Rasputina and the Witch's Tsar

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"You may pack your things." The guard stares at me, sizing me up to see if I'm truly the witch they claim.

I pause at the door. How many things does one really need for exile? I'll already have plenty with my thoughts of revenge to keep me company.

"May I use the facilities?"

The guard snorts. "Do I look stupid, kretin?"

I close my eyes and look over his shoulder at the maid, Ursula, looming behind him. A finger to her lips. A heavy cleaning instrument in her hand.

"No." I fight to keep a smirk off my face. "But you will."

The guard has enough time for precisely one guffaw before Ursula brings the instrument down on his head. She releases a slight gasp as he turns to look at her. I finish the deed with a swift blow to his head.

He slumps against the wall to my room. Kaskil opens the door and, with Ursula's help, brings him inside.

"We heard rumors from the Duke's staff that you were to be exiled." Ursula brushes her hands on her skirt as Kas leans the guard near the bedpost on the floor. "You must run."

I grab my heavy jacket before heading towards the door again, hood drawn low over my head. "No. I'll send away anyone close to me. It's the right thing to do. No more witnesses to damn me."

Kas purses his lips. He looks really young then. I regret dragging him and Ursula down with me. "You should also leave the city."

Ursula throws her hands in the air, exhaling, "and let you face all this alone?"

"Repeat what I say. You were just servants to me. You had no clue I was a witch. What I have done."

Kas's lip twitches. "How will they believe—?"

"Say it!" I shout, one hand ready on the door.

Ursula and Kaskil repeat the words, glaring at me all the while.

"I'm not dragging anyone else." I tell them. "If I drown, I drown alone."

And with that, I leave them.

The tavern. The tavern. I must head to the tavern. I think of red hair. A young boy who didn't know he was dancing with a devil.

Misha. My best informant in St. Petersburg. He might be just another tavern boy, but I won't let another die. The tsar won't plead innocent for a petty seducer.

I have to tell Misha to run before the Duke's men find him.

***

"I need Misha!" I gasp, an uncomfortable trickle of sweat running between my shoulder blades. It cools immediately from the frozen air, my muscles tensing every time the wind shifts.

The bartender, who I've gotten to know from my regular visits, pulls me in close. "Who sent you?"

"Misha. Where is Misha?" I repeat, not liking the unease in his eyes.

The bartender gnaws on his lower lip, eyes flirting about nervously past my shoulder. "Misha is dead. Men came for him, asking about you. Asking what he knew about you and the foreigner royal." Another emotion comes over him them. Anger? Jealousy? "He remained silent. So they kept on beating him."

"Dead? No. No, I can heal him."

"You've done enough." The bartender pulls his shirt up, revealing a long knife tucked in his waistband. "Now leave. Before I kill you myself."

I stumble from the doorway, hearing dogs wailing behind me. A troupe of boots beating against snow. My heart pounding wildly in my chest, blood rushing round my body, I search for an exit.

There is none.

None.

Then I remember the marketplace. The alleyway of fortune tellers and street magicians.

Agapi. I remember Agapi, the one who told me it would all end. It was all going to end.

What more did she know?

Find Agapi. Tear this city apart and tell her to run.

That is... assuming she hasn't gone like Misha has.