They drove me to the Petrovsky Bridge, and two men picked me up and dumped me into the Malaya Nevka River.
The waters swept me up and pulled me down by my skirts. My hands shriveled up from cold. My body caved in on itself. I couldn't feel anything. Not blood. Not the sweet release of sleep or air.
In limbo, Purgatory, I died.
Waiting for it.
Forgiveness.
***
I am in a tavern spilling forth with the warmest pool of light. The chairs at the bar are occupied, but I only see the pretty boy dancing. A smile alights on my face as I clasp him to me.
"Misha." My tears wet his scarlet-soft hair. "My beautiful, fiery boy... How is it you're alive?"
He hushes me, laughing. "Maria." He replies. "Stop this foolishness. There aren't tears in this place. No sadness at all. I forbid it."
Another woman at his side, a red scarf adorning her hair. Dark eyes glimmering as she embraces me. I press my lips to her forehead. "Agapi."
She bows her head, lips split into a melancholy smile. "I knew you'd come."
I pause, taking it all in. The oak panels, glittering like gold. The abundance of food, of drink. No cold or gaunt cheeks or hollows. No fire or gunpowder or stench. No burning, freezing misery.
"Is this real? Or is this just another vision before I die?"
Agapi stares at me, her wise eyes unflinching. "Only you know the answer to that."
Misha holds me tight, laughing and laughing as he spins and dances around me. Before I know why, I'm laughing too.
At the end of the hall, I hear a little boy calling my name. "Miss Rasputina!"
I round the corner, certain I'll see a frail young man with brightened eyes and a permanent crown. Certain I'll see him sprinting and leaping in bounds unlike when he did in life. Able to be a child. Able to be free.
I hold my arms open and wait for him to run into my arms.
"Alexei!"
He grins that silly smile, burrowing into my skirts like a puppy. But another person follows him, standing broad-shouldered and tall. Those strong eyes alight when they land on mine. Wearing soft silks and riding boots. And always, the loveliest of smiles.
In that moment, I know only happiness.
YOU ARE READING
Rasputina and the Witch's Tsar
FantasyThis is the Emperor. I think. Alexandr. Queen Victoria's grandson, the foreign British power. I feel his blood beat, thin, beneath his paper skin, in those blue veins. Something amiss. Something that's too weak in the Russian snow, the turned earth...
