Rasputina and the Witch's Tsar

Chapter Thirty-One

I hope this letter finds you well. Kaskil and Ursula still work at the palace, though they've kept their heads low since you've been gone. Kaskil has been kind enough to find me a room at a tavern owned by one of his cousins. He stays there now with Ursula, trekking out in the frozen morning hours to work.

He doesn't stay in the palace for fear that harmless insults turn into more harmful attacks. The same with Ursula, though she's lesser known for waiting on you.

I still miss Volha with every waking moment. She met me once since the incident. She had a black eye. I have never so wanted to murder a man. I begged her to renounce me, call me deviance, say any lie to protect herself in front of the law and her husband,

As painful as all this is, I'm still incredibly grateful for all you have done for me. СПАСИБО. Spasiba, Rasputina.

Thank you.

I fold the letter into quarters, reading it by the dimly glowing lamp. I extinguish the rest of it, savoring the last few moments of warmth. I wrap myself up in blankets, tucking the letter away into the pillowcase with all the others. Thankful nobles and dignitaries, appreciators of the occult. Kaskil and Ursula, checking in. One from Pareskevas, informing me how he had to find a smaller apartment in St. Petersburg because of me. How everything was because of me. How Lucifer probably tried to take over heaven and ruled over hell because of me.

Groaning, I turn my face into my pillow, burying it in the smell of cold and cheap cloth and paper and ink and all the other things that make me want to...

Sleep. But sleep's not much better.

I still have that dream. A river of ice. My skin, never warming.

Something warm. Throbbing. A splinter in the darkness.

I don't want to dream this dream anymore. This nightmare.

But the waking up. The eternal waiting in exile isn't much better.

It can never be better, until I serve the crown again, and only the heavens know what's in store for me. Even hell cannot touch me now.