Bit of a shorter chapter this time, sorry guys. Summer classes just ended, but normal classes start up again next week. I'm hoping to write a lot this week, but the updates might be slow still. Thank you all so much for your patience, and I hope you'll continue to be patient with me!


Dmitry stared at the train, trying hard not to think about the fact that the last time he was on a train, Tsar Nicholas II was alive. And now he wasn't. Now he was dead, because the Bolsheviks had shot him, and God only knew what they had done with his body. He only hoped that they wouldn't put it on display for everyone to point at and make fun of. He didn't think he would be able to bear it, let alone what it would do to the remaining family.

The last time he was on a train, he was with most of the Romanov children. He knew where they all were, roughly. Now he had no idea. The rumor was that Alexandra and all the children had been moved yet again, to be held safely out of the White Army's reach. Dmitry had no idea where they could be, and they already had a few days' head start. Wherever they were, Dmitry was sure Alexei was terrified. With Nicholas gone, Alexei would now, at the age of 13, be considered the head of the family.

The last time he was on a train, Anastasia had been with him. She had slept curled up on the group with her sisters. She had joked around with him. The two of them had stood at the window and watched the soldiers toss the family's belongings to the crowd of onlookers. And now? Now he thought her whereabouts were more of a mystery than the rest of her family's. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.

Dmitry fingered the music box in his pocket, hoping it wouldn't attract too much attention. It was his ray of hope. It suggested that Anastasia was still free, somewhere. She couldn't have been in the house when her family was moved, because she would never have left it behind, no matter how rushed they were. It was far too precious to her.

It was really a stroke of luck that had allowed it to fall into his possession. It had been obvious, that first day, that the Romanovs were no longer at the Ipatiev House. Though a few soldiers remained, the house was mostly unguarded, with the front gates left wide open. By midday a small crowd of onlookers had gathered, but even the cleaning women were turned away. He had been approached by Irina's friend, Ksenia, who was trembling with worry.

"They won't let us in," she had said shakily. "They said our service wouldn't be needed anymore. Everyone is saying the family has been moved. Is it true?"

"That's what I heard," Dmitry had replied. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for getting you and Irina mixed up in this."

"What do we do?" Ksenia asked. "We have to find her. She must be so scared."

"I don't know," was all he could say.

A few days later, the soldiers had disappeared from the house completely. They had left in the night and left no trail for Dmitry to follow when he awoke the next morning. But they had left the house unguarded, so Dmitry had gone in.

It had clearly been looted already. Drawers had been pulled out and tossed aside, the beds stood bare with their coverings heaped on the floor, curtains had been pulled off their rods. A small bathroom was decorated with crude graffiti and colorful phrases. The kitchen cabinets had been emptied, with only a stray bean or grain of rice left behind. He hadn't been able to find a single plate or utensil anywhere, and wondered if the guards had taken them, or if the people had.

He'd wandered into the family's living quarters, but those had been rather picked over as well. He only managed to find a stray item here and there, like a glove and a sock, both of which he picked up. He couldn't be sure which of the children it belonged to, but he was sure they'd want it back.

He had been about to leave to search the rest of the house when he stumbled across the cabinet. It was tipped on its side, half hidden by the couch. Its legs and door had been roughly torn off, perhaps for firewood, he thought. Inside it was an ungodly mess. Whoever had taken the legs off the cabinet had clearly not cared about the fine china that had been housed inside it. The plates and cups inside were smashed to bits, smaller fragments littered about. A fine layer of porcelain dust covered it all. Dmitry wouldn't have reached in, if he hadn't seen a glint of gold.

His fingers still bore the tiny cuts and scratches from liberating the music box. He wondered why Anastasia had stored it in there, and why there had been fine china in the house at all. He didn't want to question it too much, since it had led to the precious item falling into his possession. The fall must have jammed it a bit, because he couldn't get the lid open no matter how hard he tried, but Anastasia would be thrilled to have it back.

If he managed to find her again.

That thought brought him crashing back to the present. Russia was an incredibly vast country, home to millions of people. Trying to find one specific person, especially if that person was on the run and trying to stay inconspicuous, would take nothing short of a miracle.

The train whistled, and people began to board. Dmitry followed the crowd up the steps and into car, taking the first seat he saw. He gripped his ticket tightly and pulled his suitcase close to his body, holding onto both as if they were his lifelines. Which, in a way, they were.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to tell Sir Thomas what he had done. As far as the older man knew, Anastasia had never switched places with Irina, and was with her family when they were moved. As such, he made the argument that Dmitry leave Yekaterinburg, and Dmitry could say very little to argue without confessing his worst sin. What made it worse was the Sir Thomas had offered to pay for Dmitry's train ticket back to St. Petersburg, since he himself didn't have a single kopek to his name.

Dmitry hoped Anastasia might think to return to St. Petersburg, too. He hoped that wherever she was she had heard by now that her family had been moved. She could be logical when she needed to be, he knew, and she would realize that she couldn't track down her family by herself. He hoped she would want to return to the place where she grew up. She'd have to travel the entire way on foot or hitch a ride somehow. It would take her a long time to get there.

But if she did, if she somehow made it back, he would be there waiting for her.