⧗ CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO ⧗

Oksana cursed, chasing after a rabbit through the trees.

It wouldn't get far, still caught in the acre park built outside the palace; a small forest, almost like a garden, filled with game animals. Mostly rabbits and partridge, but a few deer as well. Those weren't meant to be hunted, not by their class — the meat to be saved for the harder weeks here — but it was still valuable in learning their tracks. One of Dmitri's traps had already caught a rabbit.

They kept double-checking berries they found, unsure if they were the edible sort. The berries were easier to tell apart than the mushrooms; and while Dmitri had extensive training in identifying fungi for the purpose of poisoning, he decided it best not to take his chances in the wild, so he left them alone.

It was a good day to practice their outdoor skills. Bright and sunny, practically balmy at thirty degrees Fahrenheit. No wind that would have bit through their woolen coats.

"You mustn't have done much of this stuff when you were away," Ksenia remarked, after Dmitri had tripped over a tree root.

"No," He grunted, wincing as he got back to his feet. "I was in New York City. Pretty civilized as far as things go. Not a lot of hunting."

"Civilized for the West's standards, anyways," Ksenia rolled her eyes. "But at least they had cold winters, so you won't be completely helpless, hm?"

"I was only there a few weeks out of the year," Dmitri laughed a little, as if that small amount of time would've weakened him. Winters on the North Atlantic coast were no walk in the park. "I was only there to keep my mother appeased."

"Ah," Ksenia was silent for a long moment, as they tromped through the trees. A new-growth forest, the trees were spaced roughly equal distances apart, with little undergrowth to get in their way. Footsteps and animal tracks covered the ground, and the air was filled with distance calls and laughter. "You never speak of your mother."

Dmitri's stomach dropped slightly, and he looked away. "Why would I? She's gone now; there's nothing left to talk about."

And that was besides the fact that grieving his mum made Dmitri feel different, separate from his sisters, who did not share or understand that attachment. Who might resent him for a life they never got to have, or would have made him weaker than them for it. As he suspected Ksenia thought now.

"There's plenty to talk about," Ksenia replied, cutting him a look out of the corner of her eye. "If you want to."

Dmitri frowned to himself, thinking. Wondering what she'd want to know. "My mother didn't know about the Red Room. If she had, I imagine she would've been a big problem for us, or would try to be."

"So why not just kill her?" Ksenia asked, casually, as if discussing the weather.

"I don't know," Dmitri admitted, teeth gritting. But he forced himself to relax. It was an honest question, no matter how callous. "I think my father had something to do with it. He didn't want her to die. But he's dead now, too, so I'll never know why."

Why? He asked himself. Dmitri knew when he saw his father again, that might just be one of the first questions he'd ask. Why would Lev Kasyanenko, a man who always preached on the weaknesses of sentimentality, want to keep his vicious ex-wife, a renowned investigative journalist, alive. He had to have known it would have put his own career in danger.

It just did not connect with the man Dmitri had come to know as his father.

Best Ksenia didn't know he was still alive. Not even the Madame knew. And Dmitri didn't know what his father planned in his state of undeath, but could only imagine he had some grand plan in mind. And, eventually, Dmitri would play some part in it. Dmitri didn't look forward to it, but so long as it did not conflict with his loyalties to the Red Room — who had been so much more welcoming, more of a family than his father had ever been, who did not torture little girls and turned them into mindless machines — then he supposed he didn't mind paying his filial dues. To settle his debts, and put his old family behind him.

"Hm," She said, again that thoughtful expression on her face, one that Dmitri couldn't read. "What was that like?"

"What was what like?"

"Having a father?"

"Oh," that, Dmitri hadn't thought of. Only his mother, who was so different from the Madame. Who had died right in front of his eyes. "As a child, I practically worshipped him. He was always so sophisticated and well-spoken. Intelligent, the way a child sees all adults as omniscient. But now — he was just a man. He had his flaws. Bad ones."

"Was he a good father?"

"In some ways," Dmitri said, though he wondered what kind of father would look at the Red Room and think yes, this is where I want my child to be. "He never discouraged my passions. Never sneered that his son wasn't like his friends' sons. That I didn't grow to be as… as manly as the rest of them. Or the fact that I can't grow a beard, apparently."

Ksenia laughed at that, and patted his hairless cheek with affection. "Well, I certainly can't complain. I've seen those weak mustaches those young men grow. So terrible. Men grow beards when they want to hide a weak jawline. And you have nothing to hide, Dmitri."

His cheeks grew warm and Dmitri couldn't hide a bashful smile. "Thanks. Good to know my jawline won't suffer. But yes. In some ways, he strengthened me."

"And in other ways?"

Dmitri wasn't sure how to describe the ways he both loved and hated his father. The man always wanted Dmitri to succeed — to achieve his greatest ambitions, no matter what they were. But it was always better if they aligned with his father's own interests. It was better that Dmitri didn't miss his mother too much. Didn't talk about her. Didn't ask too many questions. "He never appreciated my curiosity. There was a point where I'd ask too many questions and he'd grow irritated. I think he preferred if I never questioned him at all, and just obeyed whatever he asked of me."

"Asked?" Ksenia quirked an eyebrow. "Or commanded?"

That got a wry smirk out of him. "I suppose it was always a command, but the way he'd ask made it seem like it was your idea."

Ksenia just shook her head. "Men like your father are not uncommon, Dmitri. Be they tilling fields or leading armies. They always think they know best and that everyone else is beneath them — especially their own families. That they are the voices of God, the government, or whatever greater power gives them influence; and they use it to exert control over everything and everyone else. They have no equals, only underlings."

Dmitri listened, and found himself shaken with how much those words resonated in his mind. "My father would hate to be considered common."

"Don't they all? At best, they're cult leaders. At worst, they're conmen, convincing you to believe in a power they don't have. You got away, Dmitri. You were lucky."

Lucky. Dmitri never felt particularly lucky, but then, he had always lived long enough to suffer the consequences. He survived an attack that should have killed him. He'd been rescued from dire circumstances more times than he could count. Escaped by his own wits, by the skin of his teeth.

So, yes, maybe Dmitri was a little lucky.

"I suppose so," Dmitri said, and didn't want to ponder on this further. His shoulder was starting to twinge again. "What about you? Do you remember a life from… before?"

"Before the Red Room?" Ksenia made a face, but shook her head. "Not really. It's not encouraged and really, why should I bother? My parents were likely drug addicts or criminals, if they couldn't keep me. All I remember is the orphanage before the Red Room found me — and that place was awful enough that I never think of a different life. This is the best one I could've ever had. Don't you think?"

"I suppose," Dmitri admitted. But he couldn't be truly sincere. Not when he'd seen the other side, even in those brief periods outside of the Red Room.

Their outdoor lesson came to an end shortly after Comrade Morelli showed them how to dress a rabbit and set about cooking on an open flame. Dmitri was just getting his first taste of wild game when the Madame appeared, clapping her hands to get their attention.

"Our graduation ceremony begins shortly," She told them. No command, no request or reminder — just silent expectation as the class abandoned their spits and followed her back to the palace. For a moment, Dmitri had forgotten what that meant, until they stepped into that room he remembered; with the recesssed floor, and what appeared to be half the class and faculty surrounding it.

And, in the center, two girls of the older class. Dmitri recognized Filipa and Bela; of the remaining three in their class, it seemed they were chosen as the rivaling finalists.

Dmitri's mouth went dry, but there was no excusing himself. The atmosphere of the room was a chilly quiet, no one speaking a word. His class, which had once been giggling and rambunctious before, had dropped to a stony silence, faces blank and expressionless as they all stood, watched, waited. Only a few more minutes before the room was filled and the doors shut.

The Madame stepped forward. Another clap of her hands. "Begin."

Filipa and Bela, who'd once been like true sisters, now launched at each other with a kind of ferocity that took his breath away. Girls who had once shared bread and injokes at the dinner table now struck and spat at each other; no more twinkling eyes of joy, but bitter light flashing.

No rules had been given. There was no need; the only object was to win. The girls had already been stripped and searched for any potential weapons; they only wore black shirts and leggings, no place to hide some underhanded tool they might use to their advantage. All they had were their hands, their wits, and whatever they had learned in their eighteen years here at the Red Room.

Bela's fist broke Filipa's nose. Filipa's nails gouged red lines down one side of Bela's face. From the sidelines, their sister Margo sat kneeled, and watched with tears in her eyes, fists clenched so tight in her lap her knuckles turned white.

Despite the frantic tussle of bodily impacts, grunts, and shrieks, no one made a sound. No one said a word.

Dmitri almost forgot where he was, watching in rapt horror. Didn't even notice as Ksenia leaned in, and whispered only for him to hear: "That will be us one day."

Her words took him so off guard that Dmitri could only shoot her a stunned look. But she continued, "Not against each other. But with. Only two survive. The weak link must be cast off. It will be up to one of us to do that. Which is why we must be sure — we must never face each other."

"I know," was all Dmitri could say, barely more than a breath. Not just because the thought of facing off any one of his sisters daunted him — but he knew if he fought Ksenia, she'd win. Without a second thought. There was no mercy shown on the graduation floor.

"Steel yourself, Dmitri," she whispered, hand at his arm while they watched as Filipa crushed Bela's throat in a single powerful strike. "It won't be for another year. You'll be ready, then."

And they looked on as Bela dropped, choking helplessly before Filipa came down beside her. One hand on either side of her face, for a moment it looked like a caress — before Filipa jerked her arms, and snapped Bela's neck.

~o~

Hot water rushed down on his head.

Dmitri couldn't get the image out of his mind. Filipa leaning over Bela's body, finally breaking down into tears. Watching as she and Margo were taken away together. As Bela's body was carted off on a stretcher.

He never did know where those bodies went.

Dmitri wasn't crying. He wasn't. The water on his face, scalding hot, relieved him of the urge. But he couldn't step out from the shower head; couldn't make himself face his sisters yet. To look at them and wonder who would be left at the end of next year.

Would he be on the sidelines, watching as two of them went head to head? Or would he be the one on that floor, blood on his hands?

Would he win?

Would he want to?

"Dmitri."

A voice startled him out of his reverie. Dmitri whipped around, surprised not only to find he wasn't the only person in the boy's showers — but that it was Ksenia. She stood there, just beyond the half wall that did nothing to shield his nakedness across the room.

"Ksenia, what —" Dmitri looked around for a towel, alarmed and embarrassed, but the closest towel was on the bench, behind Ksenia. And she didn't pull her eyes away from him. "You're not supposed to be in here!"

"So?" She shrugged, as Dmitri fought the urge to cover his groin like some silly Boy Scout; as if Ksenia didn't know what a naked man looked like after their extensive anatomy lessons. Dmitri eventually resolved to keep his body half turned away from her, but her eyes remained on his face. A small solace. "You're the only one who ever uses this bathroom. Who's going to catch me?"

"Anyone." Dmitri said, though the warning felt half-hearted even to his own ears. Ksenia was right; Dmitri had never seen another soul in this room, female or otherwise. None of the male teachers or security ever used this bathroom as far as Dmitri was able to observe. The amount of space and privacy was one of the things he loved about this bathroom, right next to their dormitory.

Still, that didn't mean he was particularly comfortable with Ksenia in here. Or her closing the space between them. Walking onto the shower floor and right up to him.

Dmitri had no choice, or felt as if he had none, in turning his body towards her, retreating until his back was against the tiled wall, the water knobs digging into his spine — and still Ksenia did not stop, not even when the shower stream hit her and soaked through her hair and clothes; not until they were chest to chest.

She met him with a kiss, long and gentle. And Dmitri didn't push her away, even as his heart pounded at the thought of someone walking in here right now and catching them.

When she pulled away, Ksenia murmured, "I didn't realize how much it would upset you."

"I'm not upset," Dmitri lied.

"No one would blame you if you were," Ksenia said, looking up at him with those big blue eyes of hers. "Graduation ceremonies are never easy to watch. And Bela was so much fun — it always hurts to lose a sister."

Dmitri said nothing, averting his gaze. What could he say? Any thought he had just felt like weakness. "I just can't stop replaying it in my head."

"You'll be okay," she replied, cupping his cheek with one hand. "You have to be. You can't be distracted tomorrow. We can't afford any mistakes on this test. I need you, Dmitri."

Heart leaping, Dmitri wasn't expecting those words. Nor did was he thinking, this time kissing Ksenia. To throw caution to the wind. To let her know he won't fail her.

He couldn't. Wouldn't.

How warm she was, her touch like lightning against his skin, the shower head now dousing the both of them. Ksenia's slipping from his cheek to his neck, pulling Dmitri closer. She knew what she wanted and in the moment, Dmitri didn't care. He liked the way her hands felt on his skin, wet and bare. Any sense of modesty he had earlier had vanished as soon as he'd closed his eyes.

He wasn't thinking when she deepened the kiss. Just wanted to hold Ksenia close, even as her other hand began to wander. Tracing the side of his chest, his waist and down —

With a jolt, Dmitri pulled away, breathless. "No. I can't."

"No?" Ksenia looked up at him with innocent eyes, hand resting on his lower stomach. Tempting. So tempting. "Why not? You don't want me?" She looked down pointedly. "Because someone here sure does."

How he hated his own body for betraying him right now, burning with a kind of want he'd never felt before. The ache stretched from his abdomen to his cock, wanting her to touch him again.

No anatomy lesson in anatomy or intercourse could prepare him for the sensation. Descriptions of arousal paled in comparison to the real thing. Dmitri could've named a hundred reasons, a hundred very logical reasons. Yet they failed to reach his lips, which still burned with the taste of her. Ksenia smiled slightly, perhaps amused by his expression. "It's okay if it's your first time, Dmitri."

"What? No —" Dmitri's face went hot.

"Just pretend I'm your Mia," she continued, but it only had Dmitri pulling away completely, letting her go. Ksenia pouted in disappointment. "No one will catch us here, I promise."

"It's not that, I'm not — I can't —" Dmitri felt ridiculous, even humiliated, but there was no way he and Ksenia would have sex in the boy's shower room. Not fifty feet away from their sisters. "It's too close. I'm sorry."

Ksenia sighed, but ultimately relented. "Alright, if that's what you want."

Then she leaned in once more — Dmitri almost shied away, but Ksenia was only giving him a kiss on the cheek. She whispered in his ear, "Try to get enough sleep tonight, hm? I need you at your best tomorrow."

And with that, Ksenia reached behind him and cranked the water knob. Dmitri yelped as freezing cold water dumped down on his head, so shocking he just about hit the floor. As he gasped and scrambled to fix the water, Ksenia skipped away, her giggles echoing off the tile walls.

Panting, Dmitri slumped against the cold tile floor, head hanging low as the water grew hot again. He almost regretted turning her away.

Almost.