by M J Marstens
“Calm down, duchess,” Vadim orders. “As long as you’re happy. . .”
I arch a brow at his odd wording.
“As long as you’re happy,” Ilya parrots.
“I’m happy,” I attest. “Well, kind of. Right now, I’m a jumbled mess, but it has nothing to do with. . . my, uh, relationships.”
“I love when you blush,” Vadim murmurs hotly into my ear.
I smack him away, my face reddening even more, making both men laugh. Just then, I hear a familiar shout, and look up to see Maks and Zav running towards us with Dima walking sedately behind.
I jump into Zav’s arms, not caring if anyone in their homes sees us. I’m too happy to see them again, safe and sound. Being separated felt wrong—whether we planned this or not, we are now a team.
And, maybe, something more.
* * *
1 A large merchant's house in Yekaterinburg used to keep the Romanovs prisoner until their execution. Its name is identical to that of the Ipatiev Monastery in Kostroma, from where the Romanovs came to the throne.
Chapter Thirty
“I’ve been scouting Ipatiev House,” Dima greets us. “It’s completely boarded up, including the fencing, but some slats are loose in the back that faces the woods. I see the tsar out there often walking.”
My spirits lift to hear that he’s seen my father—alive.
“I haven’t seen your mother or siblings, though,” he warns.
“If they aren’t outside, that’s means they’re sick or caring for someone sick,” I tell him.
In recent years, my sisters and I haven’t had the best of health. And, of course, Alyosha is always ill. Generally, mama takes care of us personally, to help keep the staff functioning and healthy.
“Well, let’s hope everyone is well enough to travel,” Ilya notes and I nod.
If my sisters are feverish or Alyosha is having one of his episodes, we won’t be able to escape. I send a silent prayer to God to please make sure everyone is healthy—their fates depend upon it.
“Come on,” Vadim urges.
We lope outside of the city into the surrounding woods. Zav and Maks now lead the way. Luckily, the snow is fresh and soft and quiets our footsteps. Unfortunately, the trees are barren and the white backdrop does nothing to hide our approach but, as Dima said, everything is boarded up nearly ten feet high around Ipatiev House.
Ilya motions for us all to wait behind some trees and goes to inspect the loose slats that Dima pointed out. I can see him there in the distance peeking and I wonder if he sees my dear father. Ilya doesn’t return immediately and, instead, turns and waves a brief hand in our direction. Vadim steps out and the two of them use some form of finger communication to speak.
“He wants you to go up,” Vadim tells me.
Excitement bubbles inside of me and I nearly trip in my haste to reach him and the wooden barrier.
“Here she is, Your Majesty,” he says, moving out of the way so that I can kneel down and peer through the small gap.
A rough and familiar hand snakes out and I promptly burst into tears.
“Papa!” I sob. “Oh, papa! I’ve missed you so much! Are you alright? Is mama, the girls, and Alyosha ok?”
I talk a mile a minute and hear my father’s familiar chuckle.
“Slow down, imp. We are well enough—as well as we can be considering the circumstances. But, we know this is the end.”
“Don’t say that,” I direct vehemently. “We’re here to save you.”
“I know, my daughter, and you’ve always been too stubborn to have anything any other way but how you want something.”
“That’s not bad in this case,” I point out dryly, making him laugh once more.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you, imp. There is one slat loose enough for your brother and sisters to maybe escape through. I must go talk with your mother. She is unwell and Olga is most despondent. We must get your sister out of here as soon as possible. Alyosha has been having more episodes than normal; so, again, I must confer with your mother what we think is best. I take walks every hour on the hour. Meet me back here then.”
Ilya gently disentangles my hand from my father’s when I refuse to let go.
“He’ll be back,” Ilya whispers, but I’m scared.
It hurts in the most visceral way to be this close to my family but, still, so far apart. Ilya practically drags me back to the others waiting in the woods and the next hour is the most nerve-wracking of my life. Finally, Ilya gives a nod and, this time, Vadim takes my hand and leads me to the fence.
Beyond it, my father is walking calmly once more. I squint to peer inside the windows of the house, but I don’t see anyone watching from them. The guards must not fear my father running away—not that he could. He said that the gap was barely big enough for us girls, let alone a grown man.
My father does three slow laps before pausing where Vadim and I are. He acts like he’s inspecting the ground—my father is an avid gardener—before he sticks his hand once more through the opening. Immediately, I grab onto it like a life support.
“Papa!” I whisper excitedly.
“Imp,” he smiles. “Your mother sends all her love and I sent her yours.”
“Thank you. So, what’s the plan?”
Here, papa sighs in resignation.
“I will tell you—but I want no arguments. Am I understood, Nastya?”
I frown, not liking the sound of this, and I refuse to verbally acquiesce to his request.
“Nastya?” he prods in warning.
“Papa, just tell me the plan!”
Another heavy sigh and Vadim has to cover his chuckle.
“I knew you were a troublemaker,” he laughs.
“Yes, she is,” my father responds, looking curiously at the new man. But, my virtue is the least of his worries, right now, and he dismisses the proprietary hand that Vadim has on me. “Your mother and I have decided to have your sisters go with you, and she and I will stay behind with Alyosha. Your mother and brother are simply not in any position to flee.”
I gasp.
“But, papa! They’ll know something is wrong if the girls escape and we won’t be able to come back for you, mama, and Alyosha!”
“Anastasia,” my father begins firmly, “I’m not a simpleton. I understand this. Your mother and I are making the best decision that we can for the circumstances.”
I narrow my eyes and prepare to dig my heels in—this plan is not good enough, but my father suddenly pulls away.
“I’ve got to go. I love you, my Nastya, so very much. Keep an eye out for your sisters. They will be out right after dusk for their one last walk of the evening. Be ready to help them through the hole. Ilya knows where it is. And then run. Run as fast as you can.”
“Papa!” I cry as he briskly walks back into the house.
Vadim muffles my voice with his hand held over my mouth. Irately I try to bite his fingers, but he’s quicker and stronger than me. In the blink of an eye, he has me over his shoulder and back to the others in the woods. Dima and Zav are vigorously chafing their hands together to stave off the cold, but I’m too numb to feel it.
How can I just leave with only my sisters?
More time passes slowly and painfully while I wrack my brain for ways to get my mother, father, and brother out, too. As the sun begins to descend into the horizon, a hand pokes out of the opening further from where I met my father. It waves insistently. Quickly, I get up and rush over. To my surprise, it’s Dr. Botkin!
“Nastya! Quick, take this suitcase. It’s full of your sisters’ clothing.”
He shoves it through unceremoniously, looking fearfully over his shoulder every other second.
“I must get back—they are demanding our presence in the parlor room. All of us.”
He says this last part with an emphasis that sends chills down my spine.
“All the guards have gathered there, too. Be safe, my favorite little nurse.”
With those words, Dr. B
otkin runs back into the house without a backward glance at me. I dash back into the woods with the suitcase, tripping several times in my haste.
“Something’s wrong,” I announce when I return. “Dr. Botkin says everyone—the whole household—is required to go to the parlor room and all the guards are waiting there.”
Vadim and Ilya exchange a dark look.
“Let’s go,” Ilya decrees and we all race after him to the broken slat.
“We won’t be able to fit through that,” Dima observes.
“Nastya can, and maybe Zavid and Maks, too. They are leaner than us,” Vadim observes.
“It can’t hurt to try,” Zav asserts.
I don’t even wait; I push the slats as far apart as possible and squeeze myself through them. It’s a task to get my ample breasts and backside through, but I manage. With a triumphant smile, I tumble inside the confinement. Maks and Zav shimmy themselves through as well, but my joy is short-lived when I hear a shrill scream.
I sprint to the side of the house where I heard it. Maks and Zavid follow closely behind me. The windows here have been boarded up, too, and I peek through a spot and the sight inside freezes my blood. My family and beloved maids and manservants are lined up and the guards are standing there with their guns at the ready.
To formally execute them all.
Chapter Thirty-One
Maksim
I nudge Nastya out of the way to see the same horrifying scene that she sees—a massacre is about to occur.
“Maks—quick, we need to make a diversion, something—”
Her words are cut off by the sounds of rapid gunfire. She screams loudly and tears at the board, prying it apart to get inside. No one even pays us any heed—the guards can’t even hear over the sounds of their firing weapons. I look over at Zav and his face is deathly pale.
The tsar and the tsarina are already dead, the bullets having pierced their heads, but the girls and the tsarevich are still alive. In response, the Red soldiers stab the grand duchesses repeatedly with their bayonets before turning their attention to the court physician and other dying servants1.
Zav smacks my shoulder and gives Nastya a look—we need to get her out of here and fast. Silently, he conveys for me to take her while he does something to distract the guards. I grab at the princess whose mouth is open in a permanent silent scream and my heart breaks for her.
No one should ever have to witness the slaughter of their loved ones.
“Nastya,” I try, but she can’t hear me. “Anastasia! We must leave. Now!”
“No. That should have been me in there, not Anya. I should be dead with them. Leave me. I want to die, too.”
I grab her shoulders and shake vigorously.
“No! That’s not what your father wanted. He wanted you to live—he ordered it!”
“No! I belong with them!” she screams and I send the window a panicked look, but the guards have left the room.
Zav must be enacting his distraction—which means I have mere minutes to get Anastasia out of here. I know I can’t do it alone. I remember the shrill whistle that Ilya and Vadim use to communicate and I stick two fingers in my mouth and blow, hoping it doesn’t send the guards running.
Thankfully, it doesn’t. Zav must have one hell of a diversion. Seconds later, the two men bust through the wooden slats and fence with Dima following. They bolt over and one look inside confirms the worst of their suspicions.
“Anastasia—move,” Ilya commands coldly.
He knows that he can’t give her any compassion right now. She needs a firm leader to get her out of this alive. Like she’s already half-dead, she turns limply towards him and I know that the sight nearly brings us all to our knees—to see the look of utter defeat on her face.
She turns to give her slain family one last look and gasps.
“Alyosha!” she yells. “He’s alive.”
We all press against the window and, indeed, the tsarevich is twitching slightly. He’s alive—but barely.
“We must get him! We can save him!”
Vadim, Ilya, and Dima all exchange a look with me.
“Princess, look at me,” I direct. “He won’t make it. He’s dying and with his blood condition, we won’t be able to get him a transfusion in time. You know this. To attempt to save him will cost us our lives—and, ultimately, won’t spare his.”
Anastasia is shaking her head vigorously in denial and I look at Vadim and Ilya. She won’t come willingly—we’re going to have to force her. The thought sits sideways with me, but what choice do we have? The others must agree because Vadim picks her up bodily and takes off like a bullet.
He barely pauses at the fence, shoving Nastya through forcefully and, then, following. Ilya is next, then Dima, then me. Together, we race into the night. When we are about a mile away from the Ipatiev House, Zav dashes out from behind a tree. The sly man managed to outwit and outrun the Red soldiers.
As a unit, we speed into the yawning shadows as the last light of dusk melts away. I know that the Krasnyye are surely searching for us—if not hot on our tails—but we never slow down. The adrenaline keeps us moving and the cold bite of winter can hardly be felt against the rush of emotions that comes from running for your life.
Anastasia is catatonic in Vadim’s arms and stares with sightless eyes. We don’t stop until we are outside of Perm. Vadim hands Nastya over to Dmitri and the rest of us go into the town to look for food and supplies. When we return, Nastya still hasn’t moved and Dima looks worried. Next to him is the suitcase Dr. Botkin handed over and I’m surprised that Dima had the foresight to grab it, but I’m glad.
It’s all Nastya has left of her sisters—except for her memories.
I wave a hand in front of the princess’ face, but she doesn’t even flinch—she’s in shock. We must keep her warm and protected if we have any hope of her surviving this. Even though we’re now exhausted, Ilya and Vadim force us back into the woods to make a small camp. They light a fire and we all circle around it, hoping that we’ve created enough distance between us and the Krasnyye.
“What do we do now?” Zav wonders.
“We leave Russia,” Dima implacably states.
“No—we can’t leave. This is our home!” Zav argues, but Dmitri gives him and, then, all of us a look.
“I know you don’t believe it—but my father had the gift of prophecy. He told the tsar not to enter the world war—he told him that it would be the demise of his country from the inside. Russia is dying and something new and terrifying is rising from her grave. If we don’t leave now—we never will. And I promise you, we will die. My father told both Nastya and me what to do—run. Do you want to save her? Save us?”
“Fuck,” Ilya curses savagely and we all echo him. “How the hell do you think we can escape?” he demands.
The subdued duchess surprises us all by answering.
“By boat.”
“What do you mean?” Vadim gently prods when she doesn’t say anything more.
From under her shirt, she pulls out her heart pendant hanging heavily on her gold chain. She opens it to reveal a key.
“There is a network of tunnels underneath St. Petersburg that connects to Big Port. I used one tunnel to escape from Alexander Palace to the outside, but I couldn’t make it to the tunnels that connected to the city. The door to them is in my parents’ personal chapel. I couldn’t risk being caught again, so I simply ran into the night to the capital to get to Dr. Botkin’s house.”
“You ran all the way from Tsarskoye Selo to St. Petersburg in the dead of the night?” Ilya demands incredulously, but Nastya looks at him with dead eyes and shrugs.
“You all just ran from Yekaterinburg to Perm,” she points out listlessly. “You do what is necessary to survive.”
I crouch down to gaze into her anguished eyes.
“We will survive this—you will survive this,” I tell her fiercely. “Do it for them—do it in honor of them. Only you can bring your family the justice and peac
e they deserve now.”
My words must hit a chord within her because, for the first time since the massacre, a light sparks in her eyes.
“To Tsarskoye Selo?” she asks.
“At the dawn’s first light,” Ilya confirms. “We will take the day to trek there and, then, the tunnels by now. For now, we rest.”
Everyone nods and Nastya burrows deeper into Dima’s lap. My heart aches for her loss, but she can only move forward, now. It will be an arduous journey to overcome her grief and move on, but I know that I’ll be there with her for every step of it—as well as the others.
The only surviving grand duchess is now ours to keep forever.
* * *
1 Please see the afterword for more information about the Romanov execution.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Zavid
Ilya wakes us all and we once more begin our trek through the forested landscape. Vadim divvies out some food for each of us, but Nastya passes. Even though she is more alert this morning, she is still pale and shaky—not a surprise, given the circumstances—but still worrisome. Yet, none of us force the issue. We simply don’t have the heart to at the moment.
Our journey to the royal town is a silent one. Everyone is lost in their own thoughts, or prayers, in Dima’s case. When we finally make it to Tsarskoye Selo, it’s nearly night. Vadim and Ilya go ahead to scout the area. They return a short bit later to report.
“It’s a ghost town,” Vadim confirms. “Not a soul in sight.”
“All of the royals and remaining distant relatives to the Romanovs have fled,” Ilya adds. “No one with noble blood is safe from the Red soldiers anymore, even those who are only connected through marriage.”
“Then, let’s get going. At least the tunnels will be warmer than out here,” Maks observes.
We walk to Alexander Palace and Nastya stifles a cry when she sees the crumbling, burned remains of the east side where the Krasnyye attacked most. But, our stoic princess remains strong, and marches over to the chapel that is miraculously still standing.
Once inside, she pauses.
