The Key to Her Heart

4: Brooms and Hotheads

Winter was slowly loosening its icy grip on the city, but its cold breath still swept through the streets. Anya shivered as the breeze seeped through her worn coat, reminding her that spring wasn't quite ready to return. She bit another splinter out of her finger and got back to work, wrapping the handle of the broom in her scarf to avoid any more slivers in her hands. She had been meaning to find a pair of gloves, but they were expensive and she needed the money to get to Paris. Although they had the tickets, they didn't have the exit papers and time was running short.

Life as a streetsweeper was boring. There wasn't much to see in Petersburg (or should she say Leningrad?) except the endless mush of snow and the bundled figures as people hurried to work or home or simply to avoid the Cheka or any other Bolshevik leaders. Anya spotted one rounding the corner and she kept her head down, sweeping the snow off the footpath.

A bang echoed through the street and Anya screamed. She instinctively curled into a ball, protecting her head with her arms. Please don't shoot me, don't hurt me, I didn't do anything wron-

"It's alright." A firm hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. Anya looked up into the eyes of the Bolshevik General. "It was just a truck backfiring, comrade. That's all it was."

Anya nodded, trying to regain composure as he handed her the broom.

"You're shaking." 

She bit back a remark about the cold weather. She didn't want to get on the General's bad side.

He studied her, his dark eyes concerned. "There's a teashop just steps from here, let me-"

"Thank you." She tried to run, but he grabbed her arm tightly. 

"What's your hurry?" 

Anya shivered at the cold tone. "I can't lose this job," she said, staring up at his face. "They're not easy to come by."

He nodded and let her go, watching as she ran down the street. She stopped, turning back. "But thank you."

"I'm here every day!" He called, watching with a forlorn look as she hurried out of sight. There was something about her that struck the General's heart, something about her eyes... He shook it off, continuing his patrol down the Nevsky Prospect.

* * * * *

"Who is your great-grandmother?"

Anya sighed, rubbing her eyes as Dmitri paced in front of her. Vlad was watching them from the dusty sofa, his eyes half-closed. "Queen Victoria."

"Your great-great-grandmother?"

"Uh..." Anya frowned thinking. She knew this, but her mind felt like it was swimming through treacle. Mmmm... treacle. I haven't had that in years...

"Come on, Anya, it's not that difficult."

She shot him a glare. His antics were beginning to get on her nerves. "Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld?"

"Good." Dmitri flipped through the book. "Your best friend is..."

"My little brother Alexei," Anya answered confidently.

"Wrong! Your best friend is-"

"I know who my best friend is!" Anya stood up abruptly, her face growing red.

Dmitri raised his eyebrows, closing the book with a snap. "Really? Because last time I checked, you had amnesia and could remember nothing to do with the Romanovs." They were inches apart now. Anya could see the dark circles under his eyes.

"I've been learning," she hissed.

"Not well, apparently, since you don't even know who Anastasia's best friend is," he hissed back.