Road to War Part II: Yes, Anastasia

I know your mother is a good one, but Poppy, don't go, I'll take you home

Eventually, her sobs became less intense and she looked around herself. The person who pulled her from the burning building was standing beside her, his hand on her shoulder. She looked toward the place she had once called home and stifled a cry when she saw that it was nearly gone, burned to the ground. She looked up at the man, eyes wide.

He smiled down at her. "It will be alright, little one," he said soothingly.

"Who are you?" she demanded, taking a step back.

"My name is Ivan. I was a friend of your parents'. They sent me to find you and make sure you were safe," he murmured gently, crouching to look her in the eye.

"Where are they?"

His comforting smile faltered, for just a moment. "They had to go away from here."

"Why didn't they take me?"

"Oh, Natalia, they couldn't. It's difficult to explain," he answered, standing and glancing up and down the street. A crowd had gathered, unsurprisingly, and people were attempting to stop the flames. She didn't follow his gaze, just continued to stare at him.

"I've met you before," she said suddenly.

He smiled again. "Yes, my dear, you have. It was a long time ago, I am surprised you remember."

She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I have a good memory for faces," she asserted.

"That's wonderful. It's a very special talent," he said, with a thoughtful look. A shiver ran through her, and he looked her up and down as if noticing for the first time that she was in her nightclothes. "Let's get you out of the cold, hmm?" he suggested, putting his hand on her shoulder again and gently pushing her forward.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he guided her through the crowd and down the soon-empty sidewalk.

"To my home," he replied affably. "Then my wife can find you something to warm you up. Maybe some hot cocoa?"

She smiled hesitantly, lip trembling after so much crying. "That would be good," she offered, aware suddenly of his generosity. Clearing her throat, she glanced around them. "Am I going to live with you now?"

His lips pursed briefly. "I'm not sure yet, little one. For tonight, at least, you can stay."

"Thank you," she said gravely.

He smiled at her. "I owe your parents that much," he explained. "It's a terrible thing, you know, to be in someone else's debt. No one wants red in their ledger."

"What did they do for you?" she asked, surprised.

Patting her head, he turned them down an alley that cut across a few blocks. "Nothing I would sully the ears of such a sweet child with. Maybe when you're older. Suffice it to say that your parents were always very generous."

"Were?" she demanded, coming to a stop and staring up at him with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, child, I didn't mean to imply anything. I just don't think they will be back in Russia again," he said gently, painfully.

Her brow furrowed and she bit back tears. "Where did they go? Why can't I go to them? What happened? Why did they leave? Why -" the questions burst from her in a flurry.

He pulled her into an embrace, pressing her against his great coat and shushed her quietly. "It'll be alright, girl. You'll be alright. We just have to get through today. Tomorrow will take care of itself," he told her.

At length, she calmed enough for them to continue walking. She did not speak again, despite arriving at his house and being stunned by its size. His coat was finer than many she had seen, as were his boots, but she had not expected such an ostentatious display of his wealth. He was clearly richer than anyone she had met, many times richer than her own parents. It was difficult to keep her jaw from dropping as he brought her inside and a maid took their coats and boots.

She followed him through his enormous house, eventually finding their way to a kitchen. A woman made her hot cocoa; she was relatively certain it wasn't his wife, but she was given only a name and nothing else to go on. While she drank, Ivan left her alone and went somewhere else. She watched him go tentatively, wondering if she should follow, but the woman insisted she sit and enjoy her drink.

By the time she had finished, Ivan returned and led her to a bedroom. "This will be yours, for tonight," he told her. "Sleep well, little one. You're safe here."

"Thank you, Ivan," she said sincerely. He smiled, patted her head, and left.

She stayed with Ivan and his family for more than a night. There were dozens of servants of whom she did her best to keep track, as well as his wife, whom she met the next morning. It was a few months before Ivan came to her in the parlor room, where she was practicing the piano. She stopped when he approached, but he motioned for her to continue.

"It's about time you should go to school," he said when she'd finished.

"Yes, sir," she replied, glancing over at him.

He smiled. "I think I've found one just right for someone like you."

"Someone like me?" she asked, smiling happily.

"You're a very special girl. Would you like to join other special girls and show us all what you really can do?" he offered.

"Yes!" she cried, jumping to her feet exuberantly.

"It will be very difficult, Natalia," he warned.

"Oh, Ivan, I can do it! I love challenges," she told him persuasively.

He leaned forward on his knees to look at her intently. "Once you go, you won't be able to leave just because you don't like it."

She met his eye and looked at him soberly. "I will work very hard, Ivan."

A small smile appeared on his lips. "I know you will, little one. But I worry about you, you know. I wish I could keep you here in my house," he added wistfully, sitting back.

Her brow furrowed. "Why can't you, Ivan?" she asked. It was a question that had bothered her for some time, but she took care not to let the importance of it become obvious in her tone. People were often taken aback by intense questioning, and refused to answer.

He sighed heavily. "It would not be allowed. We have places for orphans to go, and I'm sad to say that you now fall into that category. If I took you in, well, it would be expected for me to take in others. And my poor wife wouldn't be able to handle that, what with her health," he explained.

She bit her lip. "I could be a servant," she suggested.

"Always clever," he said with a sad smile. "I'm sorry, my dear Natalia, but it can't be done."

"Is it," she began, then paused to clear her throat. "Is it because of what happened to my parents?" she whispered.

He pulled her into a quick hug. "Clever girl," he murmured. "Yes, it's because of them. I have taken great risks bringing you here, and it took a great deal to find a place for you. For you to stay here would put us all in terrible danger."

Her blood ran cold. The fire was... because of her? Because of her parents? She pulled away to stare at him, but could see no lie on his face. He was telling the truth. "I'm sorry," she cried, and buried her face in his jacket.

Patting her back gently, he got to his feet, stepping away. "It's not your fault, Natalia. Now, come along, let's get you packed."

She obediently followed him to the room she was beginning to think of as her own. He found her a suitcase that he promised would not be missed and helped her select some of the things she had acquired while living there and pack them away. When they had finished, he sat on her bed and watched her carefully straightening the room.

"You're a good girl, Natalia. You're clever and perceptive and strong. I think you will do well, but you will have to pay close attention to your instructors and do whatever they ask," he told her seriously.

"I will, Ivan," she promised, tone grave.

He smiled faintly. "You will leave in the morning. So let's see what we can find in the kitchen to make your last night here memorable," he said conspiratorially. She grinned and followed him downstairs.