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

by E. P. Clark

  Although…it was very strange that he had not owned up to his betrothal to Princess Velikokrasnova from the first, but rather allowed me to find out only after several weeks, and only through the warnings of Sera, but I had put it all down to his overwhelming passion for me. That he was by nature unfaithful had never even crossed my mind, but now, as I tried to revive the memories of events that had taken place nine summers in the past, I found that the only thing I could really remember was my own overwhelming passion, my own conviction of it being returned, my own disregard of every caution, every contrary circumstance, and my own crushing, debilitating pain and sorrow once everything had come crashing down around me. That he had felt at least somewhat differently I had been forced to admit by his actions, as no former engagement, no call to duty or propriety, could have turned me from my course then, but that he had also felt deeply for me, that he had also suffered on my account, I had never doubted. Until now. For a moment the humiliation and self-loathing this provoked was so severe that I wanted to bite down on something in order to restrain the scream that was welling up inside of me.

  “Look, mama!” cried Mirochka, running over to me. “I made a pie all by myself!” She shoved misshapen, half-cooked, half-burnt pastry in my face.

  “Well done!” I told her. “I see they’ll make a cook out of you yet!”

  “Eat it, mama, eat it: you haven’t had any breakfast yet.” Her face, in which I could suddenly see so many traces of Nika’s own features, was screwed up in affectionate concern.

  I took a bite. Even Mirochka’s untrained efforts could not completely ruin the ingredients, which were the best that money and influence could buy, and the pride she took in her work, and her desire for me to like it, made it taste delicious. I swallowed, and most of the tears of pain and hurt-filled screams of rage that had been threatening to come bursting out went down with it.

  “It’s wonderful,” I told her. “Shall we split it?”

  “It’s all for you, mama! I already had two! I wanted to make sure that you got one too. And look! Alyona Vasilisovna gave me some bits of apple and carrot for the horses! Can we go see them now?”

  “Let’s,” I said. “Have you thanked Alyona Vasilisovna and the others for letting you spend time with them?”

  “Yes, but let’s go say goodbye to them before we go to the stables, shall we?” She grabbed my arm and pulled me after her to where Alyona Vasilisovna and Kirochka were standing and talking, or rather, where Alyona Vasilisovna was shaking her finger in Kirochka’s face.

  “Thank you for the trouble you took for us this morning,” I told them both. “And…there is no need to…Kirochka has done me a great service this morning.”

  Alyona Vasilisovna gave me a sharp look. “I don’t hold with my girls running their mouths off about things that are none of their business and that they only know third-hand anyway, Valeriya Dariyevna,” she said.

  “I know. But it is better that my eyes should be opened.”

  “Opened about what, mama?” asked Mirochka.

  “Nothing of importance,” I told her. “Some things about people you don’t know. Are you ready to go to the stable, my love?”

  Alyona Vasilisovna gave me another sharp look, one that encompassed Mirochka as well, and then relaxed and nodded her head. “As long as no harm has been done where it matters, Valeriya Dariyevna,” she said, making a tiny nod in Mirochka’s direction.

  “Nothing ever could,” I said. “Thank you for your care of us, Alyona Vasilisovna, and may your preparations continue smoothly today.”

  “And have a joyous Midsummer!” cried Mirochka.

  “To you too, little princess,” said Alyona Vasilisovna, smiling fondly. “Although it looks like you’re off to a good start, aren’t you? Say hello to the horses for me.”

  Mirochka promised to do so, and after another round of thanks, we left the kitchen in quest of more adventures.

  ***

  I had blithely assumed, when the initial shock had passed there in the kitchen, that Kirochka’s revelations would not have any great effect on me, and that I would go about my day with all my accustomed energy, but when we stepped out into the bright sunlight, something seemed wrong with my eyes, and I almost staggered from the wave of dizziness that hit me. After a moment I got hold of myself and we proceeded to the stables without Mirochka noticing anything wrong, but as we walked across the yard and then into the stable and down the rows of stalls, I felt as if I had somehow become separated from my body, or as if I were wading through deep water, so that every step was an effort, and everything was strange and far away. The part of me that could still care about things ground its teeth in annoyance. I had felt the same way for many weeks after, but I had thought I had left all this behind long ago. Obviously not. I hoped I would be able to come back to myself soon.

  Mirochka fed our horses, who were all looking well, with the apple and carrot scraps she had been given, and I ran my hands down my Zlata’s legs while she lipped curiously at my hair, as was her wont. Everything felt firm and cool, just as it should, and Zlata herself seemed restless to quit the stall and the regime of rest she had been under since we had arrived in Krasnograd, so I judged she was as ready as she could be to set off on our next journey. This encouraging thought, and Zlata’s gentle solicitude, made my head feel a bit clearer, and my heart feel a bit better about life in general, and I spoke quite boldly and sensibly with Kseniya Avdotyevna about the preparations for setting off tomorrow. We had made the principle arrangements the evening before, and now Kseniya Avdotyevna, who as I had predicted had been delighted to join in on our venture, was supervising the packing and repairs she considered necessary with the calm competence of a born stable mistress, with only the occasional grin or glint in her eye to betray how excited she really was. She stopped by Zlata’s stall when she saw me looking her over.

  “Don’t you worry, Valeriya Dariyevna, she’s as sound as any horse in Krasnograd, and fit enough to gallop from here to the mountains without drawing breath,” she told me cheerfully. “I’ve been keeping a special eye on her ever since she came in. She’s a fine creature, she is. I’d heard that steppe horses were something special, and in her case I see that it’s true.”

  “There are many fine horses on the steppe,” I said. “But Zlata is a prize even amongst her sisters.”

  “Of course she is, Valeriya Dariyevna. Look at those legs! So light, and still so sturdy! You can tell she’s not likely to break or bow something. She’s neither heavy like our draft horses, nor delicate like our racehorses. Have you bred her?”

  “She dropped her first foal last year,” I said. “A beautiful little filly, as golden as her mother. We named her Solnyshka, because she shines like the sun. Zlata weaned her off this spring, and I had half a mind to bring her with me, I prize her that much, but this was no journey for a yearling, so I left her behind for my mistress of horse to continue her training. We’ll back her next spring, when her bones are ready for my weight. I’ll show her to you when we pass through the steppe.”

  “I’d dearly love to see that, Valeriya Dariyevna,” said Kseniya Avdotyevna, surveying Zlata with gleaming eyes. “And will you breed her again?”

  “Perhaps next year,” I said. “We give them at least a year between foals, you know, and Zlata’s too fine a saddle horse for me to want to lose her too often. Although we certainly have plenty of fine horses back home. Perhaps if there’s time we can bring back a stud and a couple of mares on our way back.”

  “I’d count in an honor and no mistake, Valeriya Dariyevna,” said Kseniya Avdotyevna, her eyes gleaming even more brightly at the thought. “Horses are the family business, and I’ve been around them my entire life, but I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one I liked so well as yours here.”

  “We’ll have to find you your own steppe mare, then,” I told her. “We don’t give them to just anybody, you know, but we always have a mount for a born horsewoman.”

  “Even a black earth woman,
Valeriya Dariyevna?” asked Kseniya Avdotyevna with a laugh.

  “We could overlook it if you prove yourself,” I told her. “Are all your family stablehands, then?”

  “Well, not my mother, Valeriya Dariyevna—she’s a seamstress. But all my aunts and uncles are. I was glad to hear that Ivan Marinovich will be accompanying us, and to see his horse in our stable—the rest of my family works at the Velikokrasnova and Vostochnokrasnova stables, and I’ve known him since he was a lad.”

  “Is that so,” I said. My dizziness came back. “Was one of your aunts the mistress of horse for Princess Vostochnokrasnova, then?”

  “And still is, Valeriya Dariyevna,” said Kseniya Avdotyevna cheerily. “Although she’s getting on in years, and we’re all expecting her daughter, my second-sister, to take her place soon. Now there was a surprise: we all thought our Alya would never show an interest in the business, or in anything other than chasing men, but she’s settled down now that she’s married.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “Young women can be so flighty sometimes.”

  “Isn’t that the truth, Valeriya Dariyevna. They say she even…” Kseniya Avdotyevna suddenly became very confused, “well, it doesn’t signify at all. Here I am standing around talking to you, when we both have the work of three women to do. Joyous Midsummer, Valeriya Dariyevna, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning, if not before.”

  She rushed off, leaving me with the unpleasant conclusion that her second-sister had been the very woman Kirochka had said had been running around with Nika the same summer that I had. I ran my hands indecisively through Zlata’s mane. It was highly likely that this second-sister was at the Vostochnokrasnova stable on Black Earth Street, and that if I wanted to, I could go find her and confront her right now. The desire to do so was strong. On the other hand, what was to be gained by doing so? Absolutely nothing. All it would do would be to stir up old sorrows and poison whatever there had been of good in that sorry affair. And Kseniya Avdotyevna was right: I had plenty to do as it was. There was absolutely no need.

  “Look, mama, it’s the tsarinoviches!” cried Mirochka, who had come out of the neighboring stall and was lounging in the aisle, waiting for me to finish with my woolgathering. She knew better than to run in a stable, but she walked with all permissible alacrity over to her brothers, where it was soon discovered that they were there in order to collect their ponies and go for a ride.

  “Can I go, mama, can I go?” begged Mirochka.

  “Who is escorting you?” I asked.

  “Ivan Marinovich,” said Ruslan with a nod towards the stable door, where Ivan Marinovich had just appeared. “And Yura and Sanya, of course.” He nodded to the two guards flanking him.

  Ivan Marinovich came over and joined us. I thought he flushed a little on seeing me, but he bowed and greeted me composedly enough, and even said, “Would you care to join us, Valeriya Dariyevna? The tsarinoviches wish to go riding, and I thought I’d take my Svetlyak out for a little outing to stretch his legs before tomorrow.”

  I thought about accepting his invitation, and even about telling him that responsibility had, as it so often did for modest and retiring spirits, made him grow bold, but instead I said, “It sounds delightful, but I have some errands I must run, and we will have more than enough chances to ride together starting tomorrow. Will you be so good as to take Mirochka with you in my stead, and watch over her?”

  “Of course, Valeriya Dariyevna.” I thought he gave me a puzzled look, as if there had been something odd in my manner, but I decided to hope that I hadn’t and wouldn’t antagonize him by my refusal, and, thanking him for his care and telling Mirochka to be good, I left.

  ***

  I had every intention of going back to my chambers and packing up my things for the journey tomorrow, but instead, too sick at heart to concentrate on anything and disgusted with myself for being like that over something so stupid and so long ago, I wandered into the park behind the kremlin. Because it was a holiday, many others had also made their way there, and I spent a while walking listlessly from grove to grove, interrupting trysting couples. Which only made me feel worse. Memories of my own trysts with Nika kept rising up, and I kept seeing the image of the greedy, desperate look on his face and the furtive hunch of his shoulders that would come over him whenever he would take my nipple in his mouth, like a little child, only without a child’s purity of understanding and purpose, replaced instead with the feeling that he was doing something wrong, that he was stealing something he shouldn’t, but couldn’t or wouldn’t stop himself from doing so…I had always pushed down the revulsion it had provoked, had always told myself it was the result of his passion for me, his overwhelming love for me, but right now I felt nothing but disgust, disgust for myself for letting him do that to me, disgust for myself for going along, even encouraging, what I now saw as nothing more than selfish, fearful greed. For a moment I thought I might retch.

  A few strong swallows brought my stomach under control, but gave me no more peace of mind, or any idea where I should go. I thought about going to “my” prayer tree, but couldn’t face all the memories it would bring up, and so I kept wandering until I was somewhere in the middle of the park, which even the most ardent lovers considered to be haunted, or near enough, and consequently avoided, and sat down on a rotting log beside a small bog.

  Mosquitoes whined around me, but I could hardly find the resolution to slap them. I stared down at the small pool of black water in front of me, and wondered how deep it was. Deep enough to drown in? Probably not. Not that I really wanted to anyway, but for a moment I felt so tired that I thought I might just fall face-first into the water and lack the strength to get back up. The fact that I was spending Midsummer, and the day before a long journey, idling by a bog, instead of preparing for my travels or spending time with my family, made me angry, but the anger was so far away it had no effect on my actions. Then I thought about how I was sitting around moping over someone who would go out of his way to avoid me now, and who may never have cared two grosh about me, when I could be with people who would gladly spend time with me whenever I gave them the chance, and whose loyalty and friendship had been proven time and time again, and I became even angrier, but it was still as if the anger were separated from me by thick wavy glass or deep running water. My eyes ached, and I knew that I wanted to cry, and that crying would help, it would release whatever poison was inside of me after all these years, but no tears would come.

  Something caught my eye. A beetle had fallen onto its back near my foot and was struggling to right itself in the moss. I bent down and gently flipped it back over, and watched as it scuttled off.

  “Thank you, sister,” said a voice behind me, and a hard hand closed around my shoulder.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I lurched forward in an attempt to jump to my feet and whirl around, but between the soft ground and the hand gripping my shoulder, all I did was stumble and almost fall before coming to a rest, half-suspended by whomever was holding me up.

  “Easy, sister,” said the voice.

  “You’re a leshaya,” I said. “You can put me down. I won’t do anything to you.”

  “That is true, sister,” said the voice, sounding amused. “But I thank you for your intent not to harm me, anyway.”

  The hard branch-like hand holding my left shoulder slowly released me. I was glad that I only staggered a little as I regained my footing and turned around to face her.

  “Am I what you expect, sister?” asked the leshaya, blinking her large green eyes from behind the many fir boughs, some of which resembled hands, on her trunk.

  “Close enough. Did you come here to save me from myself, or ask something of me?”

  “You’re much more direct than your foremothers, little Dariyevna,” said the leshaya, still sounding amused. She poked my shoulder with a branch. “Firmer, too. Stronger, at least in body. It is good to be strong. I hope you are equally strong in mind.”

  “You knew them,
then. My foremothers.”

  The leshaya’s wind-like voice made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sigh. “I did, little Dariyevna, I did. I had that honor.”

  “I may not be them. But I will do what I can for you.”

  “I see you’ve already answered your question, then, little Dariyevna,” observed the leshaya.

  “If you’d come to save me from myself, you wouldn’t have let go of me so quickly.”

  “I did not judge the danger that great,” agreed the leshaya. “Besides, the water there is no deeper than your knees, and it is very difficult for a strong healthy woman such as yourself to drown in knee-deep water, even if she wants to. Your lungs would force you back up into the air in spite of yourself.”

  “I know. It was nothing but an idle thought anyway.”

  “Such thoughts run in your family, though, little Dariyevna, and they are not always idle. Some of your foremothers have wondered if they are cursed, if your family is cursed.”

  “Are we?”

  “Cursed? I do not know. Or rather, there have been many curses cast against you, over the years. But whether this sickness of the mind is a result of those curses, or has arisen of its own accord, I cannot say.”

  “It’s not a sickness!”

  The leshaya had no mouth, but I thought she smiled anyway. “I am glad you think so, little Dariyevna,” she said. “Let us call it a strength then. But strength can be as dangerous as sickness, for those who let it overcome them. These thoughts you are having: you are well to be on your guard against them, at least until the time comes.”

  “What time?”

  “The time when you may have need of them,” explained the leshaya patiently.