Kremlins Boxset

by K L Conger

  Taras crossed the room slowly to sit across from her. “Very well,” he said. “I’m not going to leave. You know that. The offer to see you and Nikolai somewhere safe still stands, of course.”

  Anne glanced briefly up at him from the corner of her eye before going right back to studying her knitting.

  Taras cleared his throat, wondering if she remembered. “As I told you years ago, I could take you and Nikolai somewhere to live. I’d leave a note for anyone who might...arrive while we’re gone, explaining I’ll be back in a few weeks or months. I could get you both settled and then return here. I’m still willing to take you. The offer stands.”

  “As does my answer,” Anne said, not taking her eyes off her knitting this time. “I don’t mind leaving, but only if you promise to come—and stay—with us. I don’t wish to be alone in the world with Nikolai. As long as you remain in Siberia, I will remain here with you.”

  Taras nodded. He’d expected as much. And in truth, felt relief. He’d offered it to her once in sincerity, and had she wanted to go, he’d have honored his word. Yet the idea of coming back to an empty cabin to live alone again after having companionship for so long made him sad. And afraid.

  “Very well,” he said gravely. “Keep Nikolai close to the house for the next few weeks. I will try to track the tiger. I’ve no idea how to kill it, but I’ll work on the problem. You’re right that it’s a monster we need to vanquish. For Nikolai’s sake. And yours.”

  Anne’s needles stopped and she peered up at him. “And for yours too, I hope.”

  Taras didn’t answer. He sat back in his chair and stared at the fire for a long time. For the first time since coming to Siberia, he harbored serious doubts that Inga would ever come. And even more serious doubts about his life choices. Still, the thought of leaving made him ill. And so, he would remain.

  Chapter 21

  October 1556, Novgorod

  Clutching a small bag of herbs under her arm, Yehvah hurried down the dark, desolate, abandoned streets of Novgorod. She hated walking the streets alone at night. Truth be told, she didn't relish walking them during the day, either. They’d been cleared and scrubbed clean during the months since Ivan sacked the city. Its few survivors had begun to rebuild. Despite that, Novgorod had become a city of ghosts. Yehvah doubted it would ever return to its former glory.

  Yehvah had never been in a place where she felt so many unseen presences over her shoulder. She was a Christian woman and had always believed in God and an afterlife. She’d simply never felt that afterlife so keenly in her day-to-day routine. Yehvah prided herself on being a no-nonsense woman, but she wasn’t the only one who felt the presence of the dead. City workers whispered about it across their evening fires.

  Keeping to the shadows on one side of the street, Yehvah hurried toward the governor's mansion in the main square. The Tsar had taken up residence in the richest and most posh building in the city for his honeymoon. Yehvah, staying in the encampment outside the walls with the rest of the camp followers, received a letter half an hour past to come to the Tsarina's bedside.

  She reached an intersection of narrow streets and peered in both directions before stepping out.

  Gloved fingers wrapped around her wrist. Yehvah gasped, nearly dropping her herb bag. She whirled around, ready to fight any oncoming predator.

  Nikolai stepped up so close to her, she felt his breath on her cheeks.

  Yehvah let out her breath in relief. She balled her right fist and swung it toward his nose. He caught her punch easily in the air, his large gloved hand completely enveloping hers.

  "Nikolai Petrov!" she hissed, injecting her voice with as much anger as possible without raising it above the volume of a whisper. "You scared the feathers out of me."

  She half expected him to chuckle, as he often did when she became cross with him. He didn't. He stepped further into the light, and she saw his face more clearly. His mouth turned upward at the corners and his eyes twinkled, but she supposed Novgorod had proven too serious a place for real mirth.

  "Don't you think you scared me as well, Yehvah?"

  Yehvah frowned. "How did I scare you?"

  "By walking around the streets of Novgorod in the darkness alone. You promised if you went anywhere, you would come and get me to escort you."

  Yehvah felt her cheeks heat and felt grateful for the darkness to cover it. She had promised to come and get him, though she didn’t intend to admit it now. "It's after midnight, Nikolai."

  "Exactly," he said calmly. Too calmly.

  "I didn't want to bother you. I've been called to the Tsarina's bedside. I don't know why. I don't know how long I'll be."

  Nikolai nodded as though he expected as much. Though, how could he? Despite Yehvah accompanying Nikolai to Novgorod, ostensibly at the request of the Tsarina, Yehvah had not been called to her side before tonight.

  “I'll escort you all the same, wait for you to finish, and escort you back," Nikolai said firmly.

  Yehvah rolled her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to talk him out of it. In truth, she felt relieved for his company. Nikolai's steady presence had a way of keeping the ghosts at bay.

  Turning in the direction she'd already been going, Yehvah wrapped her arm in his and stood close for the warmth. Nikolai slid his arm from hers and draped it around her shoulder, cloak and all. How did he always manage to stay so warm when she shivered, even in layers?

  They moved silently through the streets, not stopping until they reached their destination. When they did, Yehvah stepped back from Nikolai. It wouldn't do for certain people from the palace—or their spies—to see them with their arms around each other.

  Nikolai rapped on the heavy wooden door. Several minutes passed before the door opened, and a middle-aged servant in nightclothes appeared, holding a candlestick. The man had gray hair and a lined face. He peered out at them through bleary eyes. "May I help you?"

  Nikolai inclined his head graciously. "The Tsarina has requested the service of this woman.” He indicated Yehvah.

  The servant straightened. "Yes, she may come in." He hesitated. "No one told me of an Imperial officer."

  "I am merely escorting the Tsar's servant through the streets to be certain no harm comes to her. I will wait out here."

  Yehvah didn't like that idea. She might be by the Tsarina’s side for hours. The night air felt frigid. She hated the idea of Nikolai sitting outside for so long in such cold weather.

  She stepped toward the door and addressed the sleepy servant. "Surely one of the Tsar’s generals can wait for me inside, by the fire."

  The man shifted suspicious eyes between Yehvah and Nikolai. At length, he shrugged. "As you wish."

  He led them into the house. Naturally, it didn’t compare to the Terem palace, yet it held more wealth than most of Russia could boast. The servant indicated a dark, cold room off to one side with an ornately engraved wooden mantle atop a huge, unlit fireplace.

  "You may wait there, sir,” the man said. Then, to Yehvah, "Follow me, please."

  Yehvah threw a look at Nikolai over her shoulder. He waved a hand, as if to indicate he was fine. She followed the servant up the stairs.

  After a surprising number of twists and turns, the servant led her to a wing apart from the main house. A guard stood at attention outside a large wooden door.

  "The servant the Tsarina sent for has arrived," the sleepy servant told the guard, before yawning widely enough to fit his fist in his mouth.

  The guard nodded absently. "You are to go right in." He indicated the door.

  Feeling somewhat nervous, Yehvah nodded and entered the bedroom.

  Rich furnishings decorated the room, including expensive carpets on the floor, a fourposter bed with thick pelts, and a roaring fire. The Tsarina, a slight, pale woman, reposed on the bed, eyes wide open.

  As soon as Yehvah entered, she sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed, jamming her feet into soft, winter slippers.

  "Yehvah," the Tsarina hurrie
d across the room to stand in front of her. "Thank you for coming. I’ve wanted to call for you the last few days but haven't gotten the opportunity."

  Yehvah curtsied deeply before the Tsarina of Russia. "What does Your Grace wish of me?"

  The Tsarina pointed a bony finger at the bag of herbs. "I want you to make something for me. The Tsar needs children from me and he needs them now. Can you make a concoction to make me conceive?"

  "No concoction can guarantee success in conception, Your Grace,” Yehvah said carefully. "However, I do know an herbal drink which may make it more likely."

  The young Tsarina nodded eagerly. "Yes, make me this drink. When we finally return to Moscow, I want to be able to tell Ivan he has another son on the way."

  Yehvah inclined her head. "Very well, Your Grace. I will need hot water."

  “Already in the cauldron," the Tsarina pointed to a tiny metal cauldron suspended over the flames of her fire.

  "Very good, Your Grace," Yehvah nodded. "Just give me a few minutes to mix the herbs."

  Yehvah made the tea—a mixture of garlic, ginger and nettles—for the Tsarina and watched her drink it.

  "How often do I need to drink this?" the Tsarina asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste between slow sips. The tea tended to taste quite bitter, after all.

  "Nightly is best while trying to conceive, Your Grace."

  The Tsarina nodded. "Then you shall come every night at this time to prepare it for me."

  Yehvah groaned inwardly. That would be difficult and exhausting—for Nikolai as well as herself—but she could hardly refuse the Tsarina. She bowed her head deeply. "As you wish, Your Grace."

  When the Tsarina finished her tea, Yehvah began collecting her herbs. As she finished, the door to the Tsarina's room opened and Ivan himself breezed in. Yehvah’s heart jumped into her throat. She’d seen Ivan up close many times, of course, but being in such an intimate situation—one of only two other people in the bedroom with him—felt distinctly uncomfortable.

  Though the Tsar still looked gaunt and unhealthy to Yehvah, he did seem to be in better spirits since his marriage. His trip to Novgorod had been a success thus far. He didn't seem to notice the listlessness of the people, or the way the surviving residents followed him with dark expressions, as though they might impale him with a look. Yehvah even heard the Tsar proclaim his belief that the inhabitants of Novgorod were grateful to him for letting them survive and they loved him more than ever.

  Yehvah thought he sounded naïve, but it wasn't her place to pass judgment on the supreme Tsar of Russia.

  Not sparing a glance for Yehvah, Ivan walked straight toward the bed where Anne still sat perched on one side. Feeling like the worst kind of intruder—downright blasphemous, actually; this was God’s anointed Tsar, after all—Yehvah ducked her head, smashed her bag under one arm, and sprinted from the room.

  The guard had opened the door for Ivan—a service he’d denied Yehvah—and still stood there, waiting for her hasty exit. She hurried past him and he shut the door firmly as the Tsarina began to giggle.

  Yehvah and the guard exchanged uncomfortable glances before she headed back down the hall toward the house's front entrance.

  Nikolai had started a fire in her absence, making the room feel cozy. He squatted by the hearth, prodding the logs with a metal poker.

  He straightened his legs when she came into the room. "That didn’t take so long," he said.

  "No," she shook her head. “The Tsarina wanted me to mix an herbal concoction for her."

  He nodded. “I saw Ivan arrive. Figured you'd be done soon."

  “She’s requested my presence at this time every evening to prepare the same concoction,” Yehvah explained. “She is trying to conceive," she added as an afterthought, truly internalizing the idea for the first time.

  It wasn’t surprising that the new Tsarina wanted to conceive quickly. Any woman who married the Tsar would know she had a duty to produce sons. Still, the idea frightened Yehvah. Ivan’s first son, also named Ivan, was exactly like his father. The second, Feodor, was born slow. Yehvah feared Ivan would spawn a hundred years of violence before he himself died.

  Nikolai merely nodded at the news, taking it in stride as he did everything. He set down the poker. "Shall we go, then?"

  Yehvah stepped forward with a raised hand. "Can we wait? I hardly see you here in Novgorod. Perhaps we could sit by the fire together a few minutes before heading back?"

  Nikolai smiled at her. In the months since they'd come together again, she noticed he never smiled at anyone else that way, except her. It made her feel like a schoolgirl again, who claimed even fewer winters than sense. She couldn't help but enjoy the feeling.

  Nikolai sat down on the warm, flat hearthstones in front of the fire and held his hand out to her. Yehvah hurried forward and took it, sliding down beside him. He wrapped his arm and his cloak around her and she rested her head against his shoulder.

  A deep sense of satisfaction filled Yehvah’s chest, as it did nearly every night she got to spend by Nikolai’s side. Her happiness led to thoughts of Inga, back in Moscow. Yehvah saw Inga’s misery every day, and could do nothing to help her.

  Inga was more than capable of keeping the palace running in Yehvah’s absence. Yehvah felt more concern about Inga’s emotional well-being. She simply hadn’t been the same since Taras left. She’d drawn in on herself more than ever before. She seemed depressed, far away, lonely. Without Yehvah and Nikolai in the palace for company, she’d be lonelier still.

  Ekaterina helped, of course. Inga had taken to mothering the girl, much as Yehvah always mothered Inga. It had given Inga some purpose, and Yehvah felt grateful for that. Even so, she often saw Inga looking wistful, and lonely.

  Yehvah wished Taras could return, for Inga’s sake. And Nikolai’s. He wasn’t depressed like Inga, but Yehvah could tell he missed his friend.

  Yet, Taras couldn’t return. He could come back only to certain death. That wouldn't help Inga’s state of mind.

  Yehvah still harbored the fear that Inga would leave her one day to go find Taras. When Taras left, the thought of losing Inga to him and Siberia was more than Yehvah could bear. Now, with Nikolai in her life again, things were different. She’d found companionship in him. She knew the two of them would never be parted again, except by death. Granted, death proved easy enough to come by these days in Russia. Ivan and his wars. Ivan and his false accusations and executions. Surviving Ivan’s whimsies had become a dominant past time for Russia’s citizens.

  If Inga left, Yehvah would still miss her terribly, but she thought she could cope with the loss, especially if she knew Inga had also found happiness.

  The wind picked up outside, whipping the flames in the hearth into a frenzy. Yehvah snuggled closer to Nikolai and relished the peace of the night.

  Chapter 22

  May 1557, Moscow

  Along with dozens of other servants, Inga helped line the main entrance to the Terem Palace. Most of the city population of Moscow lined the streets to watch him return to the city with great pomp and celebration. In other circumstances, the servants might have flocked into the streets as well, but they needed to remain close to the palace today.

  Ivan’s arrival coincided closely with supper time and, after a short respite in which to bath and ready himself, the Tsar commanded a grand feast for his court in the Great Hall. The message came ahead of Ivan and the servants had been scurrying about with preparations all day.

  Now they waited in the main entrance—complete with gold-threaded tapestries and vaulted ceilings—to welcome their Tsar home.

  Minutes later, word of Ivan’s arrival swept through the hall. The servants whispered excitedly among themselves, many of them keeping their feet where they’d been instructed but bending forward at the waist, as if to catch a better glimpse of him, though he hadn’t actually reached the corridor yet.

  Inga glanced back at Yehvah, who stood further down the corridor than Inga, looking as falsely enthusias
tic as Inga felt.

  Trumpets blared from somewhere out in front of the palace and the servants leapt to attention. Ivan swept down the corridor moments later. Though the past several years had aged him, he still walked with great majesty and obvious belief in his own Divine Right.

  Six oprichniki surrounded the Tsar, walking in tandem with him. All wore their signature black robes and carried small broomsticks in one hand. Inga noticed necklaces around their necks with the heads of small dogs attached. She knew they slung the severed heads of larger dogs over their horse’s saddles, but such things would be cumbersome to wear on their person.

  Behind them walked another man, dressed richly in diamond-studded furs and a thread-of-gold cloak. As he passed, in a position of power directly behind the Tsar, the servants lining the corridor pointed to him and whispered.

  Inga leaned down to a scullery girl beside her. “Who is he?” she asked.

  The scullery girl glanced up at Inga. “His name is Boris Godunov. Ivan’s new favorite. They say he has the Tsar’s ear, and Ivan takes his suggestions.”

  Inga raised an eyebrow. No wonder the man sparked gossip. Even Ivan’s favorites rarely enjoyed such treatment. The question was, would Godunov prove a good influence on Ivan, or simply join in the Tsar’s debauchery?

  Ivan’s passage proved a relatively short affair compared to the time the servants had been required to stand waiting for him. As soon as he’d retired to his quarters, the crowd broke up, everyone hurrying to resume their duties. Much remained to be done for the feast.

  THAT NIGHT, INGA AND Yehvah both worked in the Great Hall. They did not serve, as Inga had on Taras’s first night in the Kremlin. Rather, they stood at opposite sides of the room and oversaw the feast to make sure everything ran smoothly. Yehvah tasked Inga with keeping an eye on the dishes occupying the centers of the tables. When something ran low, she alerted one of the serving men to refill it.

  Ekaterina, however, did serve, and it made Inga nervous. Ekaterina's task was merely to keep wine goblets full, and it should have been a relatively easy one. Boisterous boyars made for difficult patrons, though.