The Biggest Con in History
"That will be all for today," Maria said firmly. Her voice, though always quiet, never failed to cut through the uproar of a disgruntled parliament. "You're all dismissed."
Voices died mid-complaint as she rose from her seat and the room rushed to follow suit. Anastasia followed her gratefully into the hall as a servant closed the door behind them. Finally afforded some privacy, she dropped the composed mask she'd learned to maintain and scowled. Two years had passed since her grandmother had introduced her to court, and still hardly a session passed without some new test or insinuation. She hadn't expected her own country to be so unwilling to accept her. Most did, of course, but those who didn't were persistent.
She took a few deep breaths as she and the old empress walked down the hall, trying to expel her annoyance with her exhalations, and looked over just in time to see Maria sway and stumble. Anastasia lunged to steady the old woman, who put a trembling hand to her head.
"Nanna?"
"I'm fine, Nastya. Only a little light-headed."
Her Nanna smiled weakly, and Anastasia frowned, helping her into a comfortable little sitting room.
"Just sit here and rest for a while, Nanna. I'll call for some tea."
They were about halfway through the pot when Anastasia tired of waiting for her grandmother to explain the worried wrinkle in her brow.
"You're not as young as you used to be," the princess observed, and Maria sighed.
"Oh, Anastasia. I'd hoped to shield you a while longer. The burden is a heavy one, even for your young shoulders."
"I won't pretend I want it," Anastasia said quietly. "But, I always knew that finding you meant finding my responsibilities. I won't run away from them any longer. You deserve to rest."
"I'd hoped at least to rule until you were beloved. You shouldn't have to fight for what is yours by birthright."
"Nanna, I've seen a world where people have to fight every day just to survive. I can hardly complain about a few ornery barons. Besides, I doubt an eternity would be long enough to convince some of them. You've taught me well. I can do this."
Maria shook her head with a sad smile.
"When did you grow so strong, my dear?"
"Somewhere between here and Perm," Anastasia said with a glint of humor.
"You ever going to tell me what's got you pacing a hole in the floor?" Dimitri asked Vlad after what seemed like hours.
"What?" The count shook his head absentmindedly, falling back into the present. "Just more politics. Nothing you'd be interested in."
By the end of his statement, he was smiling wryly.
You know exactly what you're doing, you old goat, Dimitri thought fondly. Groaning, he took the bait.
"I'm going to regret asking."
"You're not!"
"Alright then, try me."
"You know," he began in a sly tone, "the tsarina looked positively green when she dismissed parliament this morning."
"So, what? She's old, nothing new there."
Vlad nodded gravely.
"Old enough she might be thinking of passing on the crown, now that she's found an heir to her liking."
Dimitri felt a prickle of discomfort creep up his spine and brushed it off irritably.
"What's that got to do with us?"
"Do you want to be ruled by a fraud?"
"What's the alternative?" Dimitri asked, shrugging.
"There is another Romanov."
"What, you want to challenge her for it?"
The claim wouldn't be a strong one. Vlad's mother had been a Romanov, so he could argue that he was close enough in line, but it would be hard to discredit a direct claim. After all, two years of skepticism hadn't fazed the woman claiming to be Anastasia. She'd convinced half the nobility and just about everyone else in the country. Even Dimitri sometimes wondered if it might be true, but he'd never gotten close enough to find out. He told himself he didn't care enough.
Vlad shook his head, chuckling, and Dimitri sighed in relief. Then, the count opened his big mouth.
"My old bones? Never. Besides, they all know me too well. No, what we need is new blood."
"Tell me you're not going to say what I think you're going to say."
"Now, just hear me out-"
"It would be an impossibly weak claim. I'm not even your blood. The-"
"But, you are my legal heir. They have doubts about the girl already, and you know how persuasive I can be."
"Not this persuasive. I'm not doing it."
"Dimitri, please-"
"What makes you think the sort of maneuvering we'd be doing is any better than what they're doing?'
"At least we'd be doing it in the open. She's convincing people of a lie. We'd only be convincing them of the truth."
Dimitri snorted. Grand speeches aside, Vlad knew the distinctions were hardly so clear. Still, he seemed strangely committed to the idea.
"You really think I could do it? Run a country?"
"You know things that the royalty don't, my boy, care about the things they never could. And, for everything else, you've got me."
Dimitri shook his head as he realized just how serious Vlad was. It wasn't a proposal he could just laugh off.
"You're not going to let this go, are you, Vlad?"
"No."
"What would my father think?"
He hadn't quite meant to say it out loud, but he didn't exactly regret it, either. Vlad placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
"He lived and died for his convictions. It's time to decide what yours are. How do you think you can do more good?"
The young man swept a hand through his hair and began his own pacing. Suddenly, he stopped, fixing his stepfather with an intense stare.
"Promise not to let me fail?"
"That's the spirit!" Vlad roared with a grin. "Who else could pull it off but me and you?"
Dimitri had gained about a thousand and one worries in ten minutes, but he couldn't help smiling at the enthusiasm in Vlad's tone. It was infectious.
Dimitri dodged down a few backroads in plain clothes until he found his favorite bar for blowing off steam. The Neva was as full as usual that night, which only made it all the better for disappearing into. He needed a drink after the conversation he'd had with Vlad that morning. He'd announced their intentions to parliament on the same day the empress had officially expressed her intention to step down and leave the crown to "Anastasia." He'd spared no details of the uproar that had followed and then demanded that Dimitri himself put in an appearance soon.
It's not like he hadn't realized he'd need to actually show up. He'd just hoped he'd be able to postpone it a little longer. At least he wasn't the only one unhappy about the situation. Vlad had said the princess, while perfectly civil in court, had cornered him in a hallway afterward and whispered a warning filled with choice words she most certainly had not learned from the empress. Then she'd smiled and swanned off as though they'd had a perfectly nice little chat and mended all their differences.
Fraud or not, Dimitri couldn't hep admiring her audacity. At least this princess had a personality. It really did remind him of the glimpse he'd gotten, once, of the vibrant girl hiding behind the prim and proper princess mask, and he smiled before shaking his head. That girl was long dead.
In the Neva, he spotted a mop of blond hair, bunched up under a rough cap, and revised his sentiment. He would need several drinks. The strong kind.
He wasn't well acquainted with Anya. They'd run into each other several times – a hazard of frequenting the same bar and being too stubborn to change habits – and each encounter had ended in a stinging argument. So, when he sat at the bar, waiting to order, and Anya plopped into the seat next to him, he tensed.
"Look," he said, holding his hands in the air, caught somewhere between melodrama and true desperation, "I'm really not in the mood for a fight tonight-"
"Who says I wanted to fight? What if I decided today was a day for making peace, huh? Why do you always have to jump to conclusions about-"
"I jump to conclusions? You're the one who-"
"Here I was, just minding my own business, waiting for a refill," Anya began. To illustrate her point, she waved her hand between them. That was when Dimitri realized that she held not a glass, but an entire bottle of vodka.
An empty bottle of vodka.
"Did you drink that whole bottle?"
"What's it to you if I did, Dima?"
He'd never given his full name to anyone on a clandestine outing like this. It wasn't the sort of time he wanted to be recognized, so he'd resurrected the old nickname, and no one had asked questions yet.
"You're drunk!" he told Anya, trying not to laugh. He shouldn't be delighted if she embarrassed herself. That would be rude.
He stopped worrying about rudeness when Anya glared at him.
"Not nearly drunk enough for this," she snapped. "You know what? I give up. You win this round."
She stood abruptly and began weaving a path towards the door. Dimitri tried to shrug off a sudden shiver of discomfort. Girls in this part of town knew how to take care of themselves. It was none of his business, and Anya would be the last person to welcome his concern.
Still, it didn't sit quite right with him to let a lone, young woman wander through dark streets drunk.
The barkeep finally turned to him, and Dimitri glanced over his shoulder one more time before sighing, "Just give me a bottle for the road."
He shoved his purchase in his satchel and ran out the door, leaving a few bemused glances behind him.
"Hey! Anya!" he called, catching up to her on the street.
She groaned loudly.
"What do you want now, Dima? I even gave you the bar tonight."
"Hey, I'm not thrilled about it either, but I can't let you walk home alone like this. My mother would roll over in her grave."
Something flashed through Anya's eyes too fast to read. For a moment, he could have sworn it was suspicion. Then, she shrugged.
"Who knew you could be a gentleman?"
Dimitri scoffed, quickly wondering why he'd ever thought this girl would need protection. She could easily annoy any attacker to death.
"What ever made you think I'm not?"
Anya paused for a second, then admitted, "I don't know."
Dimitri blinked.
Yep. She was definitely drunk.
"Okay, let's get you home before you pass out on me."
He took her arm and let her lead the way. She accepted the help but snorted.
"I've never passed out drunk. Only time I passed out was before that hospital in Perm, after they shot us – and that one time in Leningrad, passed out hungry, but that doesn't count."
Dimitri was so focused on processing the first part of her sentence, he almost didn't hear its conclusion.
"Wait, did you say you were shot?"
That look was back in her eyes, guarded and suspicious all at once.
"Not me specifically. Things were crazy back then, and I saw a lot. My family died in the revolution," she explained.
Well, damn.
He'd thought he'd had a pretty good idea of the annoying little shrew that haunted his favorite bar, but he'd never expected to find this under the surface. Petty, headstrong little Anya had lost her family, had survived war zones and hunger, and had somehow gotten to New Russia all the way from…
"Did you say Perm?"
"Yeah. I woke up there, and the revolution was over. It was hard to find work, though, and the memories were…Anyway, so after that, I walked to Leningrad."
"You walked? All that way?"
Anya shrugged.
No wonder she hadn't worried about a quick jaunt across town, drunk or not. Dimitri rolled his shoulders, trying not to admire her too much. It was hard to remember what he hadn't liked about this girl.
She should get drunk more often, he thought, looking out over the dark reflections in the swiftly flowing river. That was when he realized they'd stopped walking. Anya leaned over the railing beside him on the apex of the bridge in the center of the city.
"Hey," he said softly, "Is home much farther?"
Anya shook her head.
"This is far enough."
He rolled his eyes at her dismissal. He hadn't asked the question to get rid of her, just to make sure they were on the right path. Of course, he'd apparently never interpreted anything about her correctly, and a thought suddenly struck him.
"Wait, you don't live under the bridge or something, do you?"
She'd always seemed too well put together for that, but he couldn't rule it out. He'd seen a lot of that sort of thing as a child in Petersburg.
Apparently, the notion was ridiculous. Anya bent nearly double in full-bodied laughter.
"No- no, nothing like that," she said, panting and swiping tears of mirth off her cheeks. "God, do I really seem that pathetic?"
Dimitri smiled. Manufactured by drunkenness or not, her good humor was contagious. He wished he could have seen it more naturally.
"I don't know," he teased, "you are quite drunk."
"I'm not that drunk," she said stubbornly.
"You'll just have to prove it, then. Let me get you home."
Anya shook her head.
"I just want to clear my head here for a minute. I'll be fine, I promise."
Dimitri frowned.
"Why don't you want to go home?"
Anya looked surprised, then that cagey look flashed through her eyes again.
He was almost beginning to believe her when she said she wasn't drunk.
"My Nanna would kill me if I went home like this," she said. "I just need a minute to sober up."
"Alright, then." Dimitri sat down, leaning against the bridge railing, and gestured to Anya, who hesitantly followed suit.
"While you sober up, then, I'll proceed with my original plans for the evening."
He pulled out the bottle of vodka he'd stowed in his satchel and took a swig. He laughed when he saw her eyeing the bottle in his hand.
"Nope, you had your turn. This is mine."
Anya laughed, too.
"Fair enough," she said.
They sat in silence for a moment before Dimitri spoke again. He was enjoying this new side of Anya, the one with laughter and secrets and no apparent urge to murder him. He wasn't sure what she'd be like the next time he saw her, and he was going to make the most of this truce while it lasted.
"So? You live with your…Nanna, was it?"
"My grandmother," Anya clarified. "She's the only family I have left after…" She shrugged, obviously referring to her earlier confession of her family's demise.
"They were loyalists, weren't they?" Dimitri guessed.
"You could say that. Nanna wasn't with us when they…when it happened. So, I thought I might find her here. And, I did."
Dimitri shook his head, wondering at the likelihood of two people finding each other in a city this vast.
"That's incredible…How did you even get here?"
"I walked, mostly. I tried to take a train from Leningrad, but I had to jump off after-"
"Did you say jump?"
Anya's eyes narrowed.
"You know what? I've told enough stories for one night. It's your turn now."
"Fair enough," Dimitri said with a chuckle. "I might be a little too sober for that, but…"
He downed more of his vodka, surprised by how light the bottle was getting. When had that happened?
"Here goes," he mumbled as Anya giggled.
"My, uh, my father was an anarchist."
He glanced at Anya to see her reaction. Her face didn't give much away, but he didn't see anything negative. She appeared to be waiting…reserving judgment, maybe. So far, so good. He took a deep breath and continued.
"He died in a labor camp."
"I'm sorry," Anya said.
She looked so earnest, Dimitri couldn't help but snort.
"Most aren't," he said, knocking back the rest of his vodka, then shaking the empty bottle in disappointment.
Anya gently took it out of his grip, lying it on the ground. He watched her closely as she shrugged, and her eyes sparkled in sadness.
"Most people are idiots," she said. "Who's to say who's right and who's wrong? Whatever else he was, he was your father. I'm sorry you lost him."
Dimitri shrugged, scratching the back of his neck, while he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
"Yeah, well, my mom was still around for a year or two. She got married to some-"
He paused and cleared his throat, only just remembering not to give away too much.
"Some guy," he amended. "A loyalist."
He shook his head, smirking.
"God, my dad would've hated him. I expected to hate him. But, once I got to know him…"
Dimitri shrugged.
"I guess we just weren't as different as I thought. I was still just a kid when my mom died, and I was sure he was just going to dump me back out on the streets of Petersburg…But, he didn't. He's kept me around all these years, treated me like his own."
"He sounds like a good man," Anya said softly.
"He is."
They'd drifted closer as he told his story, and they shifted away as they seemed to realize their proximity in the same instant.
"So," Anya said, her voice filling the suddenly awkward silence. "You, uh, you grew up in St. Petersburg."
"Uh, yeah. Leningrad now, right? You said you were there for a while."
"I was. It was…difficult. It was supposed to be better here, and I think, mostly, it is. But…"
She broke off, chewing her lip, and Dimitri finished for her.
"No place is perfect."
Anya nodded.
"What would you do to fix it? If you could? How do you…"
She trailed off, shaking her head as though she'd just realized it was a fool's question.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that these days?" Dimitri asked.
"Who knows? Maybe you seem like the kind of man who'd have the answers."
Dimitri forced a laugh and kept his tone light, trying to hide his serious interest in the answer as he asked, "D'you think I'd be good at it?" With a vague gesture toward their surroundings, he clarified, "Running things?"
Anya looked at him seriously before smiling with a teasing glint in her eyes.
"Sure," she said, "Just not as good as I'd be."
Dimitri's laugh then wasn't forced.
"Of course."
He leaned back against the railing, smiling as his eyes drifted closed. He hadn't expected Anya, of all people, to relax him, but his body was free of all the pent-up tension that had driven him to the Neva that evening.
"Thank you for the talk," Anya whispered. "Goodnight, Dima."
Dimitri vaguely wondered why she was whispering. Then, he forgot what he was wondering and fell asleep.
It was still dark when he woke, groaning, and every bone in his body ached.
Sleeping drunk on the sidewalk will do that to you, he thought grumpily.
He hadn't meant to drink so much, of course. He'd only started drinking to fill the space until Anya felt ready to go home.
"Oh, shit."
He looked around, unsurprised when the young woman was nowhere to be found. He wrestled down the panic rising in his stomach. She would be fine, right? She'd certainly seemed capable enough. She'd been adamant that she could find her way home without him…
Something about the memory of her repeated attempts to thwart his company rubbed the back of his mind the wrong way. Dimitri hadn't noticed how much he'd been drinking the night before, but he remembered her eyes lingering on the bottle in his hands. She hadn't just kept him talking to get him drunk so she could slip away, had she?
No, she wouldn't. They'd actually been getting along. Right?
Dimitri shook his head, then regretted it as it pounded like a drumbeat. If there was one thing he remembered clearly about last night, it was the guarded look in Anya's eyes.
Looking up at the sky, he cursed again. If he started walking now, he might just make it home before dawn.