Page 10 of Tiger's Tale
Together they bowed, but there was something shifty in their eyes. They began to move as one, clasping shoulders and dancing with spirited kicks, claps, stomps, and slaps around a small bonfire. As they whirled, the bonfire grew brighter, burning and licking their black, scuffed boots.
The tsarina frowned in her sleep. She didn’t like scuffed boots.They should be polished.
Pain twisted her gut.
Who was in charge of those boots?They weren’t done properly. She’d have to speak to someone. Her husband wouldn’t like it. Threads dangled from sleeves and buttons popped off jackets, melting in the blaze. The fire burned. She cried out as it touched her, catching her skirts.When had she joined the dance?
Mila tugged, trying to escape the clutches of the men, but they pulled her closer to the hot flames. Their skin popped into blisters, the wetness trickling down blackened cheeks, then the crispy skin peeled away from white grinning skulls. She screamed, and the laughing suitors dragged her along with them into the inferno.
3
DEATH ANSWERS BEFORE IT IS ASKED
The twins found their mother collapsed on the floor and immediately summoned the doctor. At his insistence, the tsarina finally broke the news of her illness to her beloved girls. To say their mother’s secret hit them hard was an understatement. Though neither twin despaired outwardly at the announcement, as both of them had trained extensively as soldiers and had become accustomed to death and saving grief for private moments, Mila could see the distracted stumbling in Stacia’s pacing and the telltale trembling in Veru’s hands.
After she dismissed the vrach, sending the physician to procure her various medicines, her daughters quickly took places at her side. Despite her best efforts to hold them back, tiny glistening tears began leaking from the corners of her eyes. Oh, how she had wanted it to go differently. If she had only been able to hold out just a bit longer.What a terrible mess I’ve made of things, she thought. But then she could almost hear her husband’s voice, soothing her.Now, now, Mila, he’d say.There’s nothing the two of us can’t twist to our favor when we put our minds to it now, is there?
No, she admitted back to the ghost of her departed husband.There is not.Perhaps this will bring the two of them together in a way nothing I said or did before ever could.
There’s my girl, he replied.Now summon your strength, maya radnaya. You have work to do.
Mila stretched out one of her hands to touch each of her girls, just as she often did when they were babies sleeping near her bed. “Do not mourn, moi umnyye devochki, for I do not.”
At this, tears finally began seeping from Veru’s lovely eyes, just a shade darker gray than her own, but Stacia’s face hardened. “How can you say this, Mama?” Stacia chided. “Do you think we celebrate the loss of both parents before we come of age? Are we so terrible? Are the pressures of rule so great you can’t wait to leave us?”
Managing a weak smile, Mila softly stroked Stacia’s hand. She saw so much of her darling husband in this proud daughter. How she wished she could have been by his side when he passed from this world into the next. At least their reunion would be soon. It was her only comfort now. Especially when the pain became unbearable.
“Of course not,” Mila answered. “You must know, my only desire is that a cure could be found so that I might grow old and live long enough to see the two of you happily set on your life’s journey. I’d like nothing more than to tell my grandchildren stories of their dedushka and turn the diplomatic matters over to the two of you when you’re ready so that I can focus more on my gardening. Rest assured: I have no wish to leave you. But none of us can choose our fate. As your old amah often said, ‘Fortune and misfortune live in the same courtyard.’”
“Then let us help,” Verusha said. “We’ll search the empire for the best doctors and healers. Surely there’s one in these lands who will have a cure for this disease.”
Mila had already seen every one of repute, sought every cure. But she hated denying them the tiny light of hope that still flickered within. Even worse, she didn’t want to see that spark die in their eyes. They needed it. Their people needed it. She knew she was dying, and there wasn’t much time left. The sickness raged in her body like a ravenous beast, slowly devouring her from the inside out. Every day she grew weaker.
Though Mila’s preference would have been to spend the remainder of her days preparing her daughters for their succession and meeting potential matches so that she might find a suitor worthy of her beloved docheri, she reluctantly agreed to meet with whatever healers they summoned and would try her best to remain optimistic, hoping such actions would heal the rift between them.
Her only stipulation was that the two of them remain at her side and work out between them, finally, who would succeed her, and how, should she suddenly pass on. At least that way she could make sure there was progress of some sort being made. Otherwise, she feared the two of them would simply mount horses and disappear, seeking healers on their own, leaving her and the empire to slowly fade away into nothing. The girls agreed, albeit reluctantly, and left their mother to rest.
* * *
Everyone knew something was amiss when the twins didn’t appear in the practice field early the next morning. But most assumed it had something to do with a diplomatic affair. There was not a whisper among the ranks of the tsarina’s illness, which was a credit to the loyalty of those in the palace who served her and the twins.
But despite Tsarina Mila’s machinations, the twins not only didnotreconcile in the weeks that followed; instead, they grew even more distant. When Stacia recruited ten of her best, most-trusted guards and sent one to each of the bordering lands at the far reaches of the empire, Verusha became volatile, claiming it had been her idea to send for healers, not Stacia’s. She accused Stacia of trying to act as high commander of the Guard.
Stacia’s response was only to stare Veru down and tell her she’d better prepare her prettiest mourning gowns. Adding that the country would want to see a lovely tsarina grieving her mother. At that, Veru punched Stacia in the jaw, hard enough, in fact, that Stacia fell to the thick carpet, slightly dazed.
Lifting a hand to her tender jaw, Stacia said, “I’m surprised you didn’t slap me, sestra.” Then, instead of initiating the fight Veru was hoping for, Stacia seemed to respectfully consider her twin for just a moment, before grunting and rising to her feet. Then she quickly departed the room to continue seeing to her preparations.
Still itching in every cell of her body to destroy something, Veru knew the first order of business was to calm herself. With Stacia assuming command in typical fashion, she gave herself permission to step aside and consider strategy. Disappearing into her chambers, she first cursed the fate that made her beautiful. In that initial hour, she took her favorite knife to her hair, lopping off several inches. But when that wasn’t enough, she considered giving herself a wicked scar along her cheekbone. Nothing deep enough to cause infection, but definitely enough to make suitors think twice. She paused with the weapon lifted.
Veru was a practical woman, and despite the fact she often hated how she manipulated others with her beauty, she could also see the benefit of it. Damaging her looks would be akin to destroying a piece of armor or wounding a prized horse. It would be foolish to throw away an asset in a moment of distress.
Though inheriting the throne had always been something open to either Veru or Stacia, Veru had been told from a young age that her winning looks would open so many doors. This had been said much too often in Stacia’s presence for her not to have heard. She was sure Stacia resented her for it too. It was probably why they’d never been close.
Though her parents had always been careful to say that looks didn’t matter and intelligence counted for so much more—and they were always certain to emphasize that they foundbothof their daughters beautiful and bright—Veru knew that many, if not all, the people in the empire considered Stacia the smart twin and her the beautiful twin. What that meant in terms of securing the best match to stabilize the empire, or who was best to rule, Veru didn’t exactly understand.
Her parents were always fastidious when it came to saying leadership was a tricky business. But even if Staciawasthe smart one, Veru was clever enough to realize when she was being subtly pushed. And if there was one thing that never worked with Veru, it was when anyone tried to manipulate her to do something she didn’t want to do. It triggered an automatic rebellion.
That was part of the reason why she hated her looks. Whenever a diplomat fawned over her, it made her want to do something awful, like lean over and vomit on his shoes or burp loudly at the dinner table. She hated the predictability of it. Meeting the expectations of others. Above all, she wanted to be herself. And be loved for who she was—her ugly bits as well as the comely parts.
