March 30, 1867
Alaska Territory
Russian America
North of the British colonies in Canada, a Russian territory by the name of Alaska lay mostly untouched by human hands. This was due in no small part to its extreme topography and sub-freezing temperatures. It was essentially a wasteland—beautiful, but barren in every regard.
And we were going to buy it for seven million dollars.
My horse shuffled restlessly in the snow, its nostrils rimmed with ice and its eyelashes dusted with snow. A group of American prospectors talked amongst themselves, as far away from the Russian team as socially acceptable. Even Russia himself, stoic and reserved, kept his distance from me. The frozen valley that we had ridden out to was vast and awe-inspiring.
Clicking my tongue, I rode to the lone Mr. Seward, the Secretary of State who had spearheaded this initiative at the conclusion of the war. He gave me a respectful nod—as respectful as one in a bulky snowsuit on horseback could manage.
"Madam."
Once my horse settled, I joined my gaze with his. A mountain range of baffling proportions encircled the valley and continued on the horizon as far as the eye could see. Sensing his thoughts, I voiced the one question that was on everyone's mind.
"A foolhardy investment, Mr. Secretary?"
After a moment, he gave me a tight smile. "If we don't take it, Britain will."
I looked away and clenched my teeth.
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