps there would come a time when she’d allow herself to feel again, but right now, she would be strong. She gritted her teeth and faced the chaos. “Tsar Baine has awarded Papa the duchy. Madam Cook, Brida, please oversee the packing in the house. Danek, I’d appreciate if you’d keep an eye on how things go in the stables. Papa has been called to Cervene . . .” Her voice caught as she acknowledged the reality, but she pressed forward. “I’m sure he’ll be grateful to all who help with the transition.”
