Bulletproof Jewels

by Gabros

The reds spare all of the Romanov children, but not out of the kindness of their hearts. Historical AU. Cover image by JustDerkT.

27. The promise

Trigger warnings at the end. This chapter is long, a bit dark, and it is somewhat minor/original-character-focused for plot reasons. But don't worry, there is plenty of OTMA as well.

Perm. July 30, 1918.

The modest yellow and white mansion that once belonged to an accommodated upper-middle-class family of British origin has been transformed into an army headquarters.

"Are you sure we have enough explosives?" Randall asks.

"I was part of a tunneling unit that planted mines under German trenches", one of the officers surrounding the dinner table replies. "I understand your concern, but I know what I am doing."

"I know, Conrad, but these are not recently built trenches made of mud, wood, and sandbags. This is an old abandoned mine tunnel that has endured for decades."

"I can assure you that Henry and I have taken this and more into account", Conrad insists. "The explosion will be more than powerful enough to break through the wall of dirt and rock at the basement of the mansion. It should take place in ten minutes. The only thing that may delay us is some kind of unexpected failure of the incendiary devices to detonate, but that is unlikely."

"Conrad has worked with explosives for years, Randall, he is extremely competent", Lieutenant Steven Thomas says.

"I think we should talk about the real elephant in the room", a young freckled agent named Joseph points at the hand-made woolen map the prisoners provided them with earlier. "How can we be certain they will not kill the girls before letting them escape? Look at these stairs! Even the distance between the basement and the living room is considerable! We break into the cellar, a skirmish begins, and by the time we take the second floor they have already decided to shoot the Grand Duchesses before allowing us to take them alive!"

"Why do you presume they will be in conditions to think at all?" Steven asks.

"Well, Steve, we can not be certain that the drugs will affect all of them the same way", Andrew Jones, the doctor of the team, admits.

"This is nonsense!" Captain James Wilson violently throws several pencils at the woolen map. "This whole operation is nonsense, Charles!" He shakes his head at the officer in frustration. "If you had taken the Grand Duchess to us immediately, we would at least have both her and the Tsarevich now to show for ourselves. Taking them to safety would still have been a somewhat tricky challenge, but this… this, on the other hand, is insanity! The Blue House is much more heavily guarded now! Machine guns, Charles! They have dozens! And with so little time to plan out everything! There is no way we won't have losses!"

"With all due respect, sir", Charles looks down deferentially, "would you have us abandon the nieces of His Majesty?"

"His Majesty has not sanctioned this operation!"

"He is not fully aware of the precariousness of the situation, sir."

"There is a reason why no other intelligence party has carried out a rescue operation despite months surveilling the imperial prisoners. It is way too impractical!"

"By that logic, is it not impractical to make thousands of soldiers walk straight into machine gun fire? And yet, remind me of what our generals have been instructing those under their command to do for years since the war began."

"Be careful, Charles…"

"I mean no offense, Captain Wilson, but if we can sacrifice a thousand men for a mile, we can surely sacrifice three or four strong agents and Russian volunteers to save the lives of three defenseless young ladies who are in desperate need of our help", Charles Lamb looks around at the dozen men surrounding the table in search of support, but he only finds nervous glances. Regretting his appeal to emotion, he decides to get pragmatic. They still need a solution to the problem. "Instead of having the waves come from the same place, we could create a distraction that would drive most of the guards away from the main attack, leaving them in a state of confusion, too overwhelmed to come to the evident conclusion that the only way to keep the girls from falling into our hands is by killing them." He raises his brows expectantly. "What do you say, gentlemen?"

"This is not just about casualties, Charles!" Wilson exclaims. "This is also about the diplomatic implications of carrying out an operation so blatantly and violently opposed to the authorities of Moscow! Tell me again what our plan is to hide our invol…"

"I would gladly give my life to save them", Joseph interrupts the leader, something no agent is supposed to do. "And we have Russian volunteers who would too. You all saw what those monsters did to Grand Duchess Olga, right? Where is your courage?"

Captain James Wilson gives Joseph a sad smile, looking almost ashamed of himself for his lack of idealism. He would berate any other agent, but he has a soft spot for Joseph Bell, the youngest of the group. The lad reminds the hardened veteran of the son he lost at the Somme. He cannot imagine losing another child.

Joseph has never seen battle, but what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in cleverness and eagerness to help. The 24-year-old language prodigy was recruited into the MI6 for his fluent Russian, a skill he has made good use of getting several Perm citizens to volunteer not only to spy for the British, but to actively partake in the rescue mission. The 25 of them have already been provided with weapons.

Charles Lamb is glad to see his superior be rendered speechless. He is troubled by Wilsonʼs recent and sudden change of heart. The captain appears to regret having approved of the rescue mission. Taking all of the risks into account, however, his apprehension is understandable, Charles thinks. He knows that Wilson cares for his boys. They only decided to carry out the operation tomorrow hours ago, so there hasn't been much time to polish the details. Anything could go wrong with a plan only fully thought out mere hours before its execution, but something needs to be done. Charles told Olga that something would be done in a manner akin to a promise.

"Captain, if I may", Henry Bird breaks the silence after a few seconds. "I think Charles's idea could work, and I have a couple of suggestions."

"Go ahead", James Wilson prompts him to continue.

"I believe more explosives than necessary were brought in after we learned about the tunnel from that guard who lived in the house, Oleg I think."

"True", Conrad nods, looking at the captain. "We made a few adjustments to the initial estimations after inspecting the underpass."

"Are you two really sure about this?" Randall looks between Henry and Conrad with concern.

"We are", Henry replies.

"So?" Wilson asks, looking impatient.

"So", Bird goes on, "I think we have more than enough explosives to break into the house from two separate places. The first wave invading the cellar could be the main distraction, the one we so desperately need."

"If overrunning the cellar will be nothing more than a distraction, how do we gain access to the prisoners?" Lieutenant Steven Thomas crosses his arms. "What are you proposing?"

"Well, isn't it clear?" Joseph has easily picked up on what Henry intends to suggest. "There is a ceiling leak in the prisoners' room."

"The roof", James Wilson opens his eyes wide in realization.

"A weak spot", Henry Bird nods. "It would be easier than unboarding the windows without anyone noticing, and we could get rid of the new machine gun on the roof in the process, along with the guard."

It takes the agents a few minutes to examine the practical details. They will need to create another entrance to the tunnel through which the Grand Duchesses are going to be taken to safety, but this, Henry affirms, is not going to be a problem either.

"All of this sounds feasible", Randall says, "but the Grand Duchesses could be harmed or even killed by our explosion, could they not?"

A new problem no one had anticipated yet. The room becomes silent.

"We can warn them", Charles eventually says.

"How?" Captain James Wilson asks. "Who is going to deliver the message without any of the guards noticing? I doubt they will fall for anything as easily as they have before, and if the latest report we received from Mr. Belov half an hour ago is true, the commander already suspects the old maid, so he is not letting her speak to the girls unsupervised. They may even apprehend her today if things don't go as planned."

Charles Lamb sighs. He knows exactly how they can warn them, but he also knows that the captain will not like the answer.

Oo

July 31, 1918.

Maria Nikolaevna Romanova.

The day has been unbearable so far. No sunlight escaping through the boarded windows, no space to walk, and guards stationed at the stairs hearing everything we say. We have to mind our every word. They were so very rude to Galina after she served us breakfast, yelling at her to leave without letting us talk to her first. I wanted to know more about Olegʼs situation! It pains me to know several of them danced with me during Olegʼs party, so why the change in attitude? Do they believe that awful man who attacked my sister? Are they angry at us because they suspect we are planning to escape? Oh, I can't hate them for that! Either way, I truly hope they don't get in trouble when we escape, much less get hurt.

The possibility troubles me, filling my mind with guilt. I had avoided thinking about the potential implications of our escape until now. I wouldn't have dared become an accomplice to any plan that might put our guards at risk before, but things have changed. I am terrified for our lives. All I can do is pray no one gets hurt.

"I can not believe you still care after everything that has happened, Masha", Anastasia told me when I voiced my concerns in French.

"They saved Tatiana, did they not?" I replied. "There must be good and bad men in this house."

"The best were arrested yesterday", Tatiana spoke sharply. "And the worst as well…"

"I just don't want blood to be spilled for our sake", I said. "Mama and papa were always against that."

"God forgive us if that is the case, Masha, but these men decided to work keeping us prisoners. Everyone has to look out for themselves in times such as this, and there is no way we could have denied our potential rescuers help knowing Olga and Alexei were among them. It would have been just plain cruel to our siblings, who only want us to come out of this alive. Mama and papa did not."

My eyes filled with tears at the bitter mention of our parentsʼ fates. I could not argue against what Tatiana had said. Poor Olga. After this, a guard approached our room and reprimanded us for speaking in a foreign tongue.

O Lord, grant to all that have gone before us in faith and hope of the resurrection, our fathers and brethren and sisters, pardon of sins, and grant them eternal memory.

I think of mama and mama as I pray.

It is truly meet to bless Thee, Who didst bring forth God, ever blessed and most pure and the Mother of our God. More honourable than the cherubim and beyond compare more glorious than the seraphim, Who without defilement didst bear the God the Word, Thee, very Mother of God, we magnify.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

With tears in our eyes, Tatiana, Anastasia, and I are praying fervently on the ground, holding each other and looking at Galinaʼs icon. No one is in the mood to do anything else. They are as nervous as me, for we don't know whether to feel scared or excited. How long will the rescue take? It is so boring and depressing… and yet we may have to wait here for weeks, locked up on this floor with those horrible boarded windows! And all without papa…

Oh, papa! If only he could hug and comfort me right now. I miss my father so much that my chest hurts. I miss being in his arms and having him read to me. I miss walking by his side. I am not as good at taking care of my sisters as he was at being our precious golden papa. I cry every time I remember I won't see him again in this life. I am sobbing for him right now, also praying for his soul.

We have just finished our last prayer when Commander Ignat walks in, making Tatiana let out a scream.

"Good morning", I detect a bit of pleasure in his tone. I wipe my eyes and cheeks quickly. Stop thinking about papa, I tell myself, stop thinking about him. "You have visitors", he announces.

"Visitors?" Anastasia frowns, looking between me and Tatiana in total bewilderment.

"Who from Perm would want to visit us?" I ask the commander. Why would you allow us visitors? Is the real question. We may have some small acquaintances living here but… suddenly my eyes open wide at the memory. "Auntie Ella?" I stand up, trying to look through the door behind the commander. She is under arrest in this city too.

"None of that", he says. "Our guests are German officers looking to see for themselves if you are alive and in good health. They don't seem to believe us." The commander grins in sinister amusement at that.

"What?!" Anastasia cries, outraged.

My heart sinks. I look over to Tatiana and see her blushing profusely. I am, too, deeply ashamed of having the Germans allegedly care for our well-being only because we are related to some of their royal families. Our nation has lost millions of good men to these people.

"We don't wish to see them", my older sister states firmly.

"It was not an offer, citizen Romanova", Commander Ignat glares at her. "You better treat them kindly." He turns around as if to walk out of the room, but then, seemingly remembering something he meant to say, Ignat faces us again. "And not a word about the bathroom incident", he adds in a threatening manner before leaving, causing Tatiana to rub her plaster cast soothingly at the reminder.

"Ughh!" She groans as soon as we are left alone, throwing her head back and looking incredibly frustrated in a manner which is unusual for her.

"Who do you think sent them?" Anastasia asks her. "Do you think it was Uncle Ernie?"

My sisters and I sit on one of the beds as we wait for the humiliating visit.

"I don't know, Shvibzik", Tatiana replies. "I hope so though. I can understand why mamaʼs brother would care so deeply about us and thus use his resources and contacts to look out for us. The Kaiser, on the other hand…"

A dreadful idea occurs to me. "Tatya", I touch her shoulder, "I think they are the reason why we were spared. Remember when papa read in the newspapers that our survival was a requisite for the Germans to sign the Brest-Litovsk treaty? What if there is some truth to that and Kaiser Wilhelm was not just bluffing? What if they put a silent clause in there guaranteeing our safety?"

To my surprise, Tatiana nods, closing her eyes solemnly. I did not think she would give credence to my theory, which I wasn't even sure about.

"Yuck!" Anastasia frowns. "We should have died then!"

"Donʼt say such things, Shvibzik!" I scold my younger sister, slapping her shoulder lightly.

"What is the point of being alive without papa and mama?" She insists. "I can barely stand it without them anymore."

Oh, papa! She is so right! I have thought the same as her, felt the same as her while remembering and missing my parents amidst tears, but I can not confess to something like that right now. I wiped away Tatianaʼs tears for Ortipo and comforted Anastasia when she cried for the missing jewels just this morning. I must keep doing so. I have to be hope personified for both my sisters.

"Oh darling", I rub my little sisterʼs shoulder soothingly, "things will get better, I promise."

"Both of you are right", Tatiana says. "This is an absolute joke. An embarrassment. I would have chosen to die rather than be saved by the Germansʼ mockery of charity, and so would mama", she pauses for almost a full minute and sighs, "but God works in mysterious ways", she looks at me. "As you said, Mashka, He uses evil for good. He chooses whom He pleases to accomplish His goals. We have no choice but to work with the life we have been granted and be grateful for it."

"What do you think we should do now?" I ask.

"Do?" My older sister shrugs. "There is nothing we can do but remain quiet and endure the visit from these Germans with as much dignity as we can muster."

"It is hard to see how", I sigh.

"Well, I am not going to say anything to them", Nastya crosses her arms.

"Me neither", Tatiana tells her, "but don't be excessively rude to them either, Shvibzik. It is our Christian duty to love our enemies."

We hear the Teutons coming before we see their faces. Their harsh-sounding language is unmistakable. My sisters and I received lessons, but we never came close to mastering our own motherʼs childhood tongue. I can understand many of the words they are using though.

"See for yourselves", I hear Commander Ignat say before three blue-eyed strangers walk in, all of them men. "The older sister is still hospitalized, so I am afraid you can't see her yet. Her doctors insist she should not be bothered, as what she has is very infectious." He doesn't stay in the room to supervise them.

They are carrying brown leather bags and wearing civilian clothes despite having been referred to as officers. Black suits, shoes, bowler hats, and ties. I wonder if they decided to dress that way to come across as less threatening than they would have in their German military uniforms. One of them, a handsome clean-shaven light blond, looks fairly young, around Tatianaʼs age. The other two seem somewhat older, early to late thirties or forties, and they both have brown hair and mustaches.

The leaner brunet makes a greeting gesture at us, but Tatiana and Anastasia are looking away when this happens, their arms crossed. Indifferent. I can't help but nod in acknowledgment though. I may hate what their military leaders have put Russia and Europe through by supporting Austriaʼs attack on a tiny, defenseless nation, but they, in particular, haven't done anything as far as I know. If I can be friendly towards our red captors, why not these men?

The slightly more robust brunet man with a mustache seems to be a doctor, for he is soon taking out a stethoscope from his suitcase. Casually chatting with his fellow officers in German, he proceeds to do a rather quick and hurried medical examination on me and each of my sisters, making poor Tatiana flinch and shrink when her turn comes. The doctor listens to our heartbeats and breathing before pulling out several spatulas from a pocket in his suitcase and checking our throats with them.

Anastasia refuses to open her mouth at first, but Tatiana elbows her to comply.

As the two remaining men set up a camera, the doctor returns to my older sister after having already examined her.

"What happened to you?" He asks her in German, pointing a finger at her broken wrist. As expected, Tatiana does not reply, and neither does she reply when he repeats the question in what must be his best attempt at Russian. He frowns, becoming visibly angry, but about what or at whom I could not say.

Quite pathetically, the three Germans try to start trivial conversations with us several times, but my sisters refuse to talk to them, looking away instead, and I answer their questions using only monosyllables. Perhaps my relative openness catches their attention, because I see the blond approach and kneel before me.

"Important, important", he whispers in German. I gasp in surprise and even outrage when he grabs my hand. "Important", he repeats in English, even lower this time, as he hands me a piece of paper so discreetly that at first I thought he was going to kiss my hand the way our officers did before the revolution. "Important, ladies", he straightens up abruptly, speaking loudly in a broken Russian now. "We are taking your picture, yes?" He walks back to where the leaner brunet stands behind the camera, and so does the doctor. "Stay there, sitting just like that, but look at the camera."

What was that? I think as my sisters and I look at the camera with serious expressions.

The Germans leave us once our picture has been taken.

What do I do with this paper now?

Oo

Having told my sisters that I will play cards with them later, I take a walk through the corridors of the second floor, waiting to make sure Commander Ignat won't suddenly return to see how we treated his German guests. I enter the bathroom and shut the new door behind me.

Should I read it? A message from the Germans? What would papa think of that? My poor parents have suffered so much because of this bloody war, especially mama… I think the right thing to do is dispose of it. Yes.

I should tear it up and then throw it away, but…

There is nothing wrong with being curious, I tell myself as I unfold the sheet of paper. Papa wouldn't mind. Besides, what if it is a letter from Uncle Ernie or Aunt Irene?

But reading the note only gives way to a new dilemma. To do or not to do as it says.

We are coming just before the changing of the guards. Please stay as far away from your room as possible.

The first lines are followed by a sketch of the second floor and the room inside of which we should hide, one of the empty areas of the house that we barely ever visit. I think we only entered those rooms the first day out of curiosity, finding nothing of interest there.

Find cover. Doing otherwise would be extremely dangerous and is likely to result in your deaths.

Willing to die for you. Officer Charles Lamb.

Destroy this message as soon as you have read it.

I destroy the message, flushing it down the toilet as Tatiana and I did with Olgaʼs letter. Then I tell my sisters about its contents through a mixture of English and French whispers.

"Citizens", one of the guards approaches our doorway. I think I recognize him. His name is Gregory, and he is one of the good ones. We danced during Oleg's birthday party. "I understand that it is annoying having us spy on you or ask you to speak in Russian, and believe me, none of us want to, but it is our job, so could you at least try to pretend to be obeying? We could get in trouble otherwise." I nod at that. "Thank you."

Scared, confused, and horrified, my sisters and I continue speaking even lower.

Oo

Moscow.

Doroteya Filippovna Lavrova.

I found myself dreaming about lilies of the valley tonight. Not the small, bell-shaped white flowers… well, yes, also the flowers. But the dream was mainly about Lilies of the Valley, the jeweled Fabergé egg Nicholas once gave Alexandra.

This precious egg is covered in pearls meant to represent the lilies of the valley, Alexandraʼs favorite flowers. They represent purity, humility, motherhood, and rebirth.

I have come to realize that my starry dream about the two older Grand Duchesses' futures represents the same thing. This is further confirmed by the surprise inside the egg. When a pearl button at the side of this huge jewel is turned, three oval miniatures rise from the top of the egg, that of Nicholas II, and two more of Olga and Tatiana as small children.

There must be a reason God inspired Nicholas to commission the egg before the births of his three youngest children. The shining stars are Olga and Tatiana as they were portrayed in Lilies of the Valley. Pure, humble, mothers… rebirth. Could the star between them be Nicholas and…?

"These past two days have been a battlefield, Doroteya, haven't they?" Anastasia interrupts my thoughts. She and I are having lunch at the hospital cafeteria, and several more of my friends are sitting at the table next to ours.

"Oh, yeah", I nod. "The hardest days of my career." I grab a piece of egg with my fork and put it in my mouth.

"Do you know what they remind me of? They remind me of my time working with Valeriy at a military hospital during the days immediately following an important battle." Anastasia takes a bite out of her sandwich. "There was barely any time to rest", she adds, still chewing. "The injured came, one after another, some mutilated, some of them already dead. We all felt very exhausted and hungry. And yet there we were, making an effort to help at least one of those poor creatures live through the night in order to serve as cannon fodder for the battles to come. I don't know what the Tsar was thinking when he got Russia involved in that war. I can't help but hate him for it with all of my being, and yet I am still rooting for our allies, can you believe that?"

I sigh deeply. My heart only feels heavier when I think of the war and the many patients I lost. All of those boys…

"I am only too glad we don't receive as many wounded from the civil war, although that may change soon", I say. "But let's change the subject, please."

"Sure, dear", Anastasia smiles sympathetically, "what do you wish to talk about? Your future baby?"

"You may mock me, but I am already late."

"Late as in…?"

"Yes", I nod, grinning like an idiot.

The recent happenings forced me to reveal to Anastasia Kirilova and her husband Valeriy my secret. They know about my strange ability, about my visions. And now everyone in the hospital suspects I am some sort of seer as well, because they have started asking me for their futures. I can not help but try to see something for them at times. It is just a little bit of fun, no harm done as long as I warn them, emphasizing that my predictions are often incorrect.

The doctors and nurses of the city are not like the peasants from my village. They don't take these sorts of things as seriously, and I genuinely doubt they would get mad if I got things wrong.

"Well", Anastasia also grins, "just so you know, I might have also conceived a baby recently."

"Really?" I raise my eyebrows, looking quite impressed. "Without meaning to offend, may I ask how in Godʼs name?"

"Doroteya!" She exclaims in mock outrage. "I thought you respected peopleʼs privacy!"

"That is why you don't have to answer if you don't want to", I raise my hands.

"Being very careful, but in my defense, it was not my fault, Valeriy was very insistent."

"Oh, sure he was", I roll my eyes, "you are completely innocent."

Laughter ensues. Both Anastasia and I have difficulty stopping, and so do my friends Dafna, Irina, and Mila.

"Seriously, Doroteya", Anastasia says once the amusement subsides. "Don't you ever get curious enough to spy on people when… you know."

I open my eyes wide and look between my friends in horror. To my great dismay, they are all expectantly waiting for an answer, truly believing what Anastasia suggested is a possibility.

"No, girls!" I cry. "Never! Who do you take me for?"

The laughter erupts once again.

Oo

Perm.

Oleg Ivanovich Shchedrin.

It is not often that I wish I had gotten injured during the war. I have wished I had died, yes, but I had never before wished I had been injured. Lying in bed all day hoping that the pain will go away doesn't seem too appealing, not the way seeing your loved ones again is. Ugh, I just miss Anton…

I have not been treated too awfully, all things considered. My crowded jail cell is small and doesn't have a bed, but it is clean. I am not allowed any sleep, but I am escorted to the bathroom every time I am in need of relieving myself, and it has only been one day. I have been awake longer. There were times during the war when I couldn't sleep for days due to the shelling.

Best of all, my friend Igor has been allowed in my cell. The two of us endure the sleep deprivation we are being subjected to better by talking to each other about the most mundane of subjects.

Informed of our whereabouts by the commander, my grandmother has come to visit, and so has Igorʼs wife Natalia, although she understandably left their two children at home. This is no place for them. They weren't allowed to give us food or clothes though, so my friend and I are still stuck in our simple pajamas, white cotton undershirts and striped trousers made of the same material. A cruel irony.

The fear of being tortured is there regardless, haunting me. The guards I can see patrolling outside slam the butts of their rifles against the bars of our cell to wake us up every time they see that the weight of our eyelids is becoming too much to bear. They dress the same way my fellow guards and I do while on duty keeping the Grand Duchesses prisoners. Theirs is a sloppy version of the khaki imperial army uniform. Fur hats or black caps, no epaulets, a civilian article of clothing or two added, and red arm brassards, their best attempt at uniformity.

Every two hours or so, the main warden will come into our cell to ask us what we know about the plot to liberate the Grand Duchesses. He often leaves without further action after Igor and I tell him that we don't know anything, but he is starting to get more and more insistent. I fear this is their strategy, to wear you down little by little and without any rest until you confess.

I would not be able to take a harsher form of torture. I have almost no experience with pain… well, physical pain that is. I truly hope I am wrong, but I think a punch or two would make me give away everything I know.

The worst agony I have undergone so far is having that son of a bitch Kostya sitting against our bars in the cell next door. He has been saying such nonsense since the three of us got here that Igor and I are beginning to get headaches, and so are all of our unfortunate cell mates. He doesn't say shit when the guards approach us, of course. That sneaky bastard.

"You two think of yourselves as heroes, right?" He mocks us. "Knights in shining armor. Well, all you did was get us into this situation!"

"Aren't you tired?" Igor scowls at him. "Last time I checked, the guards don't let you sleep either, do they?"

"They don't", Kostya turns around to face us and leans on the wall behind him instead. He closes his eyes and smiles, looking rather comfortable for a man who is sitting on a rocky floor closely surrounded by five other people. "Knowing I felt the tits of a Grand Duchess makes up for it, I can die happy now." The woman sitting close to him crosses herself in dismay. I truly hope, for her sake, that nuns are not Konstantinʼs type.

"Ugh, shut up!" I groan, and so do several other prisoners.

"Don't pretend that you are not jealous", he smirks at me, ignoring the others. "All you get are whores."

"Jealous of what? Of being an insufferable fool nobody likes?!" Igor snaps. "Because that is what everybody in the house says behind your back, in case you didn't know."

"Hey, don't be angry", the fool sounds almost hurt. "I have no problem with you two, and if you had asked me up there, I would have let you join the party as long as you had let me go first. Instead, you had to go and ruin someone else's fun when you could have minded your own business. You do know that the haughty bitch isn't gonna willingly fuck you out of thankfulness, right? I would have managed to seduce her sooner or later if you two hadn't come in and ruined everything though."

"You are sick", I shake my head, glaring at him. Many of our fellow prisoners roll their eyes at his nonsense, among them lawyers, priests, teachers, formerly wealthy merchants, nuns, and tsarist officers that for some reason haven't been executed or killed by angry mobs yet. The youngest is a schoolboy a mere year or two older than the Tsarevich. Many of them wonder what they did to end up here, but not me.

"Oh, wait", Kostya chuckles. "Tatiana is not the one you like, right?" I turn my head around, ignoring him, but that doesn't seem to faze him. "She won't offer you her little sister either, that is for su…"

"I said, shut up!" I stand up and slam my palm against the bars that separate our cells. This only makes him laugh, for even his cell mates seem more annoyed than him.

"Will you two stop it?!" An old man sitting close to Kostya exclaims. "You are going to get us all in trouble!"

"Oh, I struck a nerve, didn't I?" Konstantin grins, once again ignoring the people complaining. "I would have gotten Maria for you, we still had the youngest one left to threaten them both with, all you had to do is ask."

"That is it!" My arms slide through the bars as I lean forward to attack him. "Come here! Come here you coward, let me get my hands on you!"

Out of my reach, Kostya keeps laughing from his seat on the floor.

"Let him be, Oleg", Igor says. "He is not worth it."

"Well said, Igor", Kostya raises his eyebrows, surprised to hear that he is being defended by Igor of all people. "You would have also enjoyed having someone other than your chubby wife, although her curves do get me curio…"

Not the first time Kostya has insulted or even subtly threatened my friend's wife.

"I will kill you!" Igor jumps abruptly and rushes to join me, extending his arms through the bars threateningly. "As soon as we are out of here, I'll kill you!"

This is why we were placed in separate cells. We would have already killed him otherwise.

"What the hell is happening here?!" One of the guards approaches our two cells, and Igor and I immediately sit back down on the floor.

"The warder asked for that one", another guard points at me, making shivers run down my spine.

"See? You are in more trouble than I am!" The bastard Kostya laughs again, but I am far too scared to react to his mockery. I try to hide this though, and I genuinely think I succeed. I keep a serious and composed expression as two of the guards use their keys to open the cell door and escort me out, grabbing me by one arm each. I don't put up a fight. I know that would be useless.

"Stay strong, Oleg", Igor says to me as I am led away from the second floor of the prison, where we have been kept. "You know you did nothing wrong." A sudden rush of guilt stings me. He doesn't know what I have done.

Oo

Maria Nikolaevna Romanova.

"He is a German, Mashka!" Tatiana exclaims in French, trying to do so as quietly as possible. "A German! Why should we trust him?"

"Because we could die if we don't", I say in the same language. We still can't speak Russian. "I have no idea how or why, but there must be a good reason why we shouldn't be here when the hour comes."

Tatiana, Anastasia, and I are sitting cross-legged between two of our roomʼs beds, crouching and hoping that the dripping of water from the leaky ceiling above will conceal our whispers, preventing them from reaching anyone outside our room. Anastasia holds her pillow tightly, agitated by the recent events, while Tatiana turns her head around every now and then, keeping an eye on the door to make sure there is no one walking by.

"They declared war on us for defending Serbia from those Austrian bullies!" Tatiana continues.

"I think there is something that you may not be considering, Tanechka", Anastasia lies on her belly, her head propped up by her elbows as she enthusiastically moves her legs back and forth. "Erik could be a double agent, a spy working for our allies", she beams. "That is why he had a message from one of the British agents that are helping baby and Olenka."

"Erik?" Tatiana raises an eyebrow. "Where did you get his name from, Shvibzik?"

"I heard one of the other two Germans call him that."

"I heard that too, but I wasn't sure", I turn to Nastya. "What you said makes a lot of sense and would explain everything. They needed someone to tell us where to be at the right time, and Ignat would not suspect the Germans, who think they have some kind of deal with the reds."

The idea is almost exciting, making me think of the handsome Erik as a dashing young hero, undertaking the most dangerous of missions by going undercover amidst the wolves.

"The double agent thing is just a theory, darlings", Tatiana shakes her head, looking down with apprehension. "Besides", she looks up at us again, "Olga's letter said that she would be the one to write to us, was that her handwriting?" She asks me.

"No", I admit. "It must be Charles's."

"What makes you two so sure that 'Charles Lamb' isn't just some invented name?" Tatiana raises her voice.

Anastasia opens and closes her mouth in thought before settling on a different question: "What would the Germans gain from tricking us in such a way?"

"Isn't it evident? Our trust", Tatiana answers. "They want to be the ones to rescue us and not the British for God knows what barbaric agenda, using us as puppets to give the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk legitimacy perhaps. But even if there isn't an agenda, it still isn't honorable to willingly receive help from them after all of the hardships they have caused our motherland. On the contrary, doing so would only bring dishonor to us and our parentsʼ memories. And what about the regiments we are chiefs of? Our men have bled and died fighting the Germans, are we really going to take orders from them just to save our own skins?"

"All of that is very interesting, Tatya", Anastasia speaks using her occasionally mocking tone, "but there is only one problem with your argument."

"Which is?" Tatiana raises an eyebrow and then immediately rolls her eyes, knowing very well that Anastasia is about to deliver a punchline.

"I don't want to die today, so I don't care."

I smile, but Tatiana shakes her head again, almost glaring at Anastasia.

"You may not care about what papa would have died for, Nastya, but I do", Tatiana says. "Shame on you."

"No, shame on you!" Nastasia leaps up and stares down at our sister. "You were the one who sanctimoniously said that we should love our enemies! You are so boring you even forbade me from giving those Teutons a hard time during their useless medical check-up!"

"That was different, Shvibzik!" Tatiana exclaims. "I said it would be dishonorable to accept help from them, especially their government, not that it was in any way acceptable to be rude and disrespectful to people without provocation, any people."

"You said it would be cruel to refuse help from our siblings! And this message could very well come from the people who saved them and now want to save us! I am tired of everything, but I could live for them! I would do anything for them!"

"Shvibzik…" Tanya gives her a sad look. She then opens her mouth, but Anastasia interrupts her:

"Also, I don't know you, but I would never allow myself to be used as a puppet by anyone! Much less the bloody Germans! I don't care about what they may do for us! It is not my fault that you feel like your obsession with being courteous would force you to betray your country out of gratitude!"

"How dare you!" Tatiana cries with indignation.

"Stop it!" I stand up. "Both of you!" I look between them. "We are not going to fight today!"

Anastasia and Tatiana look at each other with anger in their eyes for a while longer, but they stop arguing. My little sister and I sit back down slowly. Silence reigns for a few minutes.

"Tanechka, darling", I rub my older sisterʼs back gently. "I know where you are coming from, but we can't risk our lives just because we don't understand why this message was delivered the way it was."

She remains silent, serious, but hers is a silence of quiet resignation.

Oo

Oleg Ivanovich Shchedrin.

The first punch takes me by surprise. I really had started swallowing the whole "concerned comrade merely asking questions" act Chekist Alexander Pavlovich Zaytsev was putting.

I feel nothing at first, but the pain eventually sinks in. My eyes reflexively water in an instant. And there is more. There is some embarrassment boiling deep within me that I work hard to conceal. Not only am I still in pajamas, but the man who hit me is a couple of years younger than me. I hadn't felt this humiliated since my lieutenant reprimanded me during the war for fooling around with my brothers and friends instead of helping with the digging of the trenches.

All in all, I can take more, which is almost relieving to realize. I rub my face for a second and then quickly recover my composure.

"What were you really doing on the evening of the 29th?" Alexander asks again, his tone more demanding than ever. He is standing, leaning over me menacingly with his arms crossed. The interrogation didn't start like this.

The guards took me to the Perm Cheka headquarters on a motorcar. The building is a light blue color, its columns and window frames white. While fairly spacious and elongated, the edifice can't have more than four floors, but there are so many rooms and offices that I would not easily remember how to reach the one where I am being interrogated now.

The simplicity of Zaytsev's office surprised me when I was first led in. This is a true Bolshevik, living by his ideals. The space is small, gray, and empty, and so is the desk in front of which I am being questioned save for the ashtray. I wonder where it is that Alexander fills his paperwork and investigates who is actually guilty and who isn't, or is being a bully his only job?

There are no paintings on the walls, no adornments anywhere, only two chairs and a desk between them. When I arrived, Alexander was sitting behind the table, his legs on top of the surface as he enjoyed a cigarette. He immediately told the guards to let me go and offered me a seat. I complied without a word and even accepted what I believed were genuinely kind offers. The cigarette, the tea, the sandwiches, and the cookies, which were very welcome after almost a full day without eating.

As I enjoyed my meal, Alexander asked me several questions about my time working at the Blue House, my time living there before that, the bathroom incident, and most menacing of all, my brother Andrei.

I told Alexander that my eldest brother had briefly returned home from the front after the signing of the peace treaty with Germany and then left again, but that I didn't know where he was now.

The Chekist then moved on to ask me about that evening of the 29th for the first time. I gave him my original cover story without thinking: "I went to the cemetery to leave my mother flowers."

He didn't seem to believe me the first time I said that, and he clearly doesn't believe me now, but what else was I supposed to do? Confess to the fact I had met with the missing Grand Duchess Olga and told her about a secret tunnel I am hoping the Cheka doesn't suspect exists? What else am I supposed to do now to get out of this?

"I have already told you", I reply, hoping to sound undisturbed by the punch. Calm, unconcerned, and even cheerful. "Flowers for my mother, who died. You do know what a mother is, right?" The embarrassment is gone. I have, in some ways, punched back.

Zaytsev nods as though he had expected this answer, grinning. "You are so funny", he says sarcastically. "And yet, despite the joke, you are telling me nothing new. Tell me where your brother went and what he is doing", he leans on the desk, almost sitting on the surface. "Everything you tell me is only the same old bullshit."

"I don't know where Andrei is", I insist. "He might have left the country with his family. My grandmother and I have received no news from him."

"Oh, is that so?" Alexander raises an eyebrow, his face showing no sign of having taken any of what I have just said into consideration. "Then maybe you would also care to explain why one of his former work colleagues reported that he and his family only left Perm after the Czech legion took the city of Samara last June."

"We are in the middle of a civil war", I shrug, "cities get captured and recaptured all the time."

"Do you expect me to accept this explanation so casually?" Alexander shakes his head with impatience. "You are lying."

"No, I'm not." I simply state.

"Your brother left because the Czech legion's advance made him hopeful, but hopeful for what? I do wonder."

"That's not..."

"He left to join the advancing counter-revolutionary forces, and you know about it!" He slams his fist against the table.

"If true, that would be his business. He and I never got along, so no, I did not know. Do you have have proof?" I ask innocently.

"As a matter of fact, we do", Alexander takes out a piece of paper from his leather jacket and hands it over to me. "Read it."

My hands almost freeze upon recognizing the letter in question. I want to say something sarcastic and angry, but it wouldn't be worth anything to continue denying the truth. I take the sheet of paper and start reading, my voice almost breaking at the end of each paragraph:

"My dear brother, if there is anything left of my brother inside that shell you have become, please forgive me for not having written to you in such a long time, but I had no safe way of sending this letter. I am hoping that the messenger managed to deliver this without trouble and that you will actually get to read these words.

"After several weeks of traveling, Natalia, the children, and I have decided to temporarily settle in Samara, where some sort of provisional anti-Bolshevik government is being put together by a group of socialists. While this is far from ideal, I have grown to respect a few of the beliefs that the Committee of Members of the Constituent Assembly has, and I am looking into ways of aiding their cause while a better option arises. They plan to convocate a new All-Russian Constituent Assembly, the democratic organism that the Bolsheviks dissolved. They are also returning industry and financial establishments shamelessly stolen by the red guards to their legitimate owners, so there is some hope left for our house. Tell grandmama that. I have been planning to write to her, but I haven't had time. Send her my love.

"I hope there is something brighter in store for our poor motherland, but for now, anything is better than what those thugs have planned. Of course you don't care, because you don't read, little brother, but I still hope for a change of heart. You know what Anton would have wanted.

"With love regardless, your brother, Andrei Ivanovich Shchedrin."

I drop the letter on the table, barely aware that my mouth is gaping open. Alexander looks at me with a smug smile, waiting for me to say something.

"You looked through my things", I whisper, my voice sounding hollow.

"I am surprised you didn't suspect we would", Alexander says nonchalantly. He is right. I am an idiot. I should have burnt that stupidly condescending letter, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

"You had absolutely no right to look through my personal correspondence!" I snap, my anger finally breaking free.

"That is debatable, to say the least", Alexander laughs. "But this is not the time to argue that. What have you and your brother been plotting? When did you tell him that the Grand Duchesses were being kept prisoner in your former residence?" Walking closer to me, he almost whispers the last question. "Did you meet with one of his messengers on the evening of the 29th? Did you then plan the escape attempt that would take place that very same night?"

"No!" I exclaim, scowling at the wildness of his accusations. It is unbelievable that he can somehow still manage to make me feel nervous despite how off-the-mark his suspicions are.

"Who is helping him plot the rescue?!" He cries. "Cossacks?! The British?! Answer me!" I feel his spit land on my face when he yells that, leaning over me closer than ever.

"My brother and I don't get along, we are not allies, we aren't plotting anything!" I stand up from my chair and throw the letter away. "He sometimes sends us letters asking me and our grandmother how we are doing and assuring us he is fine, that is all!" The paper lands on the ground after a few seconds of hovering in the air.

That is when I receive the second punch, which makes my cheek hurt like hell. When I try to move away from Alexander, he holds onto my arm tightly. I am taller and stronger than him though, so I easily pull away and stand my ground, glaring at him.

Seemingly embarrassed by this, he stares down at me, his eyes cold, his jaw set, and his lips pressed together. I wait, watching him carefully. If he is going to hit me one more time, I swear I will make sure to punch back. Maybe with a bit more force.

"You were upstairs with Igor for a reason", he states, a bit more calmly now. "What happened? Who was helping the two of you aid the former grand successes in their escape?"

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. "Frankly, I am tired of repeating the same old story, don't you feel sorry for the lady involved? Having a bunch of strangers talk over and over again about how you were almost..."

"Fine", he interrupts me. "I will get back to you later, then." Alexander turns around and walks towards the door, stopping before opening it.

"Where are you going?" I ask, slightly unnerved.

"To ask the other two guards entangled in this affair a few questions. Don't worry, I won't harm them", he opens the door. "Much", he adds before closing it, leaving me locked up inside the office. It is only then that I can sit back down on my chair, lay my head on the table, and rest.

Oo

Maria Nikolaevna Romanova.

We decide to play hide and seek after lunch, which is the perfect way to disguise the real reason we will seldom be in our room from now on. The changing of the guards commonly took place shortly before dinner, but we had dinner later than usual yesterday, perhaps as a result of what happened with Tatiana. Some sort of sick punishment. The men had dinner by themselves earlier without leaving their posts though. They left grains of rice and chunks of vegetables spread all over the corridor that Galina had to clean afterwards.

Even now, the security of this house is slightly more relaxed than that of the Ipatiev House. Olga said so the first day, speculating that they hadn't planned to spare us with a sufficient amount of anticipation. For me, this represents Godʼs mysterious ways at work.

Either way, regardless of whether todayʼs changing of the guards takes place before or after our dinner, my sisters and I will be ready. We have been moving further and further away from our room, visiting that chamber and the room next door less frequently every time one of us counts.

I am so proud of my little sister Anastasia. She is facing her fears, often hiding in what would have been Alyosha's room.

"It is not as painful anymore knowing we will see him again soon, maybe even today!" She happily squeals in English when I find her.

As time goes on, the dread and uneasiness turns into excitement and anticipation. We still fear whatever it is that may kill us if we stay in our room, but it has been months since we last played hide and seek. Very gradually, Tanechka comes to forget her scruples and becomes lively, and suddenly it feels as if we were back in the days before our parents died. I even feel papa and mamaʼs playful presence around us, theirs and that of the Holy Spirit, which our friend would tell us also lives amidst laughter and innocent games.

The upper floor has many rooms, but over half of them are devoid of furniture, so there are not many places to hide. It has still been fun pretending not to immediately see each other the moment we enter the correct room.

Tatiana and I are hiding inside the empty chamber furthest away from our room, where we are also keeping the icon of the Theotokos. Anastasia is the one counting on the corridor now as my older sister and I lie on the ground side by side, grinning at each other.

"You will not believe what I saw!" Anastasia comes bursting into the room, no longer feigning obliviousness to our presence for the sake of the game. "Two of the guards by the stairs", she points a finger at the corridor from which she came from, trying but failing to hold back her laughter. "They…" Nastya bends over and laughs. "Two of them are sleeping, and the others are also leaning on the walls of the corridor, about to do the same", she reveals amidst chuckles.

Tatiana and I stare at each other with incredulity as we rise from the floor.

"The stairs are near our room, Shvibzik", Tatiana scolds Anastasia gently. "You shouldn't be going there anymore, dear, it could be dangerous."

"We should prank them", my baby sister goes on laughing, ignoring Tanechka, "we should…"

The sound of the explosion robs Anastasia of her insatiable urge to laugh. It is powerful and loud. She turns around, opening her eyes wide, and then she moves to walk out of the room.

"No, Shvibzik", Tatiana restrains her, a look of concern on her face. Her focus on our younger sister allows me to do what the latter intended. I rush towards the stairs to see what happened.

An explosion. A dangerous, unpredictable explosion. No, God. Please no. Don't let anyone die!

There were more than a dozen guards patrolling on our floor, but there is only one man left standing when I arrive at the corridor outside our room. Five of them are sleeping on the floor. Two of them are running downstairs in the direction of the explosion, which did not occur here, and I am assuming even more men are already down there. It might have happened in the living room or even in the basement. But why then…?

"What did you do?" Gregoryʼs accusing eyes are wide open in terror as he holds his rifle close to his chest. "What did you do?!"

I shake my head frantically as if defending my innocence, tears welling up in my eyes, but I know what is going to happen. I know.

"Get out of there", I mutter, stuttering, and for once today in Russian. "Get off this floor, please!" I yell now, the tears rolling down my cheeks. He doesn't listen.

"What are you thinking, Maria?!" A very upset Tatiana tries to drag me back to safety, but I can't. Not until Gregory is also safe. And the others… I had forgotten about the guards, I had forgotten, I didn't warn them, we could have warned them, oh forgive me sweet Christ, Lord!

"Let's go, Masha!" Anastasia grabs my other arm.

"Run, Gregory!" I cry as my sisters force me to take a few steps backwards. "Wake the others and run!" Their combined strength is too much. Then I worry they may be here when the second blast occurs. That is when I listen to them.

The three of us start running back towards the room furthest away from ours, but the powerful wave of the explosion makes us violently collapse on the floor just before we reach our destination.

Oo

Am I dead? That was so loud. The loudest noise I had ever heard, unbearably so. And now there is only darkness…

The next thing I feel is an incredibly intense pain in my left ear.

"Oh, God!" Tatiana is frantically shaking my body as I lie on my belly, her broken, grief-stricken voice unrecognizable. "Please, no! Wake up! Please, Masha! You can't do this to me!" Anastasia is also screaming out loud by her side.

I know that they are next to me, but they sound so far away…

"We don't have time", a masculine voice says in Russian.

Before I can even move my limbs to become aware of my surroundings, I feel someone pick me up in one quick and effortless movement, carrying me the way I used to carry Alexei. I know my sisters are incapable of doing this.

My heart leaps and I start screaming in terror. By the time I open my eyes, the stranger has carried me halfway through the corridor. What I see and hear shocks me.

The sleeping guards have woken up, but they look weak, scared, and confused. Some of them are also injured and moaning in pain. Nothing is left of our room but the wooden and concrete remains of a collapsed roof. I can look up and see the darkening sky reigning over us, but the stairs have been blocked by the rubble, underneath which Gregory lies dead, eyes wide open as blood pours out of his mouth.

"No!" I keep screaming as tears flood and roll down my eyes. "No!" I start moving my arms and legs wildly, struggling against my kidnapper… our rescuer? I turn around to see him. He is a robust man in his early sixties with a gray beard. His kind blue eyes remind me of papa, but the terror doesn't allow me to stay still. We didn't warn them, we should have warned them…

Behind us, Tanechka encourages our terrified little sister Nastya to keep walking. "Let's go", she leads her, "let's go, dear." Both of them are weeping, and Anastasia is holding the icon of the Virgin close to her chest, often kissing it.

Walking over the debris with great difficulty, the man takes me to the giant opening that was once our bedroom wall. I catch a glimpse of the grappling hook he must have climbed to the second floor with. It is firmly attached to the ground.

A sudden and incredibly unpleasant falling sensation takes me by surprise. This man has just thrown me out.

What?! I move my limbs and scream frantically, my heart beating at such a fast rate that my whole chest feels as if it might burst at any second. He is killing me! He killed me!

But I bounce several times upon landing on a soft sheet. I look around. What is this?

There are several men standing around me, holding the cloth where I landed in place. It is a safety net! Like the ones firefighters use!

I stop screaming. One of the men orders me to climb down, but I am in too much shock to do anything. Finally, he moves to grab me, but I flinch away.

"I can do it!" I exclaim, absolutely terrified. "I can do it!"

I hop off of the net and look up in time to watch as our rescuer prompts Tatiana to jump from the destroyed bedroom, but she insists that Anastasia should go first. Still screaming and crying, Anastasia seems awfully frightened as she looks down to see the height from which she is about to jump, but she doesn't hesitate when the moment to do so comes. Tatiana does waver for a second or two, but she eventually goes through with it.

One by one, my two sisters leave the net and rush to hug me. Then the sound of a gunshot makes me scream again. It makes me scream for papa. It makes my sisters scream too.

"Let's go, Your Imperial Highnesses, let's go!" A man exclaims in Russian as he touches our backs to lead us through the garden.

More and more men walk with us, a few of them carrying the houseʼs machine guns in their arms after having stolen them. More shots are fired too, for many of the guards of the yard are waking up from their bizarre slumbers, but they all look tired, disoriented, and even drunk as they stagger their way to us, firing their rifles with what I hope is lacking accuracy. Our rescuers fire back with their own handguns and rifles, hitting some of them.

The sound of those gunshots is enough to make me lose my mind. I keep screaming for my father, for my mother, somewhat stuck between the present and the past as the men help us jump through the fence and then urge us to run away from the house which has been our prison for two entire weeks.

Mama, mama dearest, those horrid people got to her, they murdered her, why? Her face, the way she beamed when I talked to her, mama, poor mama…

She is all I can think of. She and papa. The memory of their brutal deaths is not just like any other memory. It is too vivid. Too real. It is here. Oh, I want them back!

We have been running for minutes through an open grass field. I haven't stopped screaming and crying, and neither have my sisters. There is only a forest ahead and more country houses to the right. I look at the men around me and my sisters, counting them. There are five in total, but several more are running behind us, none of whom seem to be our guards. Thank God, but do they even have a plan? Do they not realize that the guards will ask for reinforcements and catch up to us sooner or later?

Beginning to grow tired, I stop screaming and start panting instead, the tears still rolling down my cheeks. Gregory, what have we done? Are there more dead or wounded? And where is that big old man who saved us? Is he also running behind us? God, please!

Tatiana and Anastasia also look tired. They are both silent now save for their occasional gasps of terror or exhaustion.

I thank God with all of my being when the men start slowing down. They exhort us to do the same through hand signals.

"Follow us", one of our saviors says before turning around in another direction, and I am surprised to see that he is Denis, something the fear hadn't allowed me to notice before. I meet Anastasiaʼs gaze and tilt my head towards the boy while opening my eyes wide as if to reveal my astonishment, but she seems too scared to feel curious or even surprised about anything.

Walking instead of running allows my scared sisters and I to cling to each other as we move through the forest, which grows thicker with every step. We follow the men without a word until they stop before a deep hole on the ground, the diameter of which is about as long as the height of the average person.

"Ladies first", one of our rescuers points at the pit with his hand, but another one, a strong-looking brunet, climbs down first using a grappling hook and a rope he pulls out of a skin bag. Two more men follow him, one of them carrying the icon for Anastasia.

They all sound Russian, I realize. They look Russian as well with those peasant civilian clothes, although some of them are clean-shaven, which is unusual for peasants as far as I am aware. Aren't they supposed to be English intelligence officers? I grow a bit scared. What if this is a trick? No, that is stupid. There are loyal Russians left, mama was right, and I saw them shooting at our guards, and Gregory, poor Gregory…

"Letʼs get going," a short dirty blond with growing facial hair interrupts my thoughts. "They are probably following us, and we have a long road ahead, Your Imperial Highnesses."

The men around us and those at the bottom help me, Anastasia, and Tatiana go down into the pit, making sure we don't fall as we climb down using the rope. This is one of the hardest and most unusual things I have ever had to do, and it is similarly hard for my sisters, especially Tatiana, who panics halfway down, screaming hysterically as she clings tightly to the rope with the only hand she can actually use until one of the men down here climbs up to help her. He and my sister end up falling after she violently shoves him in a fit of panic.

Terrified, Anastasia and I cry out loudly for Tatiana, but the men at the bottom manage to catch her and her rescuer in a rather sloppy way, all of them falling to the ground in the process. Luckily enough, no one is seriously injured, and the seven men behind us go down with a lot less difficulty.

I count the men again. There are ten in total now. Chills run down my spine once I look ahead and behind me. Before us is a long, seemingly endless rocky tunnel. My chest tightens. What if something goes wrong and we are trapped underneath?

I start silently praying that everything goes well.

Almighty and merciful God, I most humbly and heartily thank Your divine majesty for Your loving kindness and tender mercies, that You have heard my humble prayer, and graciously vouchsafed to deliver me from my trouble and affliction.

Grant me, I beseech You, Your helping grace, that I may obediently walk in Your holy commandments, and lead a sober, righteous and godly life, ever remembering Your mercies, and the blessings You have undeservedly bestowed upon me, that I may continually offer to You the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, O Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

"Let's go!" The oldest of the group exclaims as he walks forward.

"Shouldn't we wait for the officers who created the distraction?" Denis asks.

"No", he replies. "Captain James Wilsonʼs orders were very clear. We wait for them at the cabin, and if they don't come before sunrise tomorrow, he will tell us what to do."

"And Gogol Petrovich?" Another man asks.

"Dead", the man who jumped in first reveals. "Shot after helping the Grand Duchesses jump off of the second floor."

I gasp in horror at that. The poor old man who carried me in his arms and saved me! The men start moving forward through the dark tunnel, and my sisters and I follow them. Anastasia soon wanders off. My left ear still hurts a lot, and it feels weird too, as if I couldn't hear anything from that side. I raise my hand to touch it and feel something wet pouring out. Blood. I must have burst my eardrum.

Feeling a bit scared of both this and the darkness, I cling to Tatiana as I would back when I was little and had nightmares, holding her arm and leaning my head on her shoulder. When one of the men uses a match to light up a torch, I am able to see her tear-strained and swollen face clearly again. My face must look exactly the same. Her breathing is nonetheless steadying, and she is no longer shedding new tears.

My eyes search for Anastasia now. I thought she would be talking to Denis, but she is walking among the many men in silence, wiping her tears and observing her new surroundings with what seems like wonder and excitement for what is to come. Once again holding the icon close to her chest, my adventurous little sister doesn't seem to be needing any comfort from me right now. God is with her, with all of us.

I allow myself to take a deep breath and sigh in relief as well. I look over to Tatiana, and she smiles back at me, her eyes again full of tears.

"We are free, Masha", she gasps with emotion. I look forward, not knowing how to feel. We are free, but at what cost?

Oo

Oleg Ivanovich Shchedrin.

When Alexander comes back, he does so taking two other guards with him. The men's footsteps wake me up from my improvised and very much needed nap, and I immediately deduce that their reason for being here is not a good one. This can only end poorly.

I am far from surprised when the two newcomers take me by an arm each and force me to kneel on the ground before Alexander. I writhe in their grip obstinately, glaring at everyone around me. It is useless.

"For a last time", Alexander moves closer, "before I start breaking your bones, tell us about your accomplices. Who are the people plotting the escape of the former grand successes and where are they located? Now!"

I grit my teeth, but I keep quiet. Seconds and then minutes go by. I know now that I can take more, and if this is necessary to buy those girls time, then so be it.

The next punch is to the stomach, and it takes my breath away. I do not cry out though. I just endeavor to keep sucking air into my lungs. Not giving me time to recover, Alexander punches me again in the nose, hard, and blood begins to flow freely down my chin.

"What was the rope doing there if you weren't trying to help the citizens escape, huh?" He grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging me up painfully to eye level.

I smile in defiance, remaining silent.

"Is that stupid grin of yours an admission of your guilt?" He shakes my head roughly.

"No", I say weakly. "I am most definitely innocent, but it's not like you will believe me anyway..."

"Stop lying!" He slaps me across the face, embarrassing me deeply. The fact I am fuming must be written all over my face, because Alexander relaxes again. He knows he has me under his thumb, and this makes me rage inside.

"I have interviewed several of the men who worked at the Blue House", he releases my hair and starts walking around the room calmly. "Commander Ignat Iliaovich and Commander Pavel Antonovich among them. They both say you and the former grand duchess Maria have certain... affection for each other. Is that true?"

I know what his lascivious tone implies, and I don't appreciate it. "If by affection you mean that we are friends, then sure", I shrug. "Many of the guards are friendly to the girls, especially Maria. Commander Paver was very lax, so there was a lot of fraternization between us and the prisoners, and Commander Ignat was in no hurry to change that until very recently."

"You know too well what I mean. Commander Pavel said you seemed to be quite infatuated with her. You had an interest in her, didn't you?"

I could kill him. "I didn't... you know what? Yes, I did, and I still do." What is the use of lying about that? "Half the guards did. I was just lucky to know her better, but nothing untoward has ever happened."

He raises a brow. "Not even kissing?"

"No", I shake my head, rolling my eyes as I do.

Alexander smirks. "That's disappointing, Oleg. All of that plotting to set her free for nothing." He walks around me slowly, like a predator circling its prey.

"I am involved in no plots", I keep insisting on my innocence.

"You tried to set her and her sisters free yesterday."

"I did not!"

"You did, and you left the house the day before to meet with your brother's counter-revolutionary accomplices."

"Such nonsense", I look away, once again rolling my eyes.

"And I am sure that your grandmother had a role in your scheme as well. Why else would she want to leave the house at such an hour? You two planned something out together", he points his finger at me, speaking with certainty.

My jaw drops in horror. That bastard knows everything. I suddenly can't think.

"My mother's death anniversary..." I instinctively begin to tell him my old excuse.

Alexander's expression darkens as his eyes widen, and before I can react, he violently kicks me in the stomach. I double over, gasping. This hurts so much worse than any of those punches ever could, and to make matters worse, I am beginning to grow nauseous.

"Stop lying to me!" The young Chekist starts screaming, striking me on the face and stomach with his fists every time he finishes a question or sentence, as if he wanted to make their meaning burn right through me. "Your whore mother didn't die that day no matter what calendar you use! Do you think we are stupid?! That we don't have access to city records?! That I didn't do my research?! Your mother died the same day you were born, and that was not on the 29th of July! Tell me the truth, you bourgeois traitor! Who are you, your brother, and your grandmother working for?! I have no problem killing old women!"

"No!" I can't help but protest, my voice sounding broken from the pain.

Alexander stops hitting me, probably hoping that his threats and intimidation have fulfilled their purpose. I pant, terrified out of my mind for my grandmother and horrified by the idea of her being interrogated by this piece of trash. My eyes keep watering reflexively and not due to the ache or the fear, making me look more worn down than I actually am. The pain on my face and stomach is nonetheless more intense than ever. My lower lip is bleeding, and my mouth is filled with blood, so I spit some of it on the floor and take a few deep breaths before speaking again.

"Alright", I gasp for air, "the 29th of July was not the anniversary of my mother's death", I breathe in and out deeply. "I lied to the commander in order to be allowed out during my shift, you win", I admit, trying to keep myself from shaking. "But only six days had gone by since my birthday when I went to leave my mother flowers, you can look that up in your records. Birthdays are the different days in which people are born, by the way", I add mockingly, as if questioning his intelligence. "Mine is the 23rd of July according to the new calendar." If this boy thinks he is going to break me with a few weak punches he only managed to give me because two other men were keeping me still, he is surely mistaken. "Just because an old woman with bad memory forgot that my birthday was also the anniversary of my mother's death and remembered this fact almost a week later doesn't mean that we are hiding something, and Andrei is too overly cautious to get involved in a conspiracy as dangerous as the one you are suggesting. He has a family."

Alexander looks as if he wanted to murder me, but he refrains from punching me again. Instead, he turns towards the guards holding me. "Make him sit back on the chair", he instructs them. "Don't let him stand until I get back."

The men do as they are told.

Alexander turns to walk out of the office, but before he is able to, the door opens, and a man I do not recognize walks into the room, wearing the same black leather jacket and red arm brassard as Alexander, who moves to greet the newcomer. I watch them exchange greetings before proceeding to speak in hushed tones. I can still hear some of what they are saying though.

"Have they sent a search party?!" Alexander asks, sounding rather unnerved.

"Yes, of course it has been sent", the other man replies.

"How many men?"

"Almost a hundred... and more than a hundred more will be coming from Moscow soon."

Alexander nods slowly, still looking shaken by the news, whatever they are. "Good, thank you for informing me, comrade, we will talk about this tonight", he motions for the other man to leave.

Alexander then closes the door and faces me again. "Seems your accomplices had more success than you did", he speaks scornfully. "Your three little Romanov friends have escaped."

A sudden wave of relief fills my heart, something I try to keep hidden with a blank expression. I look down at the table and sigh, my forearms lying on the surface. They escaped. Maria will be safe. Maria, Tatiana, and Anastasia will be safe. They will reunite with Olga. She will not lose her sisters like she lost her brother. I cannot help but let out a smile that soon turns into a chuckle. Alexander notices this, but to my great surprise, he doesn't punch or slap me again.

"Do you think that is funny?" He asks sternly instead.

I shake my head, still laughing.

"Of course not..." I struggle to regain my composure, trying to keep my head low. "I'm sorry... it was just that..."

Alexander frowns. "You said that you were not involved in a plot to set the prisoners free, but now you're laughing uncontrollably despite the fact that a dangerous threat to the revolution has been unleashed... do you feel that laughter is appropriate?"

This only makes me laugh harder. "I was not involved, I swear, but now that you mention my amusement, I must admit I find it hilarious that you are crapping your pants over a few women and teenage girls without any claim to the throne being set free", I manage to say amidst chuckles. "I wish I had been involved… and, a dangerous threat to the revolution? Really?" I dare look up at Alexander's face. "At most, they will give you bad press. Have you tried photographing pretty young women in cute red guard costumes and then selling the postcards? Voila, problem solved, now the whites have competition…"

Alexander's scowl deepens. "One of your comrades is dead, asshole!" He exclaims. That is enough to make me stop laughing. "Gregory had a wall collapse on him, although he might have been killed by the explosion itself, and several more good men were injured. Some of them are in critical condition."

Gregory, the 24-year-old who chatted with my grandmother when I was too gloomy to do so. Any trace of a smile disappears from my face. What have I done? The world around me spins. I have killed a man, a man... maybe more. And what did I expect? I knew the risks.

I also knew the risks of joining the army. I knew Anton. I knew he wouldn't stay anywhere without me, that he would join with me. And so he did. And I knew Yuri wouldn't stay home knowing his three brothers were away fighting. I killed them, the realization hits me. I killed them with my youthful foolishness and desire for adventure, not the shell that blew Yuri or the bullet that pierced Anton's heart the same week. It is unbearable to know that I am still breathing when they never will again.

There is a small moment of silence as Alexander watches me with narrowed eyes. Finally, after several long seconds pass, he gets closer to the chair where I am sitting.

"I am sure you might not have been aware that your schemes would pose a threat to the safety of your comrades", he speaks to me condescendingly. "What you did is, however, still reprehensible, but there is a way to rectify it." He puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. "You tell me who you worked for, the people that helped the Romanov citizens escape, and we will avenge the men hurt and killed today. You will be pardoned, and your grandmother will not be arrested for helping you."

His grip on my shoulder relaxes slightly, and I feel a rush of revulsion wash over me. An innocent man is dead and Alexander can find nothing better to do with this information than to use it to manipulate me, threatening my grandmother in the process. I don't know enough about the people who rescued the Grand Duchesses either way, and even if I did, telling Alexander about them would average Gregory, but it would also put the girls at risk, and they, like us, are only doing what they can to survive. I could never betray them, and some part of me wants to believe that Gregory would have, at least tentatively, understood that.

"No", I reply firmly. There is silence. A few seconds go by, and then Alexander slaps me again.

"Why not?!" He growls, his tone dramatically changing again. "Do you care more about those bitches than you care for one of the men you worked side by side with?! Well, of course you do! The evidence doesn't lie! You and your family are nothing but petite bourgeoisie trash! You have been cynically pretending to be on our side for weeks when you are actually in contact with counter-revolutionary schemers! This definitely won't end well for you, Shchedrin, but I can make the inevitable easier if you cooperate now!"

"No", I repeat, not giving my tormentor the satisfaction of elaborating or clarifying what I am responding to. By way of answer, he starts hitting me in the face, ribs, and stomach, the two other guards still preventing me from fighting back.

I start groaning and cursing in pain, no longer able to help doing so. But despite the ache, most of my thoughts are about Gregory, who Igor and I often joked with. Those foreign agents killed him, there is no denying that, but the four young women and even that harmless crippled boy could have been exiled months ago.

"This is all your fault", I mutter between gasps of pain as soon as Alexander stops hitting me. I am done hiding what I really believe. It hasn't helped me so far, so why keep the facade up?

"What?" He raises an eyebrow at me, seemingly confused.

"This is all your fault", I insist, panting. "Gregoryʼs death is all your fault. You kept leading those foreigners on for months until they realized that they could only get what they wanted through violent means", I look straight into Alexanderʼs eyes accusingly, finding a similar amount of hatred in them. "If not for you, Gregory would have been working at some other jail or factory, somewhere safer for him", I breathe in and out deeply. "If not for you, none of those men would have been injured... and the alternative... oh you know what you wanted to do with those women!" I chuckle without any amusement as I wipe the blood off of my face with my forearm. "You wanted them dead", I point a finger at him to emphasize what I am saying. "Sooner or later, your use for them would have come to an end. This entire tragedy was your design… the blood of my friend is in your hands!" My anger grows by the minute.

Alexander steps closer. "You little..."

"So I am petite bourgeoisie trash, huh?" I glare at him, infuriated by his hypocrisy. "As if you didn't consider the average red guard expandable!" My voice grows louder, and Alexander opens his eyes wide, seemingly surprised by my candor. "Of course you do! Most of them don't read your fancy German books, so they might as well be the revolutionʼs cannon fodder, seems little has chan..."

I get hit in the stomach once more. I double over, fighting the urge to throw up in vain. Realizing what is about to happen, the two guards standing nearby allow me to rise from the chair and empty my stomach in the corner of the room.

I am brought back to the chair soon after this, Alexander standing close by with a mocking expression on his face.

"How many good, working-class men have to die in order for you to save your precious princesses, huh?" He punches me in the jaw again, making me let out several curses. "Your precious, pampered princesses who haven't done anything with their lives but spent the people's money! You're pathetic!" Another punch to the face. "And you will regret this!" Another blow to the face. Too much. My face is so sore I might cry, genuinely due to the pain this time. I begin trying to move away, struggling against the strength of both men holding me still, but I am unable to do anything. "I give you one last opportunity", Alexander grabs me by the hair, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Tell me who helped the grand duchesses escape and where they went or I will stop being as nice and understanding as I have been so far", I stare wide-eyed at Alexander. If this is him being nice, I dread to think of what he intends to do next.

My mind comes up with the worst tortures imaginable, and then I realize I may not even be Alexanderʼs intended target. He has already threatened my grandmother, who is not only my relative but also a suspect. For the first time in weeks, I think about the friends I had before the war. I think about Zoya, and for once the memory of her nagging is anything but annoying. I stay silent, still and sore, the fear winning and gaining full control over me.

I consider telling him everything I know. The Grand Duchesses must be far from their grasp by now, and I don't know that much about those British agents either way. Spilling everything out can't do much harm now, can it? Not unless…

No. I can't tell Alexander anything. I could accidentally say something useful, especially if I talk about the tunnel. The Cheka is probably more than aware of its existence by now, but still… Anton and I got lost there several times before we fully got to know each and every passage, something I spoke to Randall about. I can only hope my silence buys those girls time by getting their pursuers trapped in what could very well be a maze for intruders.

I shake my head slightly and spit some more blood on the floor. "Comrade Alexander", I begin, making an effort not to curse out of pain. "Do you truly expect me to speak?" I smile weakly. "I also have a question for you." He punches me in the ribs to keep me from talking, but I continue anyway, trying my best not to show weakness. "How many good, working-class men have to die in order to ensure all those your superstitious party wants dead also die?"

At this trick question, Alexander looks down at me with disdainful eyes, scowling silently before turning away to walk towards the door.

"I have been wasting my time with you", he says, and then he leaves. The two guards who had been restraining me when necessary step aside before following him, leaving me shaking and coughing violently, confused as to whether I should be scared or relieved by this.

I take deep breaths, trying not to let either my emotions or the physical pain overtake me.

After a while, Alexander returns to the office, his two henchmen dragging the beaten and broken form of a man by an arm each.

At a glance, I am unable to recognize his horribly lacerated and swollen face. He has been badly beaten, most definitely worse than me. His clothes are soaked in blood, his breathing is labored, almost painful to hear, and the skin of his arms, face, neck, and shoulders is so bruised that nothing left of a normal color remains.

"Who is that?" I stand up. My voice is raspy and strained, strange coming from me.

But Alexander doesn't answer. Instead, he takes out a metal pipe from behind his back and starts mercilessly beating the already broken prisoner, making him let out incredibly loud cries. Only the blue of his striped pajamas allows me to identify him as Igor.

"Let him go, you absolute piece of shit!" I rush to stop Alexanderʼs assault on my friend, but one of the men holding Igor still takes out his revolver and points it straight at me, preventing me from touching the animal.

"Don't worry, Oleg", Alexander ceases his relentless attack. "You have the power to put a stop to this", he smiles cruelly, "just not that way."

"I won't tell you anything, you sick motherfucker!" I yell without thinking.

Alexander looks down at my friend. "Did you hear that, Igor? He is not willing to give up on his plans for you."

"Wha-at... plan, Oleg?" Igor stutters, delirious with pain, sounding as if he were struggling not to choke with his own blood and tears. My poor friend is practically blind with those swollen eyes, so his face isn't even turned towards me. I feel like my heart is going to burst into pieces.

"Oh", Alexander turns to me and grins, pleased, "he didn't know. Well then, let's tell him the truth about your little plot."

"Donʼt listen to him, Igor", I look away, "he is full of shit."

"Am I?" The Chekist looks at the guards keeping Igor still. "What do you think, comrades? Should we beat this man to death, after all?"

"Alexander", I step forward, knowing too well I am about to lose my composure, "please, just let him go."

"Give me names and addresses or I break his knuckles", is the Chekist's reply.

"His mother was a maid", I add hastily. "He worked at a factory before guarding the former grand duchesses. You are supposed to stand up for people like him."

"People like him", Alexander corrects me, "not anyone like him. Give me names and addresses or I break his knuckles. That is your second warning."

"He wasn't involved, I was, but I have been telling you the truth about the bathroom incident, I swear", my voice breaks when I finish the sentence. By the time I realize what I have revealed by uttering those words, the harm has been done. There is no expression to detect on Igorʼs face, which he can barely move, but I still perceive his feelings of betrayal. Even more than that, I sense the despair in his mind. Whether any of this is real or only illusions caused by the guilt for having kept so much hidden from him, I can not be certain.

"So you are admitting you were involved", Alexander leaves the metal pipe on the floor and crosses his arms. "Third and last warning."

"Yes, but..."

Before I even finish the sentence, the two men grabbing Igor force him to stand and then limp towards the chair before the desk, where they make him sit. One of these guards walks out of the room, leaving Alexander and the other one to keep watch over us.

They are armed, and I am not, so I decide not to try my luck.

"Oleg?" Igor calls for me, frantically moving his head around without being able to see anything.

I kneel before him and hold his hand, glad to see he doesn't sound angry. "I am here, it is going to be fine, I promise."

"That depends on you", Alexander states. His tone isn't even mocking anymore. He is simply speaking matter-of-factly.

When the guard who left returns, he brings along a strange, hand-sized metal device and places it on the table. Despite Alexanderʼs many explicit threats, it is only when the men force my friendʼs trembling hand between the crushing bars that I recognize the curious object as a thumbscrew. Even then, my mind refuses to believe it. A thumbscrew. A medieval torture device used to catch witches and punish slaves in the 20th century. This is ridiculous. For seconds, I am far too baffled to even fear what is coming. I reckon that Alexander is a total lunatic, perhaps a student of history who for years had been waiting for the perfect excuse to revive his favorite toy, which just happened to be a diabolical instrument one only reads about in books. Perhaps that is why he joined the Bolsheviks, more than their beliefs. Well, there is also that, but there probably was something even more irresistible. The excuse.

And how did he even get a thumbscrew? Did he hire a smith to specially design it for him? Did he simply go to the nearest museum and say 'hey, I am from the All-Russian Extraordinary Commission, now if you will excuse me, we are expropriating this thumbscrew'?

A couple more armed guards enter the room at Alexanderʼs request, probably expecting a reaction from me, and right now, as I begin hearing the sobs of a grown family man who just happens to be my best friend, I believe that their precautions may be necessary.

"Now..." Alexander looks between me and Igor, "tell me everything."

And there is nothing I can do except comply. I won't allow that madman the satisfaction of having an excuse to turn the screw even once.

Oo

Igor was set free and sent to a hospital, where I am guessing Natalia will soon go to visit him. This made the fact Alexander implied I was being sentenced to death a lot easier.

I am back at the prison where Igor and I were first held, awaiting my sentence while surrounded by pretty interesting company. Next to me sits Commander Pavel Antonovich, my first boss at the Blue House. He didn't recognize me at first, probably because my face is swollen and bruised. The poor old man looks just as bad as me though, his swollen cheek is almost the size of an apple. Much to my disgust, Konstantin is yet again sitting inside the cell across from ours, his face much less damaged than mine and Pavel's. He only has a black eye and a broken lip, so I can recognize his smirk without trouble. Fuck Alexander for not giving him a proper beating when only he deserved one.

I can not look at him for too long. The unfairness of this whole situation is killing me faster than it will probably take the Cheka to reach a decision on our fates, not that I am scared of whatever this decision may be. I am longing to be with Anton, to hear his laughter and talk and joke with him and Yuri for hours. Perhaps even haunt Andrei. Not that I am sure about heaven existing, but I am not scared of nothingness either. It can't be much different from life without Anton.

Igor is safe, and so is my grandmother now. Her involvement in the plot to rescue the girls is the only detail I lied about. I told Alexander that I had used her to give my cover story more credibility, that I had manipulated her to act the strange way she did to have an explanation for leaving the house, something I rarely did.

"I also needed a good reason to leave the house during my shift", I explained to Alexander, "and Commander Ignat would not have given me permission without the sob story."

The girls are free, Igor is getting medical attention, Andrei is out of harmʼs way despite having been proven guilty, and the woman who raised me will die peacefully of old age. There is nothing left for me to do here. I truly am welcoming death with open arms.

"So, why are you here?" I ask Commander Pavel to pass the time and distract myself from the pain in my left rib, which that crazy bastard must have broken. "What did you do to deserve being locked up inside a cell this small with three other people?" The last question is meant as a joke. I am betting he didn't do anything.

"Same as you", Pavel answers with a shrug, "they suspect me of having helped the former grand duchesses escape."

Of course they do, I think grimly. "Well, did you?" I raise an eyebrow playfully.

"I wish I had", he says sadly. "I could have helped them, I knew of ways to, and I think some part of me wanted to, but I didn't. It would have gone against everything I believe in."

I scoff at that. "What you believe in is nothing but a college experiment to see who can design the perfect world", I grunt. The pain in my rib is growing. "You're just a lab instrument for them, just like those of us who fought for the Tsar. Do you know what they did to my friend, a member of the so called proletariat?" I laugh bitterly. "They beat him within an inch of his life!" My deep voice almost breaks at the reminder, so I stop ranting to avoid embarrassing myself.

Pavel's eyes flicker up and down my body. "Is he going to be executed?"

"No, he was lucky", I shake my head, looking down at my hands. "I probably won't be though, but that is fine. I am tired of this shit."

An obednitsa is being held inside another cell, where several prisoners have gathered to find some comfort in the face of death. I can hear their prayers clearly, and many of my cellmates are joining their recital.

I turn to Commander Pavel, the only fellow prisoner who is silent, and point at the priest ministering to the faithful Christians. "Raving about eternal life", I grin, trying to lighten the mood. "They won't be ready for death that way, I tell you that."

Pavel chuckles softly. "Do you believe in a higher power, comrade Shchedrin?"

I snort. "Don't call me that. You are not my boss anymore, remember? I'm not calling you comrade Antonovich either. I think by now Pavel should suffice."

This makes him laugh wholeheartedly. "If you insist." He smiles gently.

"Now, what made them suspect you?" I inquire.

"The fact I allowed Olga to accompany her brother to a likely death, can you believe that? If I had been trying to help them escape, I would have insisted that they all stay together where they can be easily identified by the would-be rescuers, not sent one of them away to a likely death."

"Is that it?"

He smirks, then laughs outright this time. "You are far more astute than you appear, Oleg. But yes, that is exactly it."

I let out a sigh. "Those bastards."

"Their work is necessary", Pavel says solemnly. "You don't understand what we do. You don't know what needs to be done to help Russia, to help the whole world leave their cycle of exploitation and poverty." His tone changes from playful to dark and serious in a heartbeat, begging me to agree with the insanity of those who would so easily turn against their own. This makes me uncomfortable. "Believe it or not, this nation wasn't exactly a paradise before the revolution. There were men, women, and children working more than fourteen hours a day and even starving. Of course, someone like you, an upper-middle-class boy who did not know hardship until the war, could never understand", he adds.

"Was your childhood hard, Pavel?" I ask skeptically.

"That is not the point."

As I had already suspected, it most likely wasn't. I don't doubt most Bolsheviks grew up in poverty, but I have met several for whom the cause is less personal and more like a substitute for religion.

"Well, Pavel", I say slowly. "Unlike you, I don't believe in a higher power."

About a dozen guards walk into view and I sigh in defeat, more out of pity for the other prisoners than anything else. The prayers stop in an instant, and some of the women start crying. I am somewhat relieved though, the pain in my rib had started to become unbearable.

One of the newcomers is Alexander, who places himself at the middle of the row of cells and stares down at us. "I am going to be reading your sentences now", he announces loudly enough for everyone to hear, "and then you will have a minute or two to pray or say a few last words to your relatives before my guards over here", he looks around at the many armed red guards surrounding him, "escort you out to be executed. That's it. No arguments. Fighting back will only earn you a bullet a few minutes earlier." He takes out a bunch of folded pieces of paper and starts reading its contents:

"Ivan Nikolaevich Egorov, student, for trying to assassinate a member of the Perm Soviet in broad daylight, the Perm All-Russian Extraordinary Commission sentences you to death." He pauses, waiting for a response, but none comes. I do see one of the men sitting next to me shrug, muttering "traitors to the revolution" under his breath before Alexander continues. "Grigori Feodorovich Grigoriev, priest, for saying the mnogoletie prayer for the long life of the House of Romanov, the Perm All-Russian Extraordinary Commission sentences you to death."

I see the priest who was praying with the prisoners seconds earlier cross himself solemnly.

Alexander reads on. "Sergei Sergeievich Yegorov, former tsarist official, the Perm All-Russian Extraordinary Commission sentences you to death."

This goes on for several minutes. The tsarist officials are condemned without further explanation, but more often than not, Alexander delivers long and detailed accounts of the crimes of those sentenced to death as well as the evidence that the Cheka gathered to prove these offenses. This makes me grow eager to hear what Alexander will say about me. I will probably sound like a contra-revolutionary mastermind rather than an average man caught up in someone else's plan, which is far more accurate.

Some of the condemned act bravely, some of them start weeping, protesting, or both, and their reactions aren't always predictable. Some men cry. A few women act stoic.

"Sisters Lyuba Stephanova Volkova, Alexandra Ivanova Petrova, and Natalia Alexeieva Koslova, nuns", Alexander continues. "Your neighbor accused you of sheltering and nursing wounded tsarist officers, and several compromising letters discussing how to best hide gold icons were found in your monastery, for these crimes, the Perm All-Russian Extraordinary Commission sentences you to death."

The sisters cry and hug each other tightly, their shoulders shaking as tears stream down their faces. I glare at Pavel, almost daring him to explain how this barbarity will lead to less children starving.

"Pavel Antonovich Magomedov, biologist and party member", as if reading my mind, Zaytsev finally mentions my former commander. "Instead of following orders, you deceptively solicited the unrequested transfer of one of your detainees to Moscow, leading to the escape of two important prisoners."

For a moment, I am confused by the fact Alexander hasn't once mentioned the surname of the "important prisoners" in question, but then I remember that their survival is meant to be a state secret, an open secret amongst the people of my neighborhood if my grandmother is to be believed, but a secret nonetheless. I look over at Pavel. He doesn't look scared, only resigned like me.

"You also neglected your duties", the Chekist continues. "Several witnesses recalled the way you allowed the prisoners under your guard free reign over the garden at all hours and even encouraged fraternization between them and the guards, the worst offense being the party that took place on the evening of the 23rd of July, during which the prisoners and the guards started, and I quote Pavel's own statement as recalled by one of the witnesses interrogated recently, 'roughhousing like toddlers'."

I almost burst into laughter, but the great discomfort in my rib stops me, and all I can let out is an awkward chuckle that soon turns into a groan of pain. Pavel, however, remains stone faced.

"And lastly", the Chekist states, looking around the room for emphasis. "We have evidence in the form of friendly correspondence dating back several years between citizen Pavel Antonovich and a geologist by the name of Mikhail Gavrilovich Tretiak, which proves beyond any reasonable doubt that Pavel Antonovich had been aware of the tunnel through which the prisoners recently escaped for years before the residence in which they would be kept was chosen due to his direct suggestion. The evident conclusion anyone would reach upon becoming acquainted with these facts is that Pavel volunteered to watch over the prisoners just to facilitate the same counter-revolutionary scheme that liberated them this evening. As he refuses to name his accomplices, the Perm All-Russian Extraordinary Commission sentences him to death."

A heavy silence follows the conclusion of this speech. Even I am stunned.

"Is that true?" I ask Pavel.

"And I knew the man your father hired to block the tunnel with cement", the old man admits, sighing. "As I said", he looks almost ashamed of himself, "some part of me wanted to help them, and it acted out sometimes, but I didn't actually help them, and I wouldn't have."

I don't believe him. If Pavel had been commander over the house when the girls were set free, I am convinced that he wouldn't have resisted. He would have even cooperated, and therefore Gregory would still be alive. His cowardice cost a man his life.

Finally, after almost twelve people have been sentenced to death for mostly petty crimes, Alexander pronounces a name that in this context is like music to my ears:

"Konstantin Nikolaevich Semyonov, guard, tried to rape a prisoner under the authority of the Perm Soviet." I hear Kostya let out an embarrassing gasp, and I smirk at him as Alexander continues: "His guilt was established after reviewing the following evidence:

"Unlike the two other guards involved in the incident, the suspect Konstantin Nikolaevich wasn't wearing pajamas, suggesting that he was the only one who had actually planned to go upstairs with anticipation that night. Furthermore, the doctor who treated the prisoner testified that the injury she sustained during her encounter with the suspect appeared to have been intentionally inflicted and not caused by Konstantin Nikolaevich pulling her by the wrist to keep her from escaping, which is what he falsely claimed."

"Lastly, the escape attempt described by Konstantin is inconsistent with the real strategy carried out by the counter-revolutionaries to set the prisoners free. The suspect's account was therefore inaccurate if not completely fabricated."

By the time Alexander pronounces his death sentence, Kostya is already crying and screaming like a little girl, throwing an amazingly loud tantrum and losing his composure in a way no other prisoner has. I fail to stop myself from laughing despite the pain in my ribs, and I am not the only one who is amused. Pavel is smiling, and some of the female prisoners who haven't been sentenced to death are giggling amongst themselves or nodding in approval.

"It is not fair!" Kostya cries, tears streaming down his face as he holds on to the bars of his cell tightly. "I am innocent!"

I laugh louder. "What happened, Kostya?" I ask with mock concern. "You said you could die happy."

He is the one who yells at me to shut up now.

Alexander may be a monster, but he is, apparently, a fairly impartial monster, and he may not be done surprising me. I frown in confusion when I see him fold the pieces of paper he has been reading before putting them back into his pocket. "The rest of you may go once we have escorted those I named to the execution ground", he says, causing the vast majority of the prisoners to sigh, cry, and cross themselves in relief.

"Wait!" I exclaim, unnerved and confused. Is he going to keep torturing me for information? "There must be a mistake!" I stand up.

But Alexander ignores me as those sentenced to death, Pavel among them, are taken out of their cells and escorted out of the prison by the heavily armed guards. Only Kostya puts up a fight against the guards coming to grab him and then drag him out of his cell. He kicks and screams all the way out. Despite the bite wounds Ortipo left him, at some point he manages to break free from the menʼs grasp and takes off running towards the door leading to the stairs, but all this earns him is a bullet a few minutes earlier, just as Alexander had promised.

Oo

Surrounded by three guards as if there were anything she could do to escape, my grandmother is escorted into the prison just seconds after the last condemned person has been taken out along with Kostya's body. She seems calm, peaceful, and worst of all, ready.

"No, no", Alexander gestures frantically at the guard who has her left arm in a tight lock. "She is also going with them. We are not executing people until next week and I don't want her locked up here waiting for days."

The shock keeps me confused and paralyzed, unable to grasp what is about to happen. What the hell? What is she doing here? My mouth and eyes are wide open as my hands squeeze the cell bars so hard that my fingers go numb.

The men holding my grandmother nod, moving to take her with the other prisoners.

"Hey! Hey! Alexander!" I cry. "What is happening?"

He looks back at me. "Oh, hey", he says in acknowledgment. "You can go out in a few seconds."

My face turns red hot from the anger. "What's happening?" I shout again. "What's she doing here? Where are you taking her?!"

A few guards move to open the cell doors of those who haven't been condemned. I stand still as the others leave in a hurry, seemingly fearing that the Chekists will change their minds if they don't.

When Alexander moves to leave as well, I rush to grab his arm. He frowns at me, clearly surprised by fact I dared to restrain him. Two of his guards move in my direction, but Aexander tells them to step back.

"When your life is spared, the right thing to do is say thank you", he says calmly.

"What happened, goddamitt?!" I yank his arm, making him stumble. The anger and fear inside me have given way to panic.

"Your grandmother confessed to everything", Alexander states, seemingly unfazed by my outburst.

"What?" I am too stunned to raise my voice again, so the question comes out as a whisper. I let go of his arm, scared.

"Yes", Alexander says, pulling himself away from me. "She told us about how you stopped her meeting with the British intelligence that day, how she and the Romanov women had to use other means to communicate with the agents planning to rescue them, and so on. She told me what those deceitful means to communicate were", he recalls scornfully. "The former grand duchesses used hair pins and cosmetics to write down information regarding our security, smuggling it out through a bandage they tied around your grandmother's ankle after she fell down on purpose."

I close my eyes and breathe slowly, trying not to faint. It takes several seconds for me to recover enough to speak again. "Let me see her, please", I put my fingers on my forehead and look down, shaking my head in disbelief, "there must be a misunderstanding", I look up at him again abruptly, moving both hands frantically as I speak, "she must have said that to protect me. I am guilty of everything."

"That is exactly what she told us you would say", Alexander replies dryly. "She told us you would say anything to protect her, and owing to the fact she had evidence for her claims while you didn't, we have chosen to disregard all of your statements with the exception of those having to do with the tunnel. You knew your childhood home, and any idiot would be able to deduce that people can escape through tunnels, that doesn't mean you were genuinely complicit." The Chekist's tone of voice becomes soft and understanding in a disquieting and sickening way. "You were just trying to protect your grandmother, I understand." He pats my shoulder as if he hadn't tortured me and Igor for hours, and it takes every bit of my self-control not to punch him straight in the face.

My jaw tightens. "Let me see her. Let me know that there is some hope for her left before this happens."

"There is no hope", Alexander shakes his head and squeezes my shoulder, making me flinch rather pathetically without meaning to. Coming from literally anyone else, I would not see this gesture as patronizing or even condescending. "As I said, we have evidence against her that she herself provided us with."

"What evidence?" My heart sinks.

Alexander opens and closes his mouth, hesitating, but then he shrugs. "Alright, the damage is done, what harm can be done by telling you?" He sighs. "She showed us the bandages containing the messages the former grand duchesses sent the British."

"She must have fabricated that just now", I shake my head, still refusing to believe that my grandmother will die at the hands of these monsters to save a nobody who won't even appreciate being saved.

"Everything she said fits", Alexander speaks calmly, condescendingly, horrifyingly sure of what he is saying. "Commander Ignat and the prison's record keeper made all the calculations", he squeezes my shoulder even tighter as I stare at him with my eyes wide open, dumbfound. "It took your grandmother hours to visit you in jail, hours during which she wasn't at home. Galina confessed to have been providing the British agents with the smuggled information. There is also another hour between the time she left the prison and the time she returned home to sleep that could not have been accounted for either if Galina hadn't explained during her confession that she went back to the agents asking for evidence of her guilt, promising not to reveal anything until the escape plan had been executed." His touch has made me become tenser and tenser with each passing second. Alexander seems to notice this, because when his eyes land on his hand for a second, he quickly removes it from my shoulder. "She couldn't stand to see you imprisoned for something you didn't do."

I start having trouble breathing and... oh no, this can't be happening. It is not like me to fucking cry, I tell myself sternly. I hold back the tears that have been welling up in my swollen eyes. I won't allow myself to break down in front of Alexander.

"Please", I beg him, closing my eyes for a moment to keep myself from losing it. "Let her go, she didn't know what she was doing."

"You know I cannot do that, not after she drugged dozens of our red guards. That is not something an innocent old lady does."

"I do not believe you", I reply through clenched teeth, keeping the tears in my eyes. "She would never..."

"She confessed to it", Alexander interrupts me, seemingly growing impatient. "Chloral hydrate, almost enough to sedate a hundred men, that is what she used. The synthetic agent was provided to her by the British intelligence when she returned for the bandages, and she smuggled it into the house inside several sacks of flour she then used to prepare the bread that the men ate during dinner before the changing of the guards today. Most of the drug was diluted in the water, the salt, and the soup she gave them though. As a colorless solid, the Chloral hydrate went mostly unnoticed, although many of the guards complained about the bitter taste of the food and the pungent odor of the water, oblivious to the fact that they wouldn't be able to stand in a few minutes."

My jaw drops, and suddenly my grandmother sounds like a stranger to me. I knew she was well-meaning and willing to help, but I never guessed she would be so committed to saving the girls' life. I don't know whether to feel proud or angry. The revelation could have made me go silent for minutes, but my grandmother is about to be executed, so I cannot allow myself time to process it.

"You win, Alexander", my voice almost breaks. "But please, don't let your men do anything to her before I see her", I add pleadingly, my lips beginning to quiver.

Alexander shakes his head and turns around to leave. He won't listen to me. I look around and see that all of the cells are empty, only a few guards remaining on he floor. Holding the side of my body in pain, I follow him and his guards through the cell-filled corridors of the jail and down the stairs. When we reach the ground floor and walk through the door that leads to the street outside, I dare tap him on the back, desperate for answers.

"Where is she?" I ask, looking around desperately. I'm desperate, so desperate I could scream.

By way of answer, Alexander sighs in exasperation before pointing at the corner of the street, where a big truck is parked. Several guards are helping the prisoners sentenced to death get into the vehicle, my grandmother among them. Without asking the loathsome Chekist for permission, I run towards her as fast as my legs can carry me. I could not save her, but whatever the cost, I will say goodbye.

Oo

Moscow.

Doroteya Filippovna Lavrova.

"Did you see the face he made today when Dr. Markov accepted Valeriyʼs suggestion?" I whisper to Anastasia with a smile. I am washing the dishes, and she is helping me by drying them with a towel. We had dinner with our husbands a while ago.

It is late. My Katya is already in bed, and so is my maid Sonia. Andrei and Valeriy are having a 'friendly' discussion in the living room.

"No, why?" Anastasia laughs.

"Oh, my Andrei is so jealous of Valeriy, you wouldn't believe it", I giggle. "Walking home he ranted to me about how unfair it was that Dr. Markov would ask for Valeriy to be brought to the hospital on his wheelchair for advice when he was right there and just as qualified."

"No offense Doroteya, but your husband is a big baby", Anastasia jokes.

"Of course he is", I smile, but then I look at my husband and my smile disappears. I haven't told Anastasia about the darkness I see in Andreiʼs future. It is too painful, and despite what we have been through, some part of me still fears she won't take me seriously.

"I know what you are thinking", Anastasia turns off the faucet for me. "It also pains me to think about that… such an innocent child, and I could have prevented what happened to him. It has haunted me like a shadow since yesterday. I still can't forgive myself."

The remainder is almost physically painful, but I can't dwell on that right now. I must be a fool, but I want to believe that some way, somehow, my death visions will be wrong this time. They won't be wrong if I don't do something.

"Anastasia", I touch my friendʼs shoulder gently. "Could you perhaps send another letter to Charles talking about what happened? What if we need protection from the Cheka after what we did?"

Anastasia knows my secret, but I also know hers now. She had no choice but to tell me yesterday before the sun even rose. I still fear her involvement with the British intelligence is what will get my husband killed. That or the fact we have the Tsesarevich. I can not hate her for that though. I admire her and her husband too much to do so.

"I haven't received a letter from them in days, Dora", Anastasia replies, "and they didn't seem very willing to help. Reading between the lines, I could tell Charles was having trouble getting someone to help us, but don't worry, I donʼt think we will get in trouble any time soon. If that Boris guy is being honest with us, the Cheka has no clues, no leads, and besides, don't you think getting the British intelligence to keep an eye on us for protection would draw more suspicions?"

"I know, I know", I nod, trying not to sound frustrated. "I have faith that God will protect us, but…"

"But?" Anastasia encourages me to continue.

"It has been days, Anastasia, Olga has the right to know what happened to her brother, and the other sisters do as well", I hand her the last plate to dry. "The uncertainty about whether they will be safe any time soon or not must be hard enough."

"No, no", Anastasia shakes her head, looking almost scared by the prospect, but when she speaks again, she does so calmly. "Besides, by the time Charles receives the letter, the girls will most likely have already been rescued and transferred someplace safe." She dries the dish and puts it in place.

"But you can ask him to send Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia the message", I argue. "It will probably take months for them to receive the news if they are indeed sent away, of course, but the longer we wait, the more time will pass without them knowing about the fate of their brother. This will be hell for them, and you know it." Anastasia does not reply. "Charles may find someone to help him one of these days", I insist. "Should that occur, we must keep those agents from wasting their time looking for Alexei and ask them instead to do something useful. They could protect us or even help us escape Russia should the worst happen. I know this could draw more suspicions, but I am so scared, Nastenka…"

"Olga loves that boy, Dora!" My friend suddenly snaps with emotion. "She absolutely adores him, and the truth will destroy her! You have seen their happiest moments in your so-called visions, what you have chosen to see, but you have never witnessed the deepness of that bond firsthand. She wept when he cried in pain, she tried to stay awake for him. She has suffered and struggled so much to protect him from harm, any harm! Let alone…" Anastasia stops mid-sentence. Neither one of us wants to remember what happened. Her words have also hurt me, and this must be written on my face. She looks down, seemingly ashamed of her outburst. "I am sorry, I know the visions are real to you and that there may be things science can't explain. They may be objectively real for all I know, especially after what you saw... not always pretty. I should not have said that."

"It is alright", I give her a sad smile. "But Nastenka, think clearer. What is worse? To become aware of a painful truth? More unbearable would be to live for years without knowing where your loved one is or if they are safe. Not to know if they are hungry, or suffering, or missing you…"

"You are absolutely right, but Olga is worried sick for her sisters after having gone through uncountable horrors for the sake of her brother. She is not in the best mental condition to receive news like this. We cannot tell her the truth."

We stay silent for a while, listening to Valeriy and Andreiʼs ongoing debate in the living room.

"But we can tell her something similar to the truth", I say after a few seconds.

"What do you mean?" Anastasia asks.

"We can tell her that the boy was released by his kidnappers."

"Now why would they…"

"They found no further use for him after their blackmail attempts failed."

"They could have simply given him to someone for a ransom then", she argues.

"And so they did", I have firmly decided to use this story. "We paid the ransom, but the boy had an accident a day or two after his rescue."

"What accident can we invent, Dora?" Anastasia rolls her eyes. "The boy couldn't even walk when he was kidnapped. With all of those hematomas, his legs already looked like big, swollen sausages… oh, and his knee was worse. He wouldn't have been able to bend it in weeks, and…"

"Alright!" I signal her to stop. "I get it! I get it! Jesus!" I close my eyes and put my palm on my forehead, looking away in distress. I hate being made to think about that poor boyʼs suffering. After a few seconds, having composed myself, I put two fingers on my chin and keep thinking. "Letʼs see… oh!" I raise my index finger. "I have it!"

"What is your brilliant cover story now?" She playfully raises an eyebrow.

"The child was already very ill when he was taken, right?"

"Right."

"The kidnappers neglected to treat his ailment with an appropriate level of care."

"That will be almost as heartbreaking for poor Olga to learn about as what really happened", Anastasia shakes her head.

I sigh. "Help me then, tell me. What sort of story could cause her the least heartbreak while still preparing her for the news of her brotherʼs death?"

"I don't know, Doroteya, this was your idea."

"Let's just tell her the truth, Anastasia!"

"A carriage accident?" She tentatively suggests.

"Alright", I encourage her to continue, "go on."

"Because the Tsesarevich was a very valuable hostage, the kidnappers took good care of him despite being nothing but a bunch of criminals. They even had a doctor among their ranks. With the help of a group of loyal monarchists and sympathetic citizens, we secretly managed to gather a large enough sum for the ransom the kidnappers were demanding. The misfortune took place on the way from the mansion where he was being held to the hospital where we could continue treating him. The horses got scared by a snake, and this added to the bumps on the road…"

"Wait!" Something occurs to me. "A snake, really? As a nurse, you must know how hard accidents can be to deal with for family members. It would be more so for Olga and her sisters. Imagine if your loved one was killed by an arbitrary incident that could have happened to anyone after having survived being unfairly singled out for murder and hunted for weeks by…"

"Well, Doroteya, I don't have a better idea!" Anastasia sounds frustrated now. "And you were the one who wanted to use an accident cover story in the first place!"

"I like your idea", I assure her, "it just needs a few adjustments. A completely random accident will make her ask herself why for years. The fact Alexei was a mundane carriage ride away from surviving this mess will frustrate and haunt her and her sisters for life. She will ask herself why this carriage took his life and not the many carriages, trains, and motorcars he traveled on before. She will ask herself what would have happened if she had been there. She will feel guilty."

"You are right, she already felt guilty, but the accident story would surely make things worse", Anastasia concedes. "She will regret not having been there during his final moments given how easily we got him back and the triviality of the whole situation." She pauses, her eyes moving wildly in realization. "And she will have no one to blame."

"One of the hardest things to deal with when a loved one is killed in an accident", I nod, glad to see that she gets my point.

"Easy to fix", she quickly says. "The reds somehow learned of the boyʼs whereabouts, and the accident happened as a result of a dramatic pursuit filled with wild turns and gunfire."

"The Bolsheviks almost caught the people taking Alexei to safety", I add. "They barely managed to carry him out of the rubble alive, and several of them died trying. Olga could have died trying, meaning that if she had been there, she might not have been able to help her sisters. Her absence becomes the best-case scenario."

"The culmination of the whole tragic story", she finishes for me. "What she was fearing, what she was expecting, what she was dreading and yet almost prepared for."

"The accident happened very quickly, so Alexei barely felt anything. He hit his head really hard, his brain is hemorrhaging, and he is not expected to live due to his condition."

"I like this idea", she nods. "It will prepare her for the truth in time."

"And it may comfort all of the girls to know that he shall die under intensive and gentle care, drugged and thus without any pain, a priest nearby, and surrounded by people who care for his well-being, meaning us", I give her a sad smile. "This is the right decision, Anastasia. I am sure that we will lift a huge weight off those poor girlsʼ shoulders."

"The question now is how. How do we deliver such a long and detailed message? If the wrong person were to intercept…"

The sound of Andrei raising his voice interrupts her, and I am not able to beg her to reconsider asking Charles for protection.

"Just because you have studied abroad and I haven't doesn't mean you know better!" Andrei exclaims from the living room. Anastasia and I burst into laughter.

Oo

My husband didn't stay mad at Valeriy for too long, he is never able to. Andrei's arm is around me as we rest together on the sofa before the Kirilovs, who are sitting on the couch opposite from us.

The four of us are having a nice, light-hearted chat in the living room, discussing pretty much anything but work-related issues. That is until Anastasia decides to joke about what could be the least humorous thing in the world.

"What do we do with the body once it is ready?" She asks. "Sending it to the sisters is out of the question, and a funeral attended only by strangers sounds like the dullest and most depressing thing ever. Everyone will either mourn his status as the heir more than his life, or pretend that his death was impactful to them in some way to come across as sensitive."

I raise my eyebrows in shock.

"Damn!" Even Andrei is unnerved, something he hides very well with a chuckle. Barely able to move, the injured Valeriy simply shakes his head, looking down at his wife with a grin.

"Anastasia!" I exclaim. "That was a very cruel joke!"

"I am sorry", she giggles, but the way she looks down reveals a moderate amount of guilt for having said that. "My humor can get dark at times, alright? Especially when I use it to hide how much something really bothers me."

"Well, we cared about him", I look between Andrei, Anastasia, and Valeriy in search of support, "didn't we?" I turn to my husband, whose eyes have started welling up. Almost completely forgetting about the Kirilovs' presence, I wipe away his tears gently, kissing his dear cheeks and delighting in his joyful reaction. Then I look back at our guests, trying to ignore their amused smirks. "We will plan a nice, good funeral for him. A happy funeral celebrating his life, although it has to be in secret of course, not many guests, only the few who know." We should have actually started planning it yesterday, but there was no time.

"I could prepare a few words", Valeriy adds. "Anastasia and I knew him for only one or two days, but I think they were enough. I believe he would have grown up to be a very brave lad, a true soldier if his body had allowed him."

"I will help you with the speech", she nods at her husband. "He was a sweet, good boy who loved his parents and sisters before anything. Do you remember how affectionate he was with Olga?"

"And yet he had space in his heart for almost every new person he met."

"I have many anecdotes to share", I smile, remembering the many visions of him I would tell my little Katya about.

"I think I know a carpenter who could design a nice, creative casket for him", Andrei tells us, smiling down and wiping away another tear. "He should be buried alongside some of the many soldiers who have died during the war, all of them brave lads, innocent victims of violence."

"He would appreciate that a lot", I encourage my husband. "The poor child loved and idolized Russian soldiers."

"We could also choose to bury him near at least one or two young red soldiers", Anastasia looks down, seemingly apprehensive about sharing her proposal. "I know what you are thinking, but I mean the conscripted or idealistic farm boys we see arriving all the time, only slightly older, Russians all the same, many of whom could have been the boy's friends in different circumstances."

"I know what you mean, and that would be very nice indeed", I calm her fears. "His former status as the heir will not be mentioned, only who he was."

"Although we could add some sort of code to his grave revealing he was the Tsesarevich, a fun little detail that future historians and tourists will marvel at."

"We could plant four trees around his grave", I propose. "One representing each of his sisters, so that they can be with him somehow."

"Good food for all of us after the burial ceremony", Andrei suggests, grinning. "Blinis were his favorite, right Doroteya?"

"Of course", I smile.

I do not mention this yet, as talking about the problem and breaking our minds to solve it now would only ruin our relatively pleasant conversation, but we need to make sure that the girls are made aware of their brotherʼs final resting place. They may not be able to visit him now, but God willing, someday they will.

Oo

Perm Province.

Olga Nikolaevna Romanova.

I sit by the fireplace and rub my arms as I pray for everything to go well. I pray there are no casualties. I pray for forgiveness in case there are casualties, although I would feel much better about doing so if I could confess my sins to a priest…

Lord Jesus Christ Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

The cabin where I spent the night is big and well-furnished for a peasant house, almost reminding me of our friend Grigori Rasputin's lovely dwelling. It hurts to think about him and his horrible fate. My memories of him contrast so much with the horrible rumors associated with his image.

Surrounded by potato fields and trees, the wooden lodge before me is painted bright light green, and the blue window frames are carved to look like flowers.

The interiors are simple, but also warm and cozy. The stove provides the big dining room with heat, and the windows let plenty of sunlight through. There are two floors with several rooms, so the house never gets too crowded despite the fact many people are temporarily staying here. I even have my own room, which I have decided I will share with my sisters once they arrive.

If they arrive, my more pessimistic side adds.

I have been assured that the peasants living here are nice, kind, and loyal, which is why they and their neighbors were chosen. The father, the mother, and their three small children welcomed me with open arms, and today they prepared me homemade food that tasted like heaven. They know who I am. The oldest daughter, a twelve-year-old girl named Alina, recognized me instantly despite my black eye. Her eyes widened as she overwhelmed me with questions I couldn't even begin to answer.

My sisters and I are not the only ones in need of rescue. Many of the Russians who volunteered to aid us need help too, as they wish to take their families eastwards to the whites and thus avoid persecution. They and their families will be temporarily staying at different cabins spread around the area, and so will the British agents assigned to help them reach safety. God save them, the few loyal to papa left. If not, they are unquestionably brave and noble regardless. There is a reason why the Cheka had been looking for them even before they got involved with the MI6. They must have done something to resist the reds. I wish I could get to know them, but Charles says that almost every family will be led through a different route in order to make their pursuit and that of my sisters harder for the Cheka.

Whenever I am drowning in guilt, it soothes me to think that my actions may end up saving more lives than could possibly be lost today. I hope so, at least. All I know for certain is that the English would have had no moral obligation to help all of those Russians who have been targeted by the new government otherwise. The only reason the MI6 has for taking an interest in the welfare of those families is the fact some of their members are helping the organization's agents save my sisters.

While a lot bigger, this house is so similar to the one where Alyosha and I suffered for hours that I constantly have to leave in order to get fresh air, as I am doing now. Everything reminds me of that horrible day. That horrible day and others.

I panic for a second when I hear a man's footsteps, immediately relaxing upon seeing that it is just the farmer who owns the dwelling. He smiles widely when he sees me, still unable to believe he is sheltering a real Grand Duchess.

"I am just checking on the horses", he says kindly, and I nod in response, observing him carefully as he does exactly what he claimed he would do before going back inside. As much as I try to come across as trusting for the sake of the poor fellow, a part of me can't deny that anyone could betray me, even that kind-looking bearded man in his thirties who often laments the fact that the Tsar is gone and complains about the reds wanting to take his reserves of grain.

Charles Lamb emerges from the house a few minutes later and gives me an encouraging look before sitting close to me in front of the fire. He and James Wilson arrived at the house around an hour ago claiming that everything had been set in motion for the rescue of my sisters, and they assure me that it won't take long for them to arrive. I'm hoping that is true.

"What a beautiful night, isn't it?" Charles looks up at the sky. I do too. "You can see every star clearly here. You do not often see them as clearly in cities such as London or St. Petersburg... oh, sorry, Petrograd now. I always forget."

I nod. "It is indeed quite lovely", I say, almost smiling, but then the thought of how much papa loved nature destroys any sort of joy I could have gotten out of its beauty. "Except when the wolves howl", I sigh.

Charles's eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and then he chuckles at something. "You always find the worst in everything... but the wolves aren't as bad as they seem. Without them, there would be way too many herbivores eating away the forest. The world needs a balance."

"I suppose you are right", I shrug, not really wanting to talk.

"I know why you have been seeing the bad in everything, and I don't blame you, at all", he tells me sincerely, looking concerned. "I have gone through similar things."

Somehow, I doubt that any of those things have been quite as similar, but I am not going to argue with him, not when I feel this lonely.

Charles leans closer and offers me a cigarette, which I eagerly accept. He takes out a small box of matches from one of the pockets of his pants and lights the end of his cigarette and mine.

We smoke in silence for some time as I stare into the flames, lost deep in thought. The next following minutes are a blur. The smoking reminds me of my father and the cigarettes he used to give me and my siblings as treats, which in turn makes me think of... no. It makes me see the bullets that ripped his chest apart. I almost cry out for him. The image hurts my chest so badly that I put my hand over my mouth to keep myself from weeping. There are tears in my eyes now though. Charles takes notice. His face softens instantly, and he puts an arm around me to comfort me in some manner. I throw away what is left of the cigarette lean against him, sobbing silently.

It is too much. Despite the great relief I feel whenever I remember my sisters will be with me soon, the grief and the humiliation I continually experience both because of what happened to me and what they did to my parents is always there, unbearable, and the anger and the hatred burn inside me like the acid of a terrible stomachache. They killed my papa without even asking him a question. What is it that they wanted to know about what he did as Tsar? He would have answered even if the trial had been the inevitable mock one. He would have done it despite the humilliation so that the people could know what he was, kind and loyal to Russia despite his alleged flaws.

The sobbing doesn't stop when I will myself to stop thinking about my father. Charles holds me as I weep for my mother and servants and all but cry out in fear for my brother. The many scenarios parade through my head, one worst than the other. Alexei being mocked. Alexei being told horrible thinks about out father. Alexei believing them. Alexei being hungry and thirsty and afraid for days before his inevitable execution. Alexei being around cruel strangers who will be ready to make his last minutes on Earth as miserable as possible. Alexei, my baby brother, our baby brother, being beaten. The last thought makes me gasp in horror. And the worst part is not knowing. Oh, God, please, I need to know! Is he alive? Is there still a chance for him while I lie here doing nothing? While all of these well-armed men willing to help anyone but the frailest and meekest of them all do nothing?

I realize that the last thought is somewhat unfair. Charles has done everything in his power to get help. He just hasn't had much luck as far as I am aware, and most importantly, he hasn't hurt me... which isn't much considering we are and have always been around other people who could step in to help me. I prefer to believe that he helps and soothes me without a malicious intent though, but then again, we are so close. The mere thought almost makes me gag with disgust. I pull away from the embrace, flinching and feeling self-conscious and ashamed. How can I hug some stranger so freely? What the hell is wrong with me?! And could he have some ulterior motive for comforting me this way? I sigh. I could hug men innocently before without feeling this way, mostly relatives and tutors. And papa, my poor papa, but that is over now...

"Sorry", I say, sitting further away from him, "this just makes me..." I don't say "uncomfortable" for fear of offending him.

"That is perfectly understandable", Charles assures me kindly, and I realize he reminds me of my father despite being almost two decades younger.

"Do you have someone waiting for you back home?" I ask him to end the recent awkwardness between us. "Your parents? Siblings, perhaps?"

"A beautiful, devoted wife and two children", he smiles, and my heart is set at ease just hearing him speak of her with such fondness and affection, although who knows, he might have said that to make me feel better about the hug, to make me let my guard down. "It has been so long since I last received news from them", he sighs, looking away.

"I am sure they are perfectly fine", I assure him, knowing I am probably right. Despite his country's involvement in the war, England itself is not a warzone, I think enviously on behalf of my beloved Russia. "Although they must be worried sick about you."

Charles nods, smiling sadly, and then he takes out a picture from his pocket. "This was taken only a few months before I left for the last time", he explains as he shows it to me. The picture shows him, a young dark-haired woman, and two little boys on her lap smiling at the camera. I smile too.

Then the scenarios return. Alexei being mocked. Alexei being told horrible thinks about out father. Alexei believing them. Alexei being hungry and thirsty and afraid for days before his inevitable execution. Alexei being around cruel strangers who will be ready to make his last minutes on Earth as miserable as possible. Alexei being beaten.

I let out a sob before covering my face with my hands and crying into them quietly. Charles doesn't put an arm around me this time, but he doesn't leave me alone or move away either. I appreciate both these things. Then I think about my sisters, and the pain grows more intense and excruciating than ever. Tatiana, who was baby's second mother. Maria, who loved squeezing and showering him with kisses. My poor baby sister Anastasia, his inseparable companion, best friend, and partner in crime.

How can seeing them again relieve me from all of this pain? The poor dears, they will suffer so much when they see me again, with bad news, my hands empty, and a face that will not allow me to conceal how much I have endured.

I think about Tatiana again. The last day I saw her, I told her I would take care of baby and protect him with my life until his fate no longer depended on me. I promised her that I would not let him die alone.

But I didn't keep my promise. I failed. I lied to her.

I put my arms around my legs and sob louder, rocking back and forth with my head buried between my knees like a silly and useless little girl, which is what I am no matter how hard I try to be strong.

"Oh, dear..." Charles sounds distressed and confused. He pats my shoulder awkwardly, which makes me start crying harder at the unwelcome touch.

"I should have held on to this hand tighter!" I cry out. "I am despicable!"

"Hey, do not say that", Charles tries to reason with me. "What happened to your bother is terrible, yes, but you cannot hold yourself responsible for that. Your sisters will understand."

"My sisters!" I cry out with horror as I raise my head up from my knees. "Oh, God! They will be destroyed! They will not accept what happened!"

"They will not blame you."

"That is not what I am worried about", I shake my head, sobbing. I would deserve their anger either way. "The worry, the uncertainty of not knowing what became of Alexei will kill them like it is killing me. They may not want to leave the country knowing that our brother is alive out here somewhere. This will torment them, haunt them, and may even put them at risk! This is a disaster!" I scream.

He looks at me with pity, sadness, and sorrow in his eyes, and I feel myself breaking completely. He doesn't know how to help me, but I think I know what would make this slightly easier for my sisters. Not now, definitely not now, but perhaps in the long run.

"You have to help me, Charles", I beg him desperately. "I cannot bear to tell my sisters the truth."

"You can not tell them that their brother is somewhere safe either, Olga", he shakes his head slowly. "It will be worse for them to learn the truth later after having been lied to."

"What I mean is that they cannot know he was kidnapped", I explain, wiping away my tears and trying hard not to shed new ones. Charles needs to understand that this is important and not just the desperate plea of a hysterical woman. "The three of them must believe that he died. We cannot give them false hope. I can not burden them with the knowledge that Alexei could be suffering alone literally anywhere right now. That is for me alone to languish over. That is my cross. They must be able to grieve him without worries, in peace, thinking he is with papa and mama in the arms of the Lord."

Charles remains silent for quite a while. "I am impressed with your foresight", he finally says. "Of course, you have to be realistic. You could perhaps tell them that his hemophilia killed him."

I shake my head. No. That would eventually force me to reveal what happened inside that awful cabin.

"No", I murmur. "He was getting better when we left, and what that man did to him in the cellar only caused him cuts and minor bruises. Cuts have never been the main problem, internal bleeding is, and he has survived worse in Tobolsk and Spala. Tatiana checked him before we left. She will blame herself for missing the hemorrhage that killed him, I know her too well. Being the better nurse was one of the reasons she have me as to why she needed to go with him. She will never forgive herself for not being there to treat him. And my face... seeing me like this will be painful and shocking enough for them", my voice breaks, "I can not tell them that our baby boy was also kicked and..."

"I understand", Charles interrupts me softly, allowing me to compose myself in silence. "What do you want to tell them instead? I will inform James Wilson, and he and I will corroborate your story."

"Thank you, Charles", I smile at him gratefully with tearful eyes. "I want to tell them that we reached Moscow, and that he was immediately executed there after a change of plans", I pause, looking down. "It was done by firing squad, quick and painless. Then I tried but failed to escape and they did this to me", I point at my black eye and look at him. "You saved me shortly after that."

"Worry not, that is what they will believe."

"Do you promise not to tell them the truth?" I wipe away a few tears from my cheeks.

"I promise."

Oo

Perm.

Oleg Ivanovich Shchedrin.

The woman who raised me sits calmly inside the truck with her wrinkled hands out for me to reach, and the only thing she seems keen on doing before the vehicle takes her away to be executed is give me a proper scolding. I am berated for not wanting to move on from either childhood or my brothers' deaths, and I am over and over again reminded of the fact that I am young.

"Go outside, my boy", she says, "be happy, look at the world around you. It is full of wonders."

Her tone of voice is soft as she caresses my face, but there is still a hint of hardness there too, underneath the warmth with which she is speaking.

"The world is full of death and misery", I reply.

"Then make it a little bit less so", she insists with a smile. It is relieving to see that her familiar face has not been damaged, which probably means that Alexander did not torture her. What was the need? She was more than ready to tell him everything, to die for me.

"I don't know how, not without Anton, and especially not without you", my voice breaks, and my eyes fill with tears. Not those reflexive tears caused by being punched straight in the face by some lunatic, but real tears. I hadn't cried since the day he died, the day I earned that stupid medal trying to get myself killed.

"My boy", she caresses my cheek, "you already have, remember?" She begins whispering, so I put my face closer to hers in order to listen. "You helped me do so, and the only thing I regret about dying to save those sweet girls today is the fact I won't ever get to see your lovely face in a good state again... well, yours and Anton's", she chuckles as if she were talking about anything but the beating I took.

"Grandma, I can not", the tears roll down my cheeks. She doesn't answer. Instead, she takes off the ribbon she was using to tie her white hair and gives it to me. Before I can figure out the meaning of that gesture, one of the guards rudely punches me away from the truck, which starts moving.

"Wait!" I follow it, running to catch up, but the pain in my rib prevents me from doing so.

"Be strong, Oleg!" My grandmother calls after me, and I feel as if I had just been stabbed. "We will be looking after you!"

"I love you!" I yell back, bending over in pain and grief. I don't know if she will hear, and this is the first time I tell her that in years. I am so fucking stupid.

I start crying freely. Over. It is over. Then I look at the ribbon and notice that my medal is attached to it, making me want to throw it away and keep it safe forever at the same time.

The truck is already out of sight when I feel someone tapping on my shoulder. I turn around expecting a guard or maybe even Alexander, but I see Zoya instead. I instantly become mad at her for some stupid reason, maybe resenting the fact seeing her familiar face makes me think of hope when all I want to do is crawl into a dark tunnel and never come out to see the light again.

But then she gasps upon taking a look at my swollen face. "My God", Zoya puts a hand on her mouth, "what did he do to you?" She tries to touch my face gently, but I step away for just a moment before becoming so relieved by the fact no one is after me anymore that I start shaking. After that, all of my emotions are out. I breathe in and out deeply as I abruptly look from one side of the street to the other in a failed attempt to hold back tears. Zoya's compassionate eyes staring at me make this all the more humiliating. I cover my face with my hands in shame, slowly turning into an ugly sobbing mess in a way that even I find hard to believe. The worst part is that I let her hug me, which was probably not the best idea with this broken rib.

"I am sorry", she apologizes when I flinch in pain, pulling away and looking up at me. "I am so, so sorry", she says again, most definitely referring to what happened to my grandmother. I don't reply. I just allow her to comfort me as we sit together on the sidewalk, where I finally allow myself to break down.

Oo

As my house has apparently been destroyed, Zoya takes me to her place, where after asking me to take off my shirt, she starts cleaning my wounds with a warm sponge bath and bandages as we sit on the couch face to face. Grief-stricken over my grandmother, I sob like a baby in front of her for hours, sometimes in her arms, shamefully so, but she doesn't say anything about it, which makes things easier. She only pets my hair, wipes my tears, and soothes me as if I were some stupid little boy with a stubbed toe. I wouldn't dare admit how much that alleviates the pain, not after what I did to her. I already feel vulnerable enough, in a way I had never felt around anyone but Anton. I truly hope that her parents and brothers don't wake up to see me like this.

The tears eventually subside, but I still feel hollow and hopeless, as if my worst nightmare had come true, because it has. I don't even know what to do with my life anymore. I didn't want a future, and now I have lost the little of my past I had and did want, even the house.

"I am so very sorry, Oleg, and I doubt I will ever be done telling you this, there are no words that can... I tried to speak up for her too, but I couldn't find a way", Zoya cleans a small laceration on my cheek, her gentleness making her look more beautiful than usual. "They had too much evidence against her."

"What do you mean?" I ask, trying not to move away from her touch despite the sting. I don't want anything to get infected. When I first looked at myself in the mirror, I was relieved to see that my face was not as badly damaged as I had thought it would be. As swollen as my cheeks and eyes are, I can open the latter just fine.

"Zaytsev, he is my cousin", Zoya reveals, "I am ashamed to say."

"Alexander?" I raise an eyebrow in disbelief. "But you don't have the same last name."

"He is from my mother's side of the family, a black sheep, although... I guess not so anymore now that they have the power and all", she snorts in contempt, seemingly lost in her memories as her hands continue their ministrations. "I went to him and pleaded for your life, assuring him that you were innocent."

"And he believed you?" I feel slightly nauseous at the thought of Zoya putting herself in such danger for me. Cousin or not, that fellow seems unstable. What if he had started suspecting her of having sympathies for counter-revolutionaries or some other bullshit?

"No, not at first", Zoya shakes her head. "But after telling him that I had seen you on the way to the cemetery holding a bouquet of flowers for your mother, he realized that I was telling the truth, and that apparently, so were you, especially when the two guards he sent to the cemetery to corroborate your story returned saying that there were fresh flowers on your mother's grave."

"You did all of that to save me?" The broken words come out without my consent, but I feel touched nonetheless. This poor scorned woman saved my life. "Why? I know that I hurt you, I mean..."

She smiles sadly at me before answering, her fingers still working slowly over my face. "Because love is not about getting something in return, silly, but taking care of those who need us most." Her voice softens at the end.

But I didn't simply not give her something in return after she freely gave herself to me when I came back from the front, I broke her heart. I took her maidenhood and then cruelly pushed her aside, telling her that I had never felt anything for her but the same pity I was sure she had felt for me upon finding out about the deaths of Yuri and Anton.

The memory of the pain and despair I saw on her face when she assured me that she did indeed love me hurts almost as much as what happened to my grandmother today. I look at her now, her beautiful dark brown hair spilling down her back in curls as she scrubs the blood off my neck and chest vigorously with a sponge, and a part of me breaks because of the kindness she is showing me, making me feel unworthy of her.

"How could I be so blind?" I tell her, grabbing her chin gently between my thumb and index finger. My tears threaten to spill again, but I don't let them fall. She looks at me with her beautiful green eyes for just a second before shyly averting her gaze to the ground the way she would whenever I jokingly flirted with her back in school. "You never change", she shakes her head playfully before placing the sponge on the small wooden table before us.

Suddenly, Zoya gasps in horror at the bruises littering the side of my lower abdomen and back, which apparently she hadn't noticed before.

"I cannot do this", her eyes widen in shock. "I need to take you to a hospital. How could he do this to you?!" She cries.

"It is alright, love", I smile, moved by her concern.

"No it is not", she shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears, "especially when you didn't do anything wrong!"

"It is a bit more complicated than that", I smirk. Silence descends upon the living room.

"What?" Zoya stands up slowly after almost a minute, opening her eyes in surprise.

"It is true", I shrug, "all of it, and I am proud of having been a small part of it. I am even prouder of my grandmother. I don't know how this may make you feel Zoya, but it is what happened. We helped the former grand duchesses escape."

She stands still for a few seconds, looking stunned and confused by the news. "So... you did go do something to help them the day I saw you with the flowers?"

"Yes", I nod. "They were just a cover, and little did I know they would also serve as an alibi."

Zoya looks aghast for a few more seconds, but then, very gradually, she begins to smile, then laugh, her hands covering her delight.

"What? What is it?" I ask, confused.

"My hero!" Zoya laughs wholeheartedly, moving closer to hug me. She does so carefully, making sure not to touch my ribs.

"Now, don't exaggerate", I say when she pulls away. "I only met with the agents who helped them once and told them a few things about my house and the tunnel underneath, that is all."

"I am not exaggerating!" She smiles brightly. "I am glad you found something that was important to you, and I am glad you helped them, especially if they were going to kill them for no reason as many of the neighbors suspected", she adds sincerely. "You seem changed", she remarks, looking down with sadness. "Your time guarding those women changed you for the better in a way I never could."

I touch her chin again to make her look at me, or perhaps because I want to see her pretty green eyes again. "It was not you obligation to change me, love, it was my own." I smile softly.

Zoya blushes. "That doesn't make me any less jealous", she mumbles while looking down, smirking. "How am I to compete with four beautiful Grand Duchesses?"

"Oh, I don't know", I play along, thinking about my grandmother and what she would have wanted. As I do, I suddenly realize just how selfish I have been. I was happy in jail knowing that my grandmother would die peacefully and of old age, but how could she possibly have died happy knowing that her grandson was dying young, bitter, and alone? I never put myself in her shoes. Never. I never gave much thought to what it would be like to have someone you raised being killed slowly by their own thoughts and emotions right in front of your eyes. Not that I blame myself for feeling the way I did and still do without Anton, and now without her...

Living is going to be excruciating without them, everyday a painful reminder that they are gone. But I must try to endure for them somehow, in case an afterlife exists and they can see me that is. And I have to start somewhere.

"Is that job you offered me still available?" I ask Zoya, the tenderness and affection I still feel for my caring grandmother pushing me to.

My childhood friend's eyes light up at the question. "Of course! You can start as soon as your wounds are healed!"

I nod slowly at her enthusiasm. "Zoya, I don't think you understand how sorry I am for... everything I did to you."

"You didn't owe me anything, Oleg, you still don't", Zoya whispers softly, looking straight into my eyes. "I was simply crazy for you, enough to make a stupid, passionate decision, that is all."

"Do you think...?" I sit closer to her. "I mean, not now, I am not ready right after what happened", I look down and sigh. "Sometime in the future, do you think we could perhaps try again?"

"Try what?" She furrows her brows.

"Everything", I reply. "Being together, marriage, everything else normal people do", I smile.

Her mouth parts wide open. "Don't say that if your don't mean it, Oleg", she shakes her head slowly, her expression fearful, "not out of a sense of obligation, I couldn't stand it."

"I really mean it", I take her hand. "You are the only solace I can find in my life, the only thing I could possibly look forward to."

"And that is precisely the problem, Oleg", she speaks calmly, but her voice breaks. "Do you have any idea of how much you scared me when you casually told me that you were planning to kill yourself?" She stands up and looks away, covering her distressed expression with her palms.

"I am sorry, that was a joke", I whisper. "I didn't know it would scare you so." It takes her a while to compose herself enough to look back at me with her tearful eyes.

"Of course you didn't", she sighs, looking at me with a sad expression as she approaches. "But I cannot be your only reason for living, I couldn't bear the responsibility", she crosses her arms and sits back down. "I do want you to be happy though."

"I can not promise you that you won't be the most important thing in my life", I tell her honestly, making her smile reluctantly. "All I can promise you and myself, for now, is that I will never do that, ever, no matter what happens between us. With time, I will hopefully grow to find numerous and much more interesting things to care about than you, parrot", I tease her.

Zoya smiles at me tenderly as she wipes away a tear from her eye. "Do you promise?" The cruel nickname Anton and I would often use against her doesn't seem to bother her anymore.

I pause for a second before answering. "I promise."

"What sorts of 'interesting' things do you see yourself growing to care about?"

"I don't know", I reply. "But I haven't seen Andrei in a long time, and like him, I have grown to love getting into red guards' nerves." Andrei. My brother is going to be so mad about what happened to our house.

Zoya giggles.

"I mean", I continue, "you wouldn't come with me of course, he is in Samara and your parents are here but..."

"I would love to go somewhere, anywhere with you someday", she smiles cheekily. "My parents can take care of themselves, especially with my brothers and cousins around. Besides, I can always come to visit them once all of this is over."

"Is that a yes?"

"Sure", she nods. "If you really mean it."

"Why should I not?"

Zoya smiles and sighs. "I still need to take you to the hospital, you do remember that I failed my nursing test, right?"

I nod. "Let's do it. I should probably visit Igor now that I think about it."

We both stand up, Zoya helping me do so.

"And you, Zoya?" I turn to her as we walk side by side towards the door.

"Huh?" She looks at me, blinking in confusion as she looks for her keys in the pocket of her brown dress.

"What 'interesting' things do you care about?"

We walk through the doorway and head towards the hospital.

She smiles, looking sure of herself. "I am thinking of creating my own fashion magazine."

"Really?" I beam, happy for her. "That sounds fun." She and I cross the street and keep walking. "Things really are changing, huh?"

Zoya nods, looking with sadness at a group of soldiers marching by. More reds to fight the whites, more sheep to the slaughter. "Not always for the better, but one can always make the best of bad situations."

"I suppose."

The two of us enter the hospital and check in. Then we are told to stay on the waiting room chairs, where we sit down and start chatting to each other, mostly about ourselves and my grandmother, who I still cry for every few minutes, that is until Zoya lowers her voice and says:

"I wonder what the Grand Duchesses are going to do now that they are free from both the Perm Soviet and their positions, if they succeed... I do hope the rest of the rescue operation goes well."

"I wouldn't worry too much about them", I whisper, smiling.

"Why not?" She asks.

"They have something priceless on their side that I didn't have", I touch my neck, where the bullet grazed me. "Faith."

Maybe there is some truth to what Grand Duchess Olga said the day we met. It was a miracle. God might have protected me after all. I can no longer fear for Olga or her sisters while also suspecting the reason why.

I may have gained some faith of my own.

Trigger warnings: Gunshots, explosions, minor (and semi-minor?) character deaths, injuries, vulgar language, references to sexual assault, torture, threats of torture, cursing in reaction to said torture. Probably explosion-and-sleeping-drug-related inaccuracies that are there for the plot's sake.

Thanks a lot for the patience, I know it must be hard to enjoy something that is on hiatus. Here is another chapter! I must admit, guys, that I don't know much about what the Russian Orthodox prayed back then, I just use the prayers I find in their sites (Like Pravmir and churches' websites). They may be too modern though, but the point is showing how important faith is to them in this fictional story (As it was in real life).

Also, I have no clue what the (or a) proper Russian diminutive for "Doroteya" is. I tried looking for it and found nothing, so "Dora" is an invention (But so is Vlad and that is exactly what I will be using for Vladimir Popov for musical-related reasons, so it is not a big deal, lol).

I hope this long, almost fully cliffhanger-lacking chapter makes up for the time it took me (And may take me, oops) to update. This is like a season finale lol.

And finally, because it has worked before sometimes, I leave you with some questions hoping it may encourage you to comment (Not pressure though, but I love comments): Saddest death this chapter? How do you think Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia will react when they see Olga's face and hear her cover story of what happened to Alexei? How will Olga react to the OTHER cover story of what happened to Alexei (If it even reaches her, I mean what are you even planning, Doroteya?)? What is happening next? Are Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia even arriving safely? DOT DOT DOT