⧗ CHAPTER TWENTY ⧗

Dmitri sipped from the wine glass, and made a face. Ugh, port.

"I think this one is real," Dmitri muttered. "No one would make port this bad on purpose."

"So either a very bad winemaker," Ksenia noted, writing it down on her sheet. "Or a very good fake, hm? I can't believe you don't like port."

"It's too sweet. Like syrup," Dmitri hated the way the taste, the viscosity, lingered in his mouth like a film he couldn't get rid of. Between each sip of a different wine, there was a glass of sparkling water, though Dmitri personally preferred a cut of bread. But bread had carbs and if he ate as much as he needed on this test to cleanse his palate, he'd gain ten pounds.

Or so Comrade Goncharova said. The austere woman paced along the long banquet table as each student took her sips and marked down her answers on the written test. Having spent the last month acclimating their taste buds to the luxury of wine, Dmitri and his sisters had gained an appreciation for the finer qualities of all wine's varieties; and the power of alcohol. Of all the courses they'd taken on so far, this was hardly the worst of the bunch. By the end of class they'd all be flushed with mirth and dizzy thoughts.

Though, he supposed, this time was a little more serious. One of the wines was poisoned, though of the two dozen bottles in front of him, Dmitri couldn't begin to guess. That was the bonus question, after determining the varieties as well as the fakes and dupes. Some were as simple as a switched label; others were cheap knock-offs put into a real bottle. It wasn't just the tasting, but the studying of the glass, the quality of the wax seal and cork.

A champagne was from the wrong year. A chardonnay was purportedly bottled in a year when it's winemaker was shut down due to war.

There were more scientific tests they could do, if they had the materials. But this was meant to emulate an actual dining experience. Dmitri couldn't whip out a radioactivity detector and see if gamma rays could pick up the cesium-137 inside; this was only what his naked senses could observe.

Making it all the more important to find the poisoned bottle.

Comrade Goncharova must have seen their faces when faced with the poison dilemma, after losing Liza and Dmitri's own scare — for she assured them that the poison wouldn't actually kill them. Just a bout of food poisoning in lieu of deadly consequences. But its presence and taste would emulate that of a true poison, a threat they should always be aware of.

"Three hundred years ago, food poisoning would be enough to kill us anyways," Dmitri remarked, and Ksenia snorted. He feared her sudden change in regard for him would alarm the others, maybe arouse suspicion.

But aside from some raised eyebrows from Oksana, Dmitri doesn't think any of them were truly put off. If anything, they seemed relieved.

"It's nice seeing you two get along," Sabina had said the other day after lunch. "I don't know what you said to her, Dmitri, but it worked."

It worked, alright. Now Dmitri found himself nervous with every new interaction. Ksenia was careful, though. She wasn't nice to him, not in public. Just… not out to ruin his life anymore, as Dmitri saw it. Saving her moments of affection for whatever private moment they could steal away in a tiny alcove, in the blind spots between security cameras. The Red Room didn't have many — but they were there, if you knew where to look.

Or the secret smiles she seemed to have only for Dmitri, shared in brief, blink-and-you-miss-it moments. Like right now, when she was sipping another glass. The quirk of her lips; was that for him, or was Ksenia simply enjoying the wine?

It kept Dmitri on edge, always guessing, and he suspected Ksenia liked it that way.

He definitely shouldn't be wondering if she's flirting with him and definitely more focused on not drinking too much of the poison, wherever it may be. Dmitri was sure he tasted something off in the merlot, but he couldn't tell if it was genuinely a clue or because it was made in California.

A few seats down, Annika was already giggling, unable to hide her growing inebriation. "I hope this is the only test we have to take while drunk."

"Compose yourself, Annika!" Comrade Goncharova called from across the room, her voice booming. "Widows do not get drunk. Your entire goal while on mission is to maintain sobriety at all times when possible; that way, you remain in control of both your body and the situation. And that's besides what overindulgence will do to your shape."

"But won't there be situations where we'd have to partake in order to maintain our cover?" Rava asked with a raise of her hand.

"Of course! But moderation, my dear girls." Comrade Goncharova insisted, with a pleading gesture of her hands. "If you must drink, drink less than your peers. If you must get high, only so much as to prove yourself. Never lose your faculties, never lose consciousness. And especially do not develop a habit. We tolerate no weaknesses here, and addictions chief among them. Now let's focus! You have twenty minutes left to complete the test."

Dmitri looked back at his sheet, frowning at the questions. He didn't feel drunk, but he had to consciously ignore the laughter around him, how contagious it felt. Oksana had seemed to find a favorite in a rosé, which she was now drinking more from than she had to. But the rosé tasted odd to him. A strange bitter undertone that could be mistaken for a tannin, but Dmitri suspected otherwise.

But the Grenache tasted off as well. It could be a fake. But Dmitri could already feel his stomach starting to churn, and it had started before he drank the rosé (which only amplified the sensation).

It had to be one or the other, right? But as he watched Comrade Goncharova pace around him, Dmitri's instincts told him otherwise. Maybe it was two different poisons. Maybe the different wines changed the flavor of it. But either way, his gut was telling him there was not one, but two poisoned wines.

He wrote down both labels beneath the question.

Ksenia noticed, her eyes flicking down towards his paper, then back up at him.

"It's the rosé," She said in an undertone, where Comrade Goncharova couldn't hear them. "It has to be. Hedging your bets won't get you the extra points."

"I'm not," Dmitri said, moving his lips as little as possible, watching their teacher out of the corner of his eye. "It's the Grenache, too."

"How? They only said one. And I didn't taste anything."

"It's there, I'm sure of it."

"What are you two whispering about?" Oksana asked, with the kind of obnoxious loudness that came with drinking too much wine.

Comrade Goncharova turned her head in their direction. He and Ksenia exchanged panicked looks for a moment. Dmitri blurted, "You're going to regret drinking all of that later, Oksana."

She blinked owlishly at Dmitri, then looked down at her empty glass, a slightly belated reaction. Then back up at him. "Yeah, probably."

But Comrade Goncharova was now collecting papers, girls scribbling down their answers in a last minute frenzy before she ripped it out beneath their pencils. Dmitri double-checked everything one last time, finding he missed nothing. Just that bonus question. Would he get a demerit if he put two answers instead of one? But it was too late, Goncharova had already plucked it away from him.

She paused to read it over. Dmitri, frozen, didn't dare look behind him to see her reaction. But he heard her click her tongue. "Very good, Dmitri. Hopefully you didn't drink too much of that Grenache."

Ksenia didn't react, only a pointed look before Goncharova snatched her paper as well. "Very close, Ksenia. You might want to practice that palate a little bit more."

By the time all the papers were collected, Rava was already leaning over the table, her face taking on a strange pallor. "I don't feel so good…"

"I'll inform the proper parties that you all will be missing this afternoon's block of classes," Comrade Goncharova announced from her desk, and not without a certain amount of smugness. "I fear you won't be able to make it."

The bell had hardly rung before everyone was rushing out of the classroom and towards the nearest restroom.

Dmitri didn't have it so bad, he decided. He felt nauseous, but not so much that he had to expunge his stomach immediately and instinctively. He considered keeping it down and toughing it out with some water, before deciding that perhaps emptying his stomach would be preferable in the long run. Only a few short minutes in front of the porcelain gods, and then a thorough brushing of his teeth and a large helping of water.

The other girls weren't so lucky. Their retching continued for another two hours; Oksana was stuck in front of the toilet longest of all, the other girls taking turns holding back her hair while Dmitri kept watch outside the door. It was best no one else entered the bathroom while it was occupied by their class.

It was only a hushed voice that pulled him from his post. "Psst!"

He looked over, and spotted Ksenia's head peering out from another corridor. She gestured for him to follow. Dmitri hesitated, but judging from the sounds inside the girl's bathroom, they'd be in there for a while longer. They wouldn't miss his presence.

Clearly Ksenia was not as afflicted, because she looked generally okay, if a little pale, when he met her in a tight alcove by a window. It was barely enough space for two people, but the curtain combined with the sharp angle kept them out of direct line of sight from anyone passing in the hallway (as well as the security cameras), and muffled their voices.

"Are you alright?" Ksenia asked, as she placed the back of her hand to his forehead. "Oksana's already got a fever. I don't think any of us will be eating more than broth tonight."

"That's if we're lucky," Dmitri tried to joke, but it was only half-hearted. He had kept the water down, but he didn't know how long that would last. There was sure to be further symptoms as time progressed. "How much did you drink?"

"Not enough, I hope," Ksenia sighed, leaning into him. Arms wrapping around his neck, a quiet embrace where he could tuck her head under his chin. So small in his arms, yet so warm. Dmitri felt her laugh against his chest. "Of course there had to be a second poison. What did you taste in the Grenache?"

"I don't know, it just tasted off," Dmitri could hardly say what poison was used or how exactly it affected the wine. "The texture was a little different, too. Like maybe a powder that wasn't dissolved all the way."

"Hm," Ksenia lifted her head to pout. "Annoying that you got it and I didn't."

"Just got lucky, I suppose," Dmitri said; he didn't want to insult Ksenia, or toot his own horn. It had been the slightest sensation, a gut feeling. "If it was poisoned, a real poison, I'd probably be dead anyways, I'd drank enough of it."

"Maybe, but still," Ksenia said. "You tasted it when no one else did. That's what matters. Don't sell yourself short."

Dmitri's cheeks grew warm. Ksenia could be brusque, but her words still made his heart flutter a bit. "Thanks. I guess."

"Come on, now, I'm allowed to compliment you," Ksenia replied, then offered a little smile. "When you earn it."

"Oh, of course." Dmitri snorted. "I expect nothing less."

Ksenia leaned in to kiss him, but he pulled away. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but rather that they'd both been puking their guts out less than an hour ago. Brushed teeth or not. Seeing her reaction, Dmitri winced. "Sorry. It's not you."

"Is it?" Ksenia asked, raising an eyebrow. She kissed his cheek, and when that didn't get the reaction she wanted, Ksenia added, "You know there's nothing wrong with what we have, Dmitri. It's just the… rules of this place. When we graduate, it'll be different."

"I know," Dmitri said, closing his eyes. His cheek tingled where her lips left a trace. "It's just…"

His words trailed off, unable to find a place. Ksenia's hand rested against his shoulder, right over where the shirt covered his scar. "Are you afraid?"

Dmitri furrowed his brow. "Of you?"

"Of me." Ksenia shrugged one shoulder, tilting her head. "Of us. Of the Red Room."

"I don't know," Dmitri was afraid, but not of Ksenia. Maybe himself, and his stupidity getting them caught, perhaps. Of the Red Room? It was his home, their home. "I don't want to lose this place. It's the only home I have. That we have."

Ksenia sighed, closing her eyes. "Yes, I know. And there's no way the Madame will keep both of us if we're caught. But we can be careful. And it's been done before."

Dmitri jolted in surprise, a double take. "It has? When?"

"It was before our time," Ksenia says, making a face. "I think so, anyways. We probably would've been in our first year here. We're not supposed to talk about it, of course. But do you remember Natalia?"

"Of course." Dmitri said. No one could forget that woman — rich red hair, sharp eyes, the prima ballerina and the deadliest agent to have ever walked these halls; the penultimate Black Widow, the best there ever was. The Madame's favorite.

And she was gone now.

Disappeared in the dust and ash of a Budapest street.

"She went on a mission and never came back," Ksenia told him. "But we were never told why she defected. But the older girls knew. Do you remember the Winter Soldier?"

Dmitri's blood went cold. The name rang like a death knell in his head. The Winter Soldier. The man her mother hunted, the one who got her killed, in the end. Niko Constantin, Project Insight, everything, it all traced back to the Winter Soldier. And even now, as Dmitri thought back, he thought maybe he did remember. A grim reaper of a man, tall and huge and cloaked in shadow. A silver arm, gleaming with a red star. He'd been here. He'd been in the Red Room and Dmitri had no idea.

But Dmitri didn't know when he could've seen him. He would've remembered by now, all his memories within reach. The Winter Soldier never visited when Dmitri was in the Red Room.

The horror and dread must have been evident on his face, because Ksenia shook her head. "No, no, you don't have to be afraid of him. He was supposed to be our teacher. Once a year he would come here and give all of the girls lessons. But he hasn't — he hasn't come back. I don't think he ever will. Which is a shame, his combat and survival lessons were some of the best we ever had. And you missed his last visit. Probably for the best."

"Why? What happened?" Dmitri asked, his throat dry. His mind was racing, he couldn't remember why Ksenia had brought this up. The Winter Soldier. Part of the same organization he was in now. But not someone to be feared? Mum had been terrified of him; but Ksenia spoke as casually as if he were any other teacher, if a revered one.

"The last time, he came with a student," Ksenia told him. "I don't think it was ever done before, but the Winter Soldier had a protege. A girl our age, I think. The Soldatka, that's what they called her. The Madame was excited, but — there was something wrong with that girl. She wasn't… she wasn't made in the same way as the Winter Soldier. He was always gentle with us in our sparring lessons. But the Soldatka? She didn't. She snapped Oksana's arm like a twig."

Dmitri felt his stomach bottom out. He remembered Oksana mentioning the event, some time ago, but he had no idea. And they — they didn't know. Should he tell them? Should he tell Ksenia that the girl who hurt Oksana was the same Mia who hurt him?

For a moment, he was tempted. But Dmitri bit his tongue. Maybe he was wrong. Mistaken. And Ksenia wasn't done talking.

"But that wasn't the worst thing to happen. The Madame sent her on a mission with one of the widows — Ekaterina. Wanted to see how she performed on a mission with a partner. But the Soldatka never operated with the Winter Soldier before. I think something in her head was missing. She returned without Kat. And when Kat came back, she was — she was hurt." Ksenia's voice took on a tremble of emotion, shaking her head. "Hurt really bad. The Soldatka had shot through her to kill the target."

Dmitri's hands started to shake. He knew exactly the kind of tactic Ksenia described. It was Mia. It had always been Mia. He just hadn't been there, because he had been home.

When had that been? He'd been fourteen or fifteen. A year before he met Mia. Had his father known? Is that why he hadn't been in the Red Room at the time? If Father once had control of the Soldatka, then he would've known everywhere she ever went.

"The Madame was furious. Grieving. We all were. The Soldatka was punished, but you could just look into her eyes and you could tell she didn't understand. Just empty. Not like the Winter Soldier."

"What does this have to do with Natalia? She was long gone by then."

"Because," Ksenia said, leaning in. "The Winter Soldier was cast out, too. He wasn't allowed to return for years after what happened between him and Natalia. When he returned with the Soldatka, that was his second chance. And he never came back — the Madame wouldn't allow it. Not with the girl."

Dmitri slumped back against the wall, unable to smother a bewildered laugh. So much information, and the most unbelievable part of all; "Natalia and the Winter Soldier? No way."

It was impossible. The Winter Soldier may have been more cognizant than the Soldatka, but Dmitri wasn't stupid. "He's practically a machine, isn't he? He can't feel things."

But what did Dmitri know? He's only ever read his mother's notes, the stories she's heard second hand. But they were terrifying enough, painted a perfectly clear picture of the kind of assassin she had been hunting down. Immortal, implacable, utterly unstoppable.

"That's what they say," Ksenia shrugged. "But legend has it that Natalia managed to access another part of him. And of course she of all widows could seduce a machine. Make him think he can feel things. Or at least betray his programming for her. That's all that mattered, in the end. They didn't get caught for years."

Dmitri frowned. "But they did get caught. Then Natalia defected and the Winter Soldier was cast out."

It did not bode well for their own chances.

"And our education is all the poorer for it," Ksenia said, her blue eyes pinning him. "But we have the benefit of learning from their mistakes. And if we're good enough, then we'll be sent on machines together. That's what happened with Natalia and the Soldat. They made such a good team that the Madame never paired them with anyone else. Which is to our benefit, so neither of us are sent on a mission with a soulless freak who leaves us for dead."

Dmitri opened his mouth and, for a split second, he was about to say something in Mia's defense. It wasn't her fault. She wasn't in control. But then he caught himself and retreated. Ksenia wouldn't understand; and even if Dmitri managed to give her a full explanation, he doubted it would incur any sympathy. Probably just make Ksenia hate Mia even more.

And he supposed it was wrong to think of Mia that way anymore. She was in his past now. A memory at best. A threat at worst. She had no part of his life now, except as a potential obstacle. And Dmitri couldn't afford to be distracted like that.

Dmitri thought he had put her away for good, that photo long hidden behind a plaster wall — but perhaps he'd underestimated his own emotions. Father always called him sentimental and maybe he was right.

He was brought forth from his reverie by Ksenia cupping his face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought up the Soldatka. You didn't have to deal with that. And you never have to worry about her again. The KGB lost control of her years ago."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Dmitri asked dryly.

"The girl's a wild animal. She won't come back here." Is all Ksenia could say. "It's just us now. Remember that. Survival is the only thing that matters."

Then she smiled. "The Madame won't live forever, after all."