The Dreaming Land I: The Challenge (The Zemnian Series Book 5)

by E. P. Clark

  “But by that time the Zerkalitsa blood had run pretty thin in them, and my grandmother and her folks had only ever known the life of a commoner, and they didn’t want anything else. Your fine princesses don’t know it, but if you’ve got a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food on the table, sometimes it’s better to be no one. No one will bother you, and you can get on with living your life as you see best. So my grandmother, who was also an Alyona, said she didn’t want to be made a princess, she just wanted to stay in her home and tend to her garden, and Darya Krasnoslavovna couldn’t convince her otherwise.

  “But the time came that her eldest daughter, my mother Vasilisa, got a hankering to see Krasnograd, so she came here and came before the Tsarina then, your grandmother, Valeriya Dariyevna. But your grandmother…” Alyona Vasilisovna shrugged expressively. “Her foremothers’ blood ran pretty thin in her, too, I’d say. Sometimes it happens. She didn’t want to acknowledge my mother at all, but my mother badgered and bothered her—my mother was a great one for that—until at last she said my mother could have a place in the kitchens here. So here I am, and I’ve never wanted anything more. I don’t doubt that your sister would give me more if I asked for it, Valeriya Dariyevna, but I don’t want it. I worked my way up from scullery maid to mistress of this kitchen with my own two hands, Valeriya Dariyevna, and that’s enough for me. I doubt all those fine princesses I cook for sleep as sound at night as I do, or know the satisfaction of making something with your own two hands and watching others enjoy it. There’s little that can beat it, Valeriya Dariyevna, and I don’t want honor or fine clothes or fancy titles. I dare say the Zerkalitsa blood runs pretty thin in me too, Valeriya Dariyevna. But,” she nodded sharply again for emphasis, “there still must be a drop or two in my veins, because ever since I was a girl I’ve been able to see true. Not all the time, mind, and not about the kinds of things that great princesses and Empresses care about, but I’ve always known when something big, whether bad or good, was going to happen to my own. My sister died long ago, Valeriya Dariyevna, and my niece followed her soon after, so these days you and your sister are about as close to being my own as anyone, if you’ll pardon me for saying it. And I know,” she clenched her fist, “I know, Valeriya Dariyevna, that your sister is with child, but it isn’t going to end well.”

  “How?” I whispered. “Will she…?”

  “I don’t know, Valeriya Dariyevna, I truly don’t. Sometimes I see things so clearly it’s like they’ve already happened, and sometimes it’s nothing more than a feeling. When it’s that way often as not it’s because it’s not quite set yet, something could still be done to change it, or so it’s always seemed to me. This time it’s like that.”

  “How?” I asked. I realized I’d grabbed her arm without either of us noticing, but I didn’t let go. “How can we change it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, Valeriya Dariyevna. You said the healers said it’s too dangerous to end it?”

  I nodded. “She almost died last time,” I whispered. “Trying again…she never should have gotten with child!”

  Alyona Vasilisovna shook her head again, not in disagreement but in thought. She was no longer looking at me, but at whatever it was she saw in her head. “Then…all I can say, Valeriya Dariyevna, is you should get with child. I don’t know why, but it seems like it helps, somehow.”

  “Very well.” I sat back and released her arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good girl,” she said, and patted my hand again. “Now finish your food. You’ll need your strength for…things.” She smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back at her. I finished off the food, which, while not as mouthwateringly delicious as it had been when I’d first bitten into it, no longer turned my stomach, and then, thanking Alyona Vasilisovna again for her help and her council, I left the kitchen and went back to the Imperial chambers.

  ***

  Snezhana Tatyanovna was just leaving as I arrived, so I cornered her in the corridor and demanded to know what she had found.

  “Everything is much the same as before, Valeriya Dariyevna,” she said with a shrug.

  “Meaning?”

  “The child continues to grow inside her, Valeriya Dariyevna, and while that happens, there is still hope. But her heart is weak, and the blood is not circulating through her body as it should. Sometimes it is too strong, and sometimes too weak. Sometimes the blood just doesn’t flow as it should when a woman is with child, Valeriya Dariyevna: you must know this. And in those cases there is little we can do. I would say to end it, but after last time I fear the bleeding that might cause, and I fear even more that her heart wouldn’t be able to take it. Besides, the time for that is almost past. It would be dangerous even for a woman in good health.”

  “So what can we do?” I must have spoken more intensely than I had intended, for Snezhana Tatyanovna took a step backwards from the vehemence of my words. “What can we do?” I repeated when she failed to answer me.

  “They say your family is closer to the gods than others, Valeriya Dariyevna,” she said after a moment.

  “So they say,” I agreed.

  “Then I would pray, Valeriya Dariyevna. If I were you, I would pray very hard.”

  For a moment I wanted to lash out at her for mocking me, but then I saw that she was sincere, her eyes watching me with sorrow. “Thank you,” I said. “I will, then.”

  “Good for you, Valeriya Dariyevna.” She pressed my arm gently—I must have looked particularly distraught, what with the way everyone was patting me like a despondent puppy—and with a last look of quiet compassion, left.

  When I entered the chambers, I found Sera lying in her bed and Vyacheslav Irinovich sitting on a chair beside it and holding her hand. “You had to do it, Valya,” she said as soon as she saw me, but her voice held no rancor. “You had to go summon a healer, even though I hadn’t asked you to.”

  “Someone needed to.” I sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” she said, and she sounded stronger than she had in the yard, but the hand she placed on top of mine was so puffy that the flesh was swollen all out around her rings, and dark circles stood out starkly against the whiteness of her face. “I feel better, Valya, and Snezhana Tatyanovna really did help me, so thank you for calling her for me. I suppose I shouldn’t be so stubborn, should I?”

  “No,” I told her. “You should leave the stubbornness to me. I’ve got more than enough for the both of us.” On the other side of the bed Vyacheslav Irinovich suppressed what was either a snort or a sob. Probably the former. Although he was much too polite to admit it, I had always suspected that he secretly found me very amusing.

  “Sera,” I said, placing my other hand on top of hers where it was resting on mine, “why did you do it?”

  “Do what, Valya?” she asked, as if she didn’t already know.

  “Get with child again. Tell me truthfully, Sera: why did you do it? You don’t need an heir, not really. Oh, I know the black earth princesses would kick and scream if Mirochka or I were to succeed you, but betroth the boys to their daughters and they’d come around quick enough. So why did you do it?”

  “Oh…” She took a deep breath. “Have you ever seen a leshaya, Valya? Spoken with one of the servants of the gods? Heard the voices of the gods themselves?”

  I shook my head.

  “I thought not. Neither have I—since childhood. Since Darya Krasnoslavovna was still alive. When I was a very little girl she would still walk in the park behind the kremlin, the very one we walked in this evening, and all the prayer trees would turn and look at her as she walked past, and animals would come and speak to her, and the wind would carry the voices of the gods themselves. She was born because of them, you know. She was her mother’s gift to the gods, and theirs to her. And she bound herself to that world with other oaths too, you know, oaths that I am now the only one to keep.”

  “I’ll keep it too!” I cried. “Sera…when I was in t
he kitchen…Alyona Vasilisovna said…anyway, I’ll keep it now too.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, and squeezed my hand. “I knew you would, when the time came. But you see, Valya, when Darya Krasnoslavovna left the world of women, so did the link she had forged with the gods. Our grandmother tried…but she always said she could never…never make that crossing and place one foot in that world because when the time came, she failed the test the gods had set her. She believed—and so do I—that Krasnoslava and Darya Krasnoslavovna were able to touch the gods and their servants, become part of that world just as they were part of our world, because the gods had tested them, and not found them wanting. Or because they had given up so much for what they were given. But our grandmother…it’s not that she wouldn’t have if she’d been asked, of that I’m sure, but she was never asked. She did her best, she tried to be an Empress that would do her foremothers proud, and leave Zem’ better off after her rule than it was before, and in that she succeeded…but she always had both feet firmly planted in the world of women. I think she was sorry of that, I think she would have been glad to…to follow in her mother and grandmother’s footsteps, but she was never given the chance, and in the end she became bitter because of it. And then my own mother…” Sera shrugged, “she…I think she knew that she would forever be judged against the measure, not only of her mother, but of Krasnoslava and Darya Krasnoslavovna, and she couldn’t stand up to the strain. To be a Zerkalitsa is a great thing, Valya, but when so many great women have gone before you, how can you be anything other than less? So when the time came, when the enemy was at our gates, my mother failed the test the gods had set her, became less, and so, if you’ll forgive me for saying it, did yours, even if not to quite the same degree.”

  “I know,” I said. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “So now”—she drew in another deep breath, as if, I thought in alarm, her lungs were already struggling to take in enough air, and the child was barely even showing yet—“So now it is up to you and me, Valya, to, to bring back what we once had, what our family once had. Especially me. I am the Tsarina. It is up to me. I must be tested and not found wanting, Valya, I must be willing to give up everything! Our foremothers did it, and now I must do it too! Oh Valya! I must not be found wanting!”

  “You won’t be,” I told her, squeezing her hand in both of mine. “You won’t be, Sera, you won’t be. Only…are you sure that this is the test?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Producing an heir. Are you sure that this is the test? Perhaps it’s the other way around. Perhaps that’s what you’re supposed to give up.”

  “You’re just saying that to dissuade me!” she cried.

  “No,” I told her. “No. It seems you must go through with this, Sera, for better or for worse, and you know I will do whatever it is you ask of me to help you do that. But perhaps…just perhaps the test isn’t what you think it is, the sacrifice isn’t what you think it is. Many women can produce daughters. After all”—I grinned at her—“I’ve done it myself. But only you, Sera, can rule Zem’ right now. Right now only you are the Tsarina, and a Tsarina is what Zem’ needs.” I squeezed her hand again. “There is often more than one test,” I told her. “And I am sure you will pass all of them.” I bent down and kissed her brow. “Get some rest,” I said. “Tomorrow…tomorrow I will go out into the prayer wood, and I will renew Darya Krasnoslavovna’s oath. And then the next day will be Midsummer, and the day after that I will set off for the East. And before you know it, fall will be upon us and I’ll return triumphantly, having smashed the slave trade that is devouring our children, and we’ll pass the merriest winter you can possibly imagine here in Krasnograd. Only I’m afraid that you’ll disown the both of us after you’ve spent a winter in the company of Mirochka and me. We don’t handle being cooped up very well.”

  She laughed softly. “Very well, Valya. I knew I could count on you—for a laugh if nothing else. Go to bed, and we’ll talk of our grand plans again tomorrow.”

  I squeezed her hand once more, got up, and left. As I turned to go out the door I caught sight of her again out of the corner of my eye. She was leaning back against the pillows, her eyes closed as if exhausted, but with a pleased smile on her face. Vyacheslav Irinovich was still holding her hand, but his shoulders had slumped down so that he looked as if he had no chest at all. He shuddered, and this time I was sure it was a sob that was shaking him.

  ***

  Mirochka was waiting for me back in our chambers when I arrived, and launched herself straight into my arms as soon as I came through the door, causing me to take a step back and remind her to watch out for my cut arm.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked, round-eyed.

  “A little. The main thing is not to restart the bleeding.”

  “How did you…” she wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably, and then blurted out, “I don’t think I could do it, mama! I think I’d be too afraid!”

  “Do you want me to teach you?”

  “Teach me?” she repeated, her eyes going even rounder.

  “Of course. I have to go down to the prayer wood and make another oath tomorrow at a prayer tree. We could go and do it together, and I could teach you how to make a blood oath.” Seeing the alarm that filled her face at that thought, I added, “Or you could just watch me do it, if you like.” I had meant to go down and make the oath alone, but it would be better if Mirochka were there. After all, one day this would be her oath too.

  “Oh.” She considered it. “Why do you have to make another oath, mama?”

  I sat us both down on the bed. “Do you remember how I told you about the oath Darya Krasnoslavovna made?” I asked. “The one with the animal spirits? How the Empress of Zem’ would not eat the flesh of their sisters and brothers, nor harm any living thing, and in return they would watch over her and her family?”

  Mirochka nodded solemnly. I had told her the story last year, and she had accepted it with many questions and arguments. Like most children, she was alternately devastated and callous about the deaths of others, particularly those who fed her. She had seen the sense in Darya Krasnoslavovna’s deal, and approved of the idea of never killing others, not even to feed off their flesh—and she had eaten sausage unquestioningly at the next meal. Of course, so had I.

  “Well, I’ve decided to join in that oath,” I told her. “I’m not the Empress, but I am her sister. I think…it might help, and it can’t hurt. You can join me in it too, if you want to.”

  “Do I have to cut myself?” she asked fearfully.

  “Not if you don’t want to,” I assured her. “You can just tie a ribbon to the prayer tree.”

  “Does it have to be a nice ribbon?” she asked.

  “It works better if it is,” I told her. “You have to give up something dear to you; that’s part of the prayer.”

  “Oh.” And, still contemplating that, she went to bed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning I received a message with breakfast that Ivan Marinovich most humbly begged my pardon, but to his great regret, his duties as the tsarinovich’s new companion would prevent him from training with me this morning. In the afternoon, however, he would be entirely at my service. I sent back a message expressing my own regrets, but adding that I had pressing business myself this morning, and that I would call for him when I returned in order to discuss our upcoming journey. I really needed, I reflected, to finalize the members of my party and begin the preparations in earnest, since we were supposed to leave in two days’ time. In the afternoon, I promised myself, I would take care of all of that without fail. I had had good reason for my delays.

  After breakfast Mirochka and I spent an unnecessarily long time on what to her was the deadly serious business of choosing a piece of cloth for her to tie to the prayer tree, with me insisting that it had to be something that had value to her, and her ruling out one possibility after another as too dear to sacrifice. We finally settled on an old hair ribbon in a color
she didn’t like, and I hustled her out of the room before she could decide that, little as she had always cared for an old bit of cloth that had faded to a shade of yellow unpleasantly similar to what you might see if you brought up the contents of your stomach when there was nothing in there but bile, the ribbon had now become the most precious thing in her possession and the thought of leaving it forever to the elements was unbearable. Luckily for both of us, though, she was distracted from her imminent loss by all the guards and serving girls who bowed as they walked past us in the hall, and we made it out of the palace and onto the stable yard without any fits of panic or temper.

  I stopped in the stable, where we checked upon our own mounts, who appeared to be in the pink of health, and I ascertained that yes, Ivan’s horse had been successfully retrieved yesterday, that he had suffered no harm in the process (although, according to the stable boys who had helped with the retrieval, the curses Princess Velikokrasnova had hurled at them had very nearly burnt their ears right off), and that he was fit and sound enough for Ivan to take him with us on the journey. Then I picked up some clean bandages and a bottle of strong vodka.

  “What are those for, mama?” asked Mirochka in consternation.

  “To clean and bind the cut after we make the oath,” I told her.

  Her eyes grew very big.

  “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” I reassured her.

  “But you’re going to do it, mama?”

  “I am,” I confirmed.

  “Aren’t you…aren’t you afraid, mama?”