Page 26 of Tiger's Tale
“It did, in its own way. What I didn’t tell you is that we have two of them. One is mine and one is his. I’ve carried both of them since his death. Now I’d like each of you to take one. It will ease my mind if the two of you promise me you will always wear them. Tell me you will do this. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” Stacia said.
“I will,” Veru answered.
“Good. They’re hidden in the secret pocket of my skirt. Now... come here and give your old mother a tight hug. It will have to last me awhile.”
They did, and as she squeezed them extra hard, whispering she wanted white gardenias planted where she’d be buried, making the girls sob anew, the dream vanished, and they opened their eyes to see their mother exhale her final breath.
8
EVERY BLADE HAS ITS BILLET: FATE CANNOT BE SIDESTEPPED
The funeral of the beloved tsarina, Ludmila Marianka Sashenka Stepanov, was even grander than that of her late husband, buried only a few years prior. The entire empire mourned. Heads of state, diplomats, lords and their ladies, scholars, clergy, burghers, and even the impoverished, pressed their way to the capital to pay their final respects.
Those not invited to the ceremony left tokens of affection at the gates, palmed thoughtfully written notes with descriptions of kind words or acts the tsarina had done for their town or family into the hands of the Royal Guardsmen, or simply placed bunches of gathered fall wildflowers or left handmade gifts in baskets along the road nearby.
Stacia and Veru had the flowers, notes, and gifts gathered daily, sifted through them personally, and shared them with the staff. Those were the items that would have held the most meaning for their mother. Their mother’s favorite flowers, specially grown year-round in her greenhouse, were brought into their mother’s gardens, where they were placed on display along with the simple arrangements produced by their own servants and the commoners for the three days of viewing that took place before their mother was interred in the family crypt.
The nations loyal to the empire sent dignitaries along with more lavish gifts, each trying to show their devotion by the extravagance of the items or for the attention to detail given to the token. These were, of course, accepted as well with the grace and decorum expected for such an occasion. The twins were, after all, their parents’ daughters. Though they still postponed all major decisions, they stiffened their shoulders, bearing the burdens of leadership together, just as their mother had wanted. They knew what was expected of them, even during a time of intense mourning.
Rival nations’ responses varied. Some sent condolences while others quietly schemed, planning how they might use the tsarina’s death to their own advantage. The twins knew this, but there was nothing to be done about it at present. They had learned, above all else, to deal with the matter at hand first, and save other matters for tomorrow. Compartmentalizing concerns had been a large part of their training, but they were still very, very young. And now the two of them were orphans in truth with the weight of a vast empire and all the peoples living in it resting on their very narrow shoulders.
One thing all the people both rich and poor, royal and peasant, loyal to the empire and those scheming against it, had in common, the emotion underlaying the sorrow or greed or empathy or plotting, was unease. Everyone sensed change was coming. Each person wondered what would happen next.Would the tsarevnas rise up and rule seamlessly as their parents had before them?Would one or both of them marry advantageously, and would that man lead or let his wife rule? Would one of the twins choose a man from their own country, or would he hail from a rival kingdom?Would it be a political marriage?Were the twins even ready to take on such a challenge?
There were so many questions. So much speculation. It was all anyone could consider. Hushed whispers abounded in every corner of every town and every hollow touched by the empire’s reach.
It was only a matter of time until those whispers became shouts. Until voices demanded that they knew better. That their ideas were stronger. More viable.
But for now, the people knew the respectful and appropriate thing would be to at least wait until the tsarina was properly laid to rest before voicing their concerns. They would then let the twins make an announcement before making any hasty decisions. After all, the girls had the backing of the Royal Guard, did they not? Of course, there were those who favored Stacia while others preferred Veru, but most everyone agreed they’d feel much better about either one of the twins if they announced an engagement to a suitable match.
The people weren’t the only ones with matchmaking on their minds. Grigor himself was considering the idea. He wasn’t a particularly amorous fellow by nature, and he wasn’t exactly enamored with all the work that came with leading an empire. However, both girls appeared to be adept at the job, which would leave him free to do what he wanted. He’d then have the resources he needed to continue his search.
Even if they denied his suit, so long as he ensconced himself as a counselor, a healer, or even as a religious zealot, thereby gaining the favor of either young lady, it might be possible to attain his aims. He’d have to rid himself of the lovestruck soldier boy first. That one would cause trouble.
He could use him as a minion, Grigor supposed, but he had plenty of those already. True, there was something...differentabout the boy. It wasn’t his past abuse. No. He’d seen plenty of those cases over the years and had been inundated with enough sad little fellows in need of a mamenka. It wasn’t that. Surely it wasn’t that heidentifiedwith him.
Grigorloathedthe very thought. The idea that he could have something in common with a young man who would risk his own life, the little power and freedom he possessed, for the mere possibility of obtaining the attentions of a beautiful woman sickened him. And yet... he couldn’t deny there was a depth of character that went unseen by most, a ruthless quality hidden just beneath that flaccid surface.
It was that spark that made the boy interesting. Otherwise, he would have been dead already. Like everyone else, Grigor lurked, watching and waiting for just the right moment to present his own proposal to the royal twins. It would have to be timed to perfection.
Interestingly enough, it turned out that the lad was more useful alive than dead. After the tsarina’s death, Grigor had been thanked, given a bag of coin, but then was summarily dismissed and shuffled quickly out of the palace. When he had requested a week’s lodging, he’d been reluctantly shown to the boy’s own bunk, where he slept as a medic’s apprentice in the soldier barracks.
Grigor was only aware of the goings-on in the palace thanks to his connection to the boy’s mind. It seemed the young man had indeed caught the favor of the tsarevna, at least in the way of camaraderie. After the tsarina’s death, he was relocated to rooms nearby his beloved, though, as far as Grigor could discern, the relationship was still completely platonic.
As Grigor watched their connection cement during the time of mourning, he knew this was his chance. After waiting the appropriate number of days for the funeral rites to be accomplished and for the visiting dignitaries to leave, he caught a mental glimpse of the young man heading to the royal stables. He quickly set off to intercept him.
“Hello,” said the Death Draughtsman from the shadowed corner of the stable.
Startled, Nik dropped the bristle brush. He’d been preparing Veru’s favorite horse for a ride. It had been Nik’s hope that he and his tsarevna riding together through the countryside might lift her spirits. Truthfully, he’d also hoped he’d seen the last of the frightening man who had just made a sudden appearance in the barn. Apparently, he wasn’t so lucky.
“You’re still here, then?” Nik asked, stooping to pick up the brush. “I thought you’d given up.”
“Not at all.” The man smiled, and Nik shivered at the sight of those white teeth in the shadows. “I wonder,” he said, coming closer, “if the two of us might help one another.”
“Oh?” Nik said, brushing the horse a little too hard. It danced away from him, neighing in protest. “How’s that?”
“You know, you and I are much the same.”
