Today marks the 571st day of war in Ukraine.

Trigger warnings: Gravesite visit, sexual harassment, and a realistic portrayal of a panic attack.

Thank you for reading!

Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Mid Thirteenth Century

Natalia had met him once before: the pagan boy with tanned skin and wild hair who had once skirmished with her people for resources. And now, in a time where she had nowhere else to go, her people were turning to him for help.

The two young nations stood by the proceedings in silence, only meeting each other with brief glances as their princes and dukes discussed the terms with raised voices and the swoop of fur-lined sleeves. Natalia's land was to become part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania: an alliance against common enemies on all sides.

She was to pledge her allegiance to a boy she barely knew.

After the documents had been signed, symbolic gifts exchanged and the pledges made, the boy approached her with wide eyes. "Come, I want to show you something."

He spoke with a strange accent, but she understood the language their lands both shared.

Natalia looked to her princes, who were buried in conversation and couldn't be bothered to pay her any mind. Not having a good excuse to refuse, she nodded.

The boy led her up a winding path to the top of an overlook. A glistening river wound through the sloping hills like a silver ribbon.

"This is my home," he said.

Natalia now stood close enough to catch the glint of chainmail from beneath the hem of his tunic. The Lithuanians had prepared for possible betrayal; a blade or arrow aimed at their nation's vitals. She, too, wore a skin-tight leather breastplate beneath her embroidered dress, knives strapped to her sides beneath the skirts that appeared peaceable and harmless to any onlooker.

Now that they were alone, their true intentions would be revealed.

Lithuania turned to her, his eyes as vibrant green as the grass around them. "Now this will be your home, too. We shouldn't think of it as my land, or your land. We must be united if we're going to stay strong against our enemies. You are free to go wherever you please here, stay wherever you like. You and your people can carry on your languages, your traditions."

His gaze fell to the silver cross which hung from her neck. Natalia was not typically one to display the religion of her people, but her princes had insisted she wear it as a statement of their faith to the pagan Lithuanians.

Natalia eased at the realization that he had not led her here for an attempted assassination, or to threaten her people. Perhaps this alliance was genuine, after all.

She turned to look out towards the eastern horizon, and a dark dread twisted in her chest. The Mongols were scorching and pillaging their way through Ivan and Katya's lands. As she stood here, safe on this hill, she could only imagine what anguish they suffered. But this was the only way Natalia knew how to protect her people.

Is this what Ira would have done? Or would she have fought to selflessly defend her family, like she did for me?

If only she could ask—not just Ira, but any of them—to guide her decisions. But they were gone, and she was utterly alone.

The horizon blurred as unwanted tears formed in her eyes. Natalia scrubbed them away, embarrassed to be giving such a weak first impression.

"I'm sorry," Lithuania said, taken aback. "If you don't like it..."

"No, that's not it." She sniffed. "My family has been killed. Now my brother and sister are being invaded by foreigners. And all I have done is to run away. I am a weak, cowardly nation."

"You're not weak at all."

She looked to him in surprise.

The light in Lithuania's eyes leapt like the flames of a bonfire. "You are doing what's best for your people. You are taking a stand against your enemies. You lost old allies, so now you are making new ones." He drew a dagger from his belt, and she took a startled step back. Lithuania held it up to the sun, and the metal flashed in a burst of blinding light.

"We are nation spirits. This is a harsh world, and there are enemies on every side who want to crush and subdue us. But together, you and I will survive—this I promise you."

She looked up in awe—at the harsh angles of his arms toned by centuries of sword fights, the calloused hands gripping the hilt of the knife, and his wooded hair tousled by the wind.

"You may have lost your family by blood," Lithuania said. "But I pledge to become your new family, Natalia Vladimirovna."

Moscow, 1945

The imperialist-era estate which now belonged to Ivan was once owned by aristocrats.

As was typical of Russian aristocracy of the time, they fled to Western Europe and the house had been ransacked by Revolutionaries and stripped of any remnants of its wealth and opulence. It had been used for a short time as a soup kitchen and a hospital for those suffering in the long winter, but when the new Bolshevik government was established and the center of power moved to Moscow, they needed an enclosure in which to contain their war-torn nation representative.

There were rumors among the Bolshevik leadership that, with the overthrow of centuries of tsarist rule, Ivan would die and a new nation would emerge to represent their Socialist "paradise." And though Ivan himself was a firebrand Revolutionary who fought for their cause, many of them hoped that would be the case.

Natalia remembered the sidelong glances the men in suits would give to her brother, as if observing a sick horse they intended to put down.

Ivan was, at the time, very sick. But he had been chosen to inherit the lands of Rus, in whichever form it would take, no matter how bloody the process. He would survive the traumatic change, as he had survived every coup and power shift before it. It was so like humans to think themselves influential enough to outlive a nation, as if a new method of governing Russia would somehow change the blood and flesh makeup of Russia himself.

Under the rule of Peter the Great, Ivan had been dragged reluctantly from his childhood home of Moscow to the newly-built canals of St. Petersburg—influenced by Western architecture to mimic cities Ivan had never lived in his entire life. Two centuries later, Ivan then needed convincing to leave his Petersburg estate, surrender nearly all of his valuables to the new government, and stay in a house of their choosing where he would either survive the grueling civil war, or perish as a result. The Bolsheviks were careful to choose a holding pen that exceeded the usual parameters of socialist housing. Ivan Zimavich was a former aristocrat with supernatural connections to the Whites, superhuman strength, and was impossible to kill by usual means. They needed him at least marginally comfortable to ensure he wouldn't switch sides.

And so it was decided, that a ransacked estate on the outskirts of Moscow would become Ivan's new home. He moved there alone, with the Baltic States having disappeared into the fray to declare independence, and Natalia and Katya dealing with unrest in their own territories. Ivan went from running a fully-staffed estate which could have rivaled the Hermitage in its value of priceless paintings, statues, and artifacts, complete with guest suites and a ballroom featuring live musicians—to a plundered skeleton of an abandoned building, at a time when he was battling daily fevers and delirium from the civil war.

When Natalia had asked Ivan to recount those years, he said his memory had blacked out—either from the haze of war, or his own drunkenness. He became rash and violent, until at last the Bolsheviks feared Ivan would turn on them in his blind fits of hysteria. So they granted him command of a military unit and sent him to the front.

"Cough blood all over the Whites, not our meeting tables," they had said. "Rip off the right heads."

Maybe they hoped he would be killed in combat—that it would be the last they would ever see of Ivan Zimavich, the representative of their so-hated tsarist Russia.

But Ivan, as Ivan always did, survived the war. And so the mansion became a home for Ivan and his sisters. After years of scraping together what little funds and goods were available, they made the place livable again. Natalia remembered standing knee-deep in the snow nailing layers of boards over the windows in an attempt to identify which crack the winter wind still managed to whistle through. She, Ivan, and Katya had wedged their bed rolls side-by-side to share body heat by the fireplace, whispering folk tales to distract from the creaks and moans of the cavernous building around them.

The Baltics had been independent back then, never setting foot in Moscow until twenty years later. By then the boarded up windows had been refurbished with glass, the few surviving art pieces and imperialist-era furniture brought in from Leningrad, and the last of the rats shooed out the door. They never saw the mansion at its worst.

The family who first owned the mansion had been extraordinarily wealthy. The grounds was once an opulent estate garden framed by symmetrical paths and trees. Now most of the foliage had been cut down for fire kindling—first by the soup kitchen residents, then by Ivan and his sisters. The three of them had toiled countless hours digging up the remaining roots and stumps to make room for tilled earth, which they used to grow potatoes and cabbage during the famines. The rest was left to either freeze in the winter or get swallowed by weeds, now a mangled ruin of once pristinely-trimmed hedges and rose bushes.

The only remnant of the garden's extravagant wealth was a grand circular fountain which had once been the centerpiece of the estate grounds. The old, haunted relic was sunk behind the vegetable garden and stank of low, stagnant water. Ivan had never shown interest in restoring it; Natalia wondered if he found the luxurious structure split with roots and corroded by green lichen to be symbolic somehow.

The land surrounding the garden had once been used as hunting grounds, but now was untouched forest which flanked either side of the mansion. Towering pine trees were a helpful source of firewood during desperate months. Deer, rabbits, and foxes could often be seen traversing across the open space, or stopping for a bite in the garden. Natalia had yet to spot a bear, but Ivan told stories of a pair of cubs he once saw "ice skating" in the frozen fountain.

The Baltics complained of their living situation in Moscow, and Natalia understood their frustration. But the mansion was always meant to be staffed—the countless rooms and hectares provided an endless to-do list of projects which kept the Baltics busy. There was rarely time for leisure—she knew Ivan made sure of that, as bored subordinates became rebellious subordinates—and so they didn't often take advantage of the wide open spaces surrounding the property. But when Natalia needed to speak with Lithuania in private, she decided the forest would be the best place to go—free of prying agents, politicians, and family members.

It was exceedingly awkward to ask Lithuania to go for a walk in the woods with her alone. Even speaking the words made her skin crawl.

But Lithuania perked up immediately upon the suggestion. For a moment, she thought with unexpected fondness, he had the appearance of a dog who had just been offered a walk.

"You mean the woods behind the mansion?"

"Yes, where else," she snapped, hoping to wipe that rare, open expression from his face.

"Now, or…?"

"Not now," she said, hating how flustered she felt and trying to end this interaction as fast as possible. "Tomorrow. If… there's nothing else Vanya has asked you to do."

Lithuania grew still, and she sensed he was trying to read her motivations for the request. She was suddenly aware of the rich green hue of his eyes. The new uniform which Ivan had fitted for him complemented their color more than the grey one he wore in Berlin; she hadn't noticed until now. Then she realized with dread that maybe Ivan had picked it for that very reason.

"Well?" she snapped, pressing for an answer.

"I would have to clear it with Ivan first. But," and then he smiled, "I would love to." Natalia looked away. She could not remember the last time she had seen him smile like that.

They stepped outside the next afternoon, while Estonia and Latvia were busy working around the house. Lithuania had taken off the dark green uniform jacket, wearing work boots and a cream-colored button up shirt. The air was crisp and cool, but it didn't seem to bother him.

He was quiet, Natalia noticed. Less fidgety than usual, looking to her as if letting her take the lead.

"So… where are we going?" His attention fell to the basket of four blue lilies she was carrying.

Natalia turned without answering him. She led him past the vegetable garden, avoiding discarded shovels and gloves, and then the two nations ducked into the trees. It was like stepping into a quiet, muted world of dappled sunlight and the smell of fresh pine. The forest floor was blanketed with soft needles that cushioned their footsteps.

Lithuania craned his neck to look up at the fanning branches of the pine trees. She saw the stress lift from his face, as if invisible strings which pulled his muscles taut had loosened. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. But the moment passed, and the lines returned as his brows drew together in confusion.

Natalia understood. Nations were intimately connected not just with their people, but with their land and its creatures. When taking a walk outside in their own country, nations could reach out and sense the millions of organisms around them like a living, breathing extension of themselves.

But here, the pine trees, the breeze, the birds and the millions of insects burrowing in the tree trunks and beneath their feet—it was all Russia.

"It's not home," she said in acknowledgement.

Lithuania seemed to catch himself. She saw an excuse forming on his lips, but he thought better of it and agreed with a soft, "No."

"Come, I want to show you something."

She led him deeper into the forest and they walked in silence. The autumn wind rustled the pine needles in long deep breaths, and the occasional pine cone crunched underfoot. Small birds chirped overhead, and red squirrels scampered up the side of tree trunks.

Eventually they reached a small clearing, and she led him to the base of a wide tree.

In front of the tree, a plot of land had been cleared to reveal dark, loamy earth that was almost black save for stray pine needles and cones. It was bordered by a makeshift fence with an entryway, the wood cracked and stained from decades of wear. Inside the plot, eight round stones had been placed on the ground in three rows.

The largest stone stood closest to the tree trunk. In front of it sat five medium-sized stones. And on the third row, closest to where Natalia and Lithuania stood, were two smaller stones.

A pile of dried sunflowers lay by the largest stone, tied with mangled twine. Next to it was a small wooden Orthodox cross necklace wrapped around a tin box that had once held Ukrainian tea. A fresher bouquet of white lilies—withered, but only a day old—lay by the second stone on the second row.

Natalia took a shaky breath and looked to Lithuania for a reaction.

He stood very still, his gaze traveling across each of the stones.

"Natalia," he whispered. It was disbelief. He knew what this was.

Natalia had created memorial stones like these in every place she had lived, except for Berlin and Warsaw. Back during the Duchy when Lithuania had come to visit her in Minsk, he had known why she disappeared for hours to a hidden spot on the castle grounds. But this was the first time she had taken him with her.

"It was one of the first additions we made to the house," she said, her voice lowered in respect. "We took apart an old stone wall by the stables. Vanya chose this tree; he said it reminded him of Volodya."

Still Lithuania said nothing.

Natalia stepped through the entryway. She knelt down, placing the blue lilies on the older bouquet of six, making ten. She picked up stray pine needles and pine cones, dropping them into the basket.

"I buy flowers every time I go into the market. Sometimes Vanya visits this place. Looks like he hasn't in a while." She pointed to the old tea tin. "Katya writes letters and leaves them there. That's the only symbol of her faith Vanya has allowed her to keep—that he knows about, anyway."

Feeling satisfied with the tidied plot, Natalia stood and exited the entryway. She looked to Lithuania in expectation.

At last he whispered, "Why are you showing me this?"

His reaction confirmed what Natalia suspected: Ivan had never shown him this place. This was deep history, intimate, and Lithuania knew just how much he was intruding.

"I… try to live up to them."

Natalia's voice cracked as she spoke. She swallowed and convinced herself to continue.

"They were… better than me, most days. Especially Ira. She cared for other people. She put others before herself. I… have never been like that; I haven't tried to be. But at the very least, I would want her to be proud of my decisions."

She turned to Lithuania, forcing herself to meet his gaze. How did he look so natural here, standing in the forest with green shadows shifting across his face? Less like a prisoner held against his will, and more like an aspect of the landscape. Had there always been a ring of hazel in his eyes?

Maybe she had known at some point, but she had forgotten.

"I know you don't blame me for what Vanya did—does to you. But there has been… I could have…"

Natalia didn't know if it was this place, or the smell of the pines, or thinking of her family which made it so difficult to speak. She looked at the ground.

"You saved my life in Berlin. I thought I was going to die there, or on the front. And I never thanked you. And I'm sorry I told Vanya to—"

She recalled the crosshatches sliced across his back, the bright ribbons of blood dripping into the bathtub.

Her last words came out a broken whisper, "I'm sorry, Toris."

The breeze sighed through the trees. Thin, calloused knuckles brushed against hers—the gesture not asking, but only meant to let her know that he was there. Somewhere deep in her memory she could almost remember what it felt like to want to be touched; to yearn for the warmth of another body rigid and steady against her own.

Lithuania didn't make any excuses. He didn't tell her it wasn't her fault. He didn't try to wipe away everything she had just said with niceties and white lies.

All he said was, "I forgive you."

Natalia felt so young again, like when the two of them had stood on that green hill overlooking the Duchy.

I pledge to become your new family, Natalia Vladimirovna.

She had never forgotten those words; not when they shared their first kiss, not when he broke her heart, not over the centuries she had spent hating him for it.

"Sometimes," Lithuania said quietly, "I think you're the best thing that has happened to me in years."

She let out a short, breathy laugh.

He continued, "I think, if you weren't here, I would go crazy."

"All of us are going crazy."

"That's my point. It would be worse."

"Do you think it's even possible for us to go back to… how things were before?" Only when she said it out loud did Natalia realize it was a childish question. It was also too vague; before what, she hadn't specified, but Lithuania seemed to understand.

He tilted his head in thought. "Well, you take care of me. You tell me I'm being an idiot when I'm not taking care of myself." He caught her eye, and his face split with a smile. "You also bought me coffee."

"Vanya bought the coffee," she mumbled, glancing away. She clasped her hands behind her back, breaking the brief moment of physical contact.

"I can tell you things I can't tell anyone else," Lithuania continued.

"You can tell them, you're just being a stubborn idiot."

"I guess what I'm saying is… I can be all the pieces of myself with you. I don't have to pretend. And if we disagree on something, I feel like we're okay."

Those words struck a chord with Natalia, because she also felt them to be true of Lithuania.

For the first time, Lithuania seemed uncomfortable with the silence. He rocked back on his heels and raked a hand through his hair, pine needles caught in the tawny strands.

"Alfred was my first new friend after independence. But it… scared me." He let out a nervous laugh. "After Ivan hurt me, and then Feliks… I didn't know who I could trust anymore. The first time he asked to be my friend, I told him to get lost."

Natalia looked at him in amusement. "You rejected America?"

"I thought he was manipulating me." Lithuania shoved his hands in his pockets, staring down at a pinecone. "I'm sure you felt the same after I hurt you, too. Maybe this is coming centuries late, but… when we were together, I shouldn't have lied to you about Feliks."

Natalia had not expected him to bring up their affair. She was certain it wasn't the first time he had admitted to hurting her, but somehow this time she was able to accept it.

Lithuania nudged a pinecone with a boot. "I guess I was… afraid of what you would think of me if you knew I was cheating on my husband. I wanted you to feel special, because you were that important to me." He smiled bitterly. "And then, because I didn't tell you the truth, I lost you. It was one of the worst mistakes I've ever made."

"You were more than just a lover to me," she whispered. "You were my family."

Green eyes fell to the burial stones laid in front of them. "I know."

Layers upon layers of betrayals and lies. A thousand reasons not to trust anyone. Maybe Lithuania was just as scared as she was. Maybe, to him, being honest with her was just as much of a leap into nothing. Back when she had joined the Duchy, Natalia had been the one who was alone and in a crisis. Now, their roles had reversed. But Natalia wasn't a sovereign nation with armor, a sword, and an army to command. She feared she wouldn't be able to protect him in return.

"I can't save you from this," she said quietly.

"I know."

"I can't… change Vanya—"

"No, I know—"

"If I could—"

"No, Natalia, we don't have to do this."

She took a breath to protest, but he cut her off,

"I have never asked to be rescued. It's just… nice to have someone I can trust."

And after realizing Lithuania had opened up to her in ways he may not have even done with his brothers, Natalia's only thought was, How did Poland know?

If only Lithuania could see how much his friend really cared—how much they all cared. She shouldn't be the one standing here—it should be Estonia, or Latvia, or Poland, or even America. Yet Lithuania was here, telling her these things.

And despite everything, she had brought him here, to this sacred place.

Natalia felt vulnerable and exposed, like when she had first met Gilbert during the Great War—as if he were breaking through her barricades, peeling back her masks. Maybe Lithuania felt the same.

He met her gaze, golden sunlight flaring in the hazel flecks in his eyes. "So… do you think we could go back to how things were before?"

Recalling all the time that had passed reminded Natalia of her age. "Six hundred years is quite the time skip." She sent him a wry smile. "We're like those old faded pieces of parchment they preserve in museums."

"That depends on who you ask," Toris said in old Ruthenian, a language as ancient as the Duchy.

This was the lighter, more playful version of him she had grown accustomed to during their escape from Berlin. At the time she had found it annoying, but since moving to Moscow, all the joy had drained from him like the color sapped from a painting. Now, at least for a moment, he seemed more like his former self. And, she realized with surprise, she liked seeing him whole—the real Lithuania, not the shadow of himself he became in her brother's custody.

"If you want to pass as young, you'll have to lose those dreadful bags under your eyes," she said. "Less coffee, no more cigarettes. Use lotion." And in a gesture that felt completely natural, she reached forward to pick a pine needle from his hair.

Toris froze as if stunned by a spell as her fingers lightly brushed the fine strands near his left cheek. "The first two are unlikely," he said stiffly, his jaw barely moving. "And I don't have any lotion."

Natalia flicked the pine needle away. "Then I'll bring you some from the market. Consider it a peace offering."

The calming stillness of the forest simmered with a new tension between them—but this was different from when they had bickered over their plans, or snapped into brief arguments in the bathroom. Natalia knew she should be frightened by it, but she didn't feel afraid at all.

"We should get back, it's almost time for lunch," she said, eager to return to some level of normalcy.

Toris nodded, and pine needles crunched beneath his boots as he made his way back to the mansion. Natalia threw one last look at the shrine, her gaze resting on Ira's stone. Then she turned and followed him through the forest.

They stepped in through the back door, pausing to change their shoes in the mudroom.

"One more thing," Natalia said, and Toris paused in shouldering on his uniform jacket. She glanced around to be sure they were alone, then lowered her voice to a whisper, "Don't tell Vanya what I just showed you. It's… family business. He wouldn't approve."

"I won't," he said in a serious tone.

She knew it made him uncomfortable, being dragged into her family trauma. Perhaps Ivan had become enough of a villain in Toris's mind, that he had tried to forget the story of the innocent boy forced to become the representative of Rus.

"Well," Toris said with an exhale. "I'd better go check on Raivis. He hasn't broken anything in a while, so there's bound to be an incident soon."

Natalia nodded. She watched him leave, noticing the way he tensed and slowed before darting around the corner.

In the mansion, Toris moved like a deer being hunted.

Natalia remembered Poland's words: Every time I watch him walk into this place, Liet walks out a different person than the one I once knew.

But maybe that didn't have to be true. Natalia had seen a glimpse of the old Toris in the forest, like a forgotten memory. Maybe, with enough time and effort, she could help him regain that glimmer of hope.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps echoing through the halls. They were sharp and military, the clockwork machinery of a man on a mission. They were too light to be Ivan's, and none of the Baltics walked with that confidence.

An officer?

She hadn't been aware that Ivan was taking appointments today. Perhaps someone had dropped in unannounced, but that usually meant trouble.

Natalia knew it was best to avoid Soviet officials when she could. Her first instinct was to change course; to slip into a room to avoid being seen. But the footsteps were drawing nearer, and it was safest not to draw suspicion.

She continued walking, past a guest room and a study. The footsteps echoed closer, honing in on her location. A feeling of uneasiness overcame her; a sixth sense that told Natalia to hide. But as a figure rounded the corner, she realized it was too late.

A uniformed silhouette blocked the light at the end of the hallway. The footsteps echoed to a stop, and cool grey eyes slid in her direction.

An ice cold prickling of needles spread across her chest like winter frost.

The uniform was coal black, hat rimmed with a visor that glinted in the hall lights. It was pressed over grey hair combed to the side, thick brows, a long nose like a beak, thin lips pulled into an apathetic smile. And emblazoned on the hat, in a silver flash, a skull and crossbones.

"Ah. Miss Belarus."

Natalia's heartbeat raced.

No.

No.

He's dead. He died in the war. He can't be here. Not in Moscow. Not in Vanya's house.

She couldn't move, stunned as if frozen to the floor.

He took a step towards her. "It is you."

No. This is impossible. He can't be here, in Vanya's house, why would Vanya be talking to him!?

She wanted to scream for help, for Ivan to come save her. But she could not command her voice to speak.

She was meant to be safe here. This was her home.

They had come again, to take away everything. To kill everyone.

A desperation rose in her throat.

Don't hurt my family. Please. Please…

But then the light shifted, and the harsh black silhouette lightened to a muddy brown. The silver skull and crossbones glinted into a gold sickle and hammer.

Natalia blinked rapidly. This man was not Nebe. He had ginger hair, and a bulbous red nose. He was Soviet. And he was still stalking towards her.

"I see you're still skulking around like a criminal, zek."

He spoke Russian. Perhaps he had been speaking Russian the whole time. His words were low and grainy, spat out with disgust. He drew so near to her, she could smell his breath. He looked at her as though she were vermin crawling across the floor.

Memories of the war flickered out and were replaced with older images: an interrogation cell, a chair in the center of the room, a single lightbulb. Barked accusations, batons, blood sprayed on the walls.

Natalia insisting over and over that she would never betray the Soviet Union, that Ivan would tear them limb from limb if they harmed her.

The cruel laughter of her interrogators in reply.

Just another year, just another uniform, just another monster of a man.

A slow smile spread across his face. "So you remember? Good. All traitors should remember." He spat, thick saliva landing on the toe of her boot. "Your brother is a fool for bringing you back, zek. All of your kind should be rotting in Siberia—where we left you."

Natalia's fear rose to anger. This was the household of Ivan Zimavich, and this officer dared to threaten her here? He couldn't arrest her again; Ivan would have him killed for it.

But why was he here? Had he been speaking with Ivan?

Somehow Natalia found it in herself to speak. "Get away from me." Her voice was low, barely a whisper, but deadly as ice. Had she been wearing her knives, this man would be dead.

The officer lifted his chin. "Such demands from criminal scum. This country owes you nothing, after what you did. Your breath fouls the air for the rest of us. I keep telling them you're a threat. We should string you up and send you back where you belong. Your body would be more use in a guardhouse than pretending to be his little secretary."

"Excuse me."

The officer wheeled around, and Natalia looked past him to see Toris in the hallway. He stood at attention, feet apart and arms folded behind his back. His gaze smoldered with a chilling hatred.

"If there is a problem, Comrade, I believe the proper protocol is to speak with Comrade Braginsky. He is, after all, the head representative of the Soviet Union."

"I know who Braginsky is," the man hissed.

"Then would you like me to go fetch him? I'm sure he would be interested to hear what you were just now saying to Comrade Arlovskaya."

The man curled a lip, then scanned Natalia as if she were an insect he was considering to crush beneath a boot. He let out a harsh scoff, then rose to his full height. "No need, Comrade." He flashed Toris a toothy grimace, "That bitch isn't worth the trouble."

Toris sucked in a sharp breath, and as the officer stalked towards him Natalia thought he might bite back a retort. But his hands remained firmly clasped behind his back, a muscle pulsed in his jaw. He knew when it was too dangerous to pick a fight.

"You don't fool me, little nation. I've read your documents, too. If it weren't for that big idiot, I'd have you join the she-freak in a cell with a bag over your head. And you know…" The officer leaned over so the brim of his hat nearly touched Toris's forehead. He tapped his chin in feigned thought. "Comrade Stalin can always change his mind. And when that happens, it won't matter what Braginsky wants."

Toris swallowed. The officer seemed to catch the scent of fear in the air and smiled, much like a predator anticipating his next meal. He spun on his heel and strode past Toris down the hall in the direction of the foyer.

"Don't think you're safe behind these walls, zek," he called back. "We are always watching."

Natalia and Toris didn't dare move as the footsteps faded away. The seconds seemed to stretch on for an eternity until the halls echoed with a slam of the front door.

Natalia released a breath. But it did no good; her chest constricted with an icy chill and the floor pitched beneath her in a wave of nausea.

Toris approached her, arms extended. "Are you alright?"

And then it was Nebe walking towards her, with arms outstretched and that smile of death. She heard the gunshots and the screams. She felt the tear of Winter's claws through her jacket and the roaring clack of train tracks across the tundra.

Natalia staggered to the nearest bathroom. She threw open the door, fell to her knees at the toilet, and began to vomit.

She clutched the lid with clammy, shaking hands. Her breath came in short, ragged pants, her heart hammered in her ears.

They're coming. They're coming for me!

She felt a steady hand on her back, and somewhere amid the haze of fear she could make out a familiar voice:

"He's gone, Natalia. He can't hurt you anymore. You're safe."

But she wasn't. She wasn't safe, because she was never supposed to see any of those monsters ever again.

"I'm going to press a cold rag to your head, alright? Try to relax."

Something cool and wet pressed to Natalia's forehead. Her focus began to drift from the men coming to arrest her, to the soothing touch against her skin.

"Listen to me. Breathe in while I count to four. One, two…"

Natalia closed her eyes and did as he said. She breathed in. Held her breath. Breathed out. After a few shaky exhales, she felt her heartbeat slow. Her hands released the toilet lid.

Natalia opened her eyes. She slumped against the bathtub, exhausted and weak.

"Did you know that man?" Toris asked quietly.

"I didn't recognize him. But… he recognized me. I-I don't know what he's doing here, Vanya should know to keep them away from me…"

"I'm sure it was an accident. Maybe Ivan didn't know."

"I'm supposed to be safe here," she said, her voice straining into a plea. "Vanya said—he said I would be safe!"

Natalia knew she had lost control; she was always careful to contain her emotions around anyone but her brother. But she couldn't put it into words, the feeling of violation that came with that man spewing threats in this house.

She saw the questions in Toris's eyes. But he said nothing, instead filling a glass with tap from the sink. She took it wordlessly with trembling hands and drank it down, rinsing the thick taste of acid in her mouth.

When she had finished, Toris finally gained the courage to ask. "That word he called you. I've… never heard it before."

It was a word Natalia hadn't heard in a decade. A word she had hoped never to hear again. Of all the names Toris had been called in her brother's language over the centuries, she was sure he was surprised to come across a Russian insult he did not know.

But of course Ivan would never call Toris that. Toris becoming one was precisely Ivan's greatest fear.

"It's slang for 'prisoner.' It's what they called us in the Gulag. Once you become an enemy of the state, you are no longer a 'Comrade.'" The words tasted bitter on her tongue, and she took another drink from the glass.

Toris's eyes widened. But the look in his face wasn't just horror. Natalia saw respect there as well—as if he had discovered a hidden ally.

"Don't get any ideas," she said. "I never wanted to hurt Vanya. I only did it to protect myself."

Toris lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. "What did you do?" he whispered, with the fascination of a fellow convict swapping stories.

Only hours ago, Natalia would have snapped that it was none of his business. But Toris had seen the effect the Soviet officer had on her, and now he knew she was a convict. What good would it do to hide the truth from him?

I can be all the pieces of myself with you. I don't have to pretend.

Natalia took a deep breath, convincing herself that it was safe. And then, she told him everything.

About how, after she was forced to marry Toris in 1919, she decided she couldn't trust the Belarusian government to make decisions for her. How she had recruited a team of agents to serve her personally, as their nation representative.

How the famines struck in the 30's, and Natalia became so malnourished that her government had no choice but to send her to work for Poland in Warsaw. How her agents had smuggled in information while she was trapped there, forced to speak his language and do his chores. About Poland's wild drunkenness, and her desperate letters begging Ivan to come rescue her.

Then, the fake request from the Soviets for the Polish government to transfer Natalia to the Belarusian government in Minsk—the set-up by the secret police in Warsaw to ambush and arrest her; the intercepted letter by her agents which they smuggled to Ivan in secret, after an All-Union Congress from which Natalia had been mysteriously missing.

Her interrogation at the prison, her forced confession, the agonizing trip to the Gulag in a cattle car. The freezing winds, the cold, the horrid feeling that Winter was watching and enjoying her suffering. And then, Ivan traveling thousands of miles to rescue her, only to return to a squad of secret police who had set up the entire arrest to track down, capture, and execute every last one of her agents.

"You're telling me," Toris whispered when she had finished, "That you organized an underground intelligence chain under Stalin? And Ivan didn't even know about it?"

I know what our brother looks like after he's killed, and he had that look in his eyes after he returned from the forest.

Natalia pushed away the echo of Katya's words; she couldn't let that distract her now.

"I think… the secret police knew the whole time. They were waiting for the right time to… get rid of us. And my arrest had more to do with controlling Vanya than punishing me." She shuddered. "He promised me it wouldn't happen again."

Toris ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. "So… they've already harmed Ivan's family."

"And Vanya is terrified they'll do it again." Natalia felt a wave of guilt. "Don't tell him I told you this," she whispered. "He likes… to appear—"

"In control," Toris finished, his expression hardening. "Don't worry, I won't tell him."

"Vanya doesn't think they'll arrest anyone again." A hint of fear returned to her voice, "But I don't know why that man was here."

"He probably served in the war—then got promoted from prison thug to an officer." Toris stood, his brows creased. It was the same expression he wore when planning their escape from Berlin. "If you want that man demoted, you'll have to talk to Ivan. I'm sure he'll do it." He looked at her with a type of wonder. "Do you… still have contacts?"

It was then Natalia realized her mistake. She had been looking to Toris for empathy, for emotional support. She had forgotten that any information he learned about her brother was a tool to use against him. The Lithuanian was always searching for cracks in the walls Ivan built to mask his true motives. Centuries of this survival method had turned their relationship into a cruel, intimate game of chess.

At least in this case, she didn't have to lie.

"No. I haven't organized anything since my arrest."

"But you could—"

"And I'm not going to start now," she cut in sharply. "One hundred of my people, Toris. Shot dead for treason, because of me. I swore I would never ask that of them again. And especially not now, after so many were lost in the war."

But a familiar flame of inspiration burned in Toris's eyes, and she realized it would take more to undo the damage. Natalia rose to her full height.

"Toris, look at me."

He did, slowly.

"I have watched enough of my people die. I will not let a single one follow. Do not ever ask me to take that risk. I am not your new Poland to collaborate with." She stepped closer and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, "If you ever try to contact my people, I will not help you hide your injuries. I will not speak to you again. You will lose me as your ally here, and you will have to face Vanya alone."

Toris's eyes flicked back and fourth across her face, searching for any fracture in her resolve. She glared back, daring him to challenge her.

At last, reluctantly, his reply came. "I… won't. I promise." After a pause, he said, "But… that means they want your head just as much as they want ours. You're not—"

"What?" she scoffed, stepping back and crossing her arms. "Loyal to Vanya? My agents protected Vanya just as much as they protected me."

"No," Toris whispered. "It means you're not safe. You're the same as us."

"Yes," Natalia said, exasperated. "And what happened to us is exactly what Vanya doesn't want to happen to you three."

"Which is why he's enforcing such strict rules," Toris spoke faster as he began to connect the pieces. "That's why nobody can leave the mansion, or speak in our own languages. 'Protect my family' never meant protecting us from the West—this entire time, he's been talking about his own government!"

"Yes."

Toris tangled his fingers into his hair and blew out an explosive breath. "I need a cigarette." She saw a light of understanding come over him again, and his gaze locked onto hers. "Wait—you said 'us'."

And then Natalia realized her second mistake. But it was too late.

"Did something happen to Ivan and Ukraine?"

"It's none of your business," she hissed. Natalia was willing to give information about her own past, but her siblings were a completely different matter. She was done spilling family secrets just because he asked. She felt restless and eager to get out of the confined space; this was beginning to feel like an interrogation.

His face grew serious. "Natalia, if the Soviet government is targeting nation representatives, I need to know so I can protect my family."

The tension broke with the echo of footsteps outside the bathroom walls. They were quick and light—Natalia paled as she realized who they belonged to.

"Get out," she hissed, and started pushing Toris towards the bathroom door.

"What, why?"

"I'm not going to be discovered alone with you by your little brother! Out!"

Toris stumbled out of the bathroom and Natalia pulled the door shut with a slam that was much louder than she had intended. She made to lock it, then cursed under her breath—doors in Ivan's house locked from the outside, not the inside.

The footsteps neared and slowed. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

"Hi, Raivis," came Toris's awkward reply.

"Where have you been!? An NKVD officer came by and you didn't answer the door! Didn't you hear the bell?"

"Oh..."

"Russia was storming around trying to find you, then he made me answer it and basically threatened to break my legs if I didn't bring you to his office!"

"Raivis, I'm so sorry—I was outside in the garden, I didn't hear it. Are you alright?"

"Well my legs aren't broken, yet. But you should have seen the way that officer looked at me. I can't believe I'm saying this, but sometimes those guys are scarier than Russia." There was a pause. "You okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Just—not looking forward to dealing with Ivan. But I'm glad you're safe." Natalia could easily imagine the weak smile Toris sent his brother. "I'll go to his office, you don't need to come with me. It's better if you stay out of his way."

"Be careful," Latvia warned. "He was in a really bad mood. Oh, by the way, can I use the bath—"

"No!" Toris exclaimed, much too forcefully.

"Why not?"

"The toilet's broken."

"Dumb old house," Latvia grumbled. "I should probably take a look—"

"I'll fix it!" Toris insisted, and the door rattled as Natalia supposed he cut off Latvia's entrance.

"Wait a minute. But you said you were in the garden."

"I-I was!"

"So you're telling me, that you were gardening and backing up a toilet?"

Natalia hid a snort behind a hand.

Toris sputtered in mortification. "No, I—!"

"You don't have to apologize, just don't lie about it."

"I didn't—it was already broken!"

"Uh-huh. Plunger's in the supply closet."

"...thanks..."

"Good luck with Russia, then. And with... whatever else you're dealing with." And as Latvia walked away Natalia heard him mutter, "How am I the only one who can act like an adult around here?"

It was about a minute after Latvia's footsteps faded that the bathroom door opened. Toris's face was a flustered shade of pink.

"Little brothers," she said knowingly. The interaction had reminded Natalia of the pointless squabbles between her own younger siblings.

Toris acknowledged the comment with a weak smile, then his face fell. "But, if what you're saying about the secret police is true..."

Natalia could almost see the nightmarish scenarios playing out in his mind. She wanted to argue with him, but she recognized the urgency in his expression. Toris protected Estonia and Latvia with the same ferocity as she looked out for her own family. Had she been in his position, she would have felt just as desperate.

But could she help him, even if it meant giving away Ivan's secrets?

Natalia sighed and reached up to massage her temples. Her family may be long gone, and what remained had been eroded by the tides of history. But Toris still had brothers who loved him, and he needed her help to protect them—just as he had pledged to stand by her side all those years ago.

"Fine, I can tell you. But you have to promise me you won't tell Vanya. If he finds out, he'll never forgive me."

Toris's gaze didn't waver. "I promise."

"And not a word to your brothers, either; Latvia can't keep a secret to save his own damn life."

Toris nodded in agreement. "You need time to recover, and I need to go make things right with Ivan. If we meet in the forest in the evening, we can't be overheard. Will you be alright until then?"

"I'll be fine. Let me know if you need help after... Vanya."

It was plainly obvious to Natalia in that moment, that they had formed a partnership. She relied on Toris just as much as he relied on her.

Maybe he was right. Maybe things could go back to how they had been.

"Good luck cleaning the toilet," she added with a smirk.

Toris groaned. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you."

"For such an accomplished liar, I had hoped for something more creative than that."

"I'll do better next time," Toris conceded, but he was smiling too.

The implications did not go unnoticed: That there would be a next time. That the more secrets they kept from their siblings, the more Toris and Natalia would have to string together false explanations—the higher the cost of putting trust in one another.

As Natalia watched Toris leave toward's Ivan's office, a cold pit of dread settled in her stomach.

She hoped she wasn't making a grave mistake.

HISTORY NOTES

Belarus in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania

Due to threats from the Mongol Empire in the East and the Crusaders from the North, Lithuania made agreements with the lands of present-day Belarus in the mid thirteenth century to form an alliance as the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. It was a multi-ethnic region which had tolerance for varying languages and cultures. Ruthenian, which is an older Slavic version of modern-day Ukrainian and Belarusian, was spoken widely across the region. In fact, many official documents from the Grand Duchy of Lithuania were written in Ruthenian. Lithuanian monarchs briefly converted to Christianity, but the peasantry largely remained pagan and continued to practice for centuries. At the time, the former principalities of Rus were majority Orthodox Christian. Lithuania was the last European state to be Christianized.

Natalia's Patronymic

I already talked about diminutives; you should also know by now what a Patronymic is, or in Russian, "Otchestva" from the Russian word for father, "Otyets." In my universe, only Katya and Novgorod started with their own unique patronymics—all of the other younger Princedoms took their patronymics after Novgorod. Novgorod's diminutive, "Volodya," is short for "Vladimir," which meant that the Princedoms' patronymics were either "Vladimirovich" (masculine) or "Vladimirovna" (feminine.) In my stories, Natalia kept her patronymic of "Vladimirovna" until the 18th century when Belarus came under the control of the Russian Empire, after which she changed her patronymic in honor of Ivan, which we now hear her referred to in the story's present-day: "Natalia Ivanovna." Ivan himself changed his patronymic from "Ivan Vladimirovich" to "Ivan Zimavich"—the word "Zima" meaning "Winter" in Russian—shortly after Novgorod died. More on that later.

Aristocracy in the Russian Revolution

After the October Revolution of 1917, the new Soviet government legally abolished all classes of nobility. This, along with the outbreak of violence that regularly occurred in the chaos of the Revolution, spurred a mass exodus of the once rich and powerful Russian aristocracy. Much of the Russian diaspora around the world today has roots from the Russian Revolution, and many artworks and antique collections from that time period were lost. If you are interested in this topic, I have been recommended the book Former People by Douglas Smith. And of course Dr. Zhivago directed by David Lean, based off the novel by Boris Pasternak, who lived through the Revolution, is a must-see for any Russian history nerd.

Numbers Matter

You may notice that I included the detail of how many flowers were in Natalia's bouquet. That's because in Russian culture, an even number of flowers are always used for funerals. If you ever buy someone flowers for a gift or celebration, make sure it's an odd number! Receiving an even number of flowers is considered offensive.

Religion in the USSR

As Lenin famously said, "Religion is the opium of the people." Marxist–Leninist atheism has consistently advocated the control, suppression, and elimination of religion. Within about a year of the revolution, the state expropriated all church property, including the churches themselves, and in the period from 1922 to 1926, 28 Russian Orthodox bishops and more than 1,200 priests were killed. Ukrainian churches in particular were persecuted during the Holodomor. However, during WWII Stalin allowed for some tolerance of the Orthodox church to rally citizens for morale to fight against the Germans.

Within a Lifetime

One of the most striking aspects about researching this time period of Eastern European history, is that traumatic events like the Russian Revolution, the Holodomor, the Great Terror, and the Second World War all happened within a single human lifetime. People at the time survived one terror to live through the next. A reaction like Natalia's in this situation, to be dealing with trauma from both WWII (1939-1945) and the Great Terror (1936-1938; in Natalia's case, she was arrested in 1934), would have been common. Of course so many people were focused on surviving, that there was little time for reflection on these traumas in the general populous. This was especially the case as certain experiences, like those of Gulag or Holodomor survivors, didn't fit the narrative being put out by the state, and many people remained silent about it, or stories only survived in local oral history for decades. This problem of remembrance remains true for Russia today, as Gulag museums and efforts to count Gulag victims have struggled to stay open and keep the history alive. If you are interested in this topic, I recommend reading Night of Stone: Death and Memory in Twentieth-Century Russia by Catherine Merridale and Never Remember: Searching for Stalin's Gulags in Putin's Russia by Masha Gessen.

Author's Note:

Hi, and thank you for reading! I did want to make a quick note about the first section of this chapter. With my current resources, I found it difficult to narrow down some basic fact-checking about modern-day Belarus joining the Grand Duchy of Lithuania; such as exact dates, cities, religion at the time, and titles of nobility/leadership. So I tried to keep that section as vague as I could while still being generally accurate. However, if there are any glaring mistakes, please don't hesitate to reach out to me! I'm happy to make changes as needed.

The best fact-checking source I found on this topic was Timothy Snyder's lecture, "The Making of Modern Ukraine: class 6, The Grand Duchy of Lithuania" which is available for free on Youtube. Of course I have been to the Belarusian National History and Culture Museum in Minsk and seen those "old faded pieces of parchment" Natalia referred to, which has been my inspiration for her backstory with Toris—but that was years ago!

I also understand that grief is a very serious topic and I hope I have treated it with respect. The "shrine" described in this chapter is based on burial sites I saw in Latvia, in a region with a large population of ethnic Russians. But again, if there is anything offensive here, please reach out to me. (Note: I didn't make it explicitly Orthodox, as I didn't want to tie the Principalities to a particular religion. Rather, Orthodoxy is Katya's personal faith as an individual.)

I have written the scene where Toris rejects America's first offer of friendship, which you can read in Pieces of our Time ch 9.

Thank you again, and for your incredible patience as I chip away at this story while also (pretending to be) a fully functioning adult. Comments are much loved!