Page 12 of Tiger's Trek
“Relax, Zakhar. It’s me. I know I look different, but try to treat me the same.”
“With respect, my lady. You... you’re royal. I mean, your face is stamped on the coins in the church coffers.”
Is that true?Iriko said.
“You hush,” Stacia replied.
“Excuse me?” Zakhar responded, confused. He looked between her and the tiger, who made a sort of chuffing noise. He pointed between the two of them. “Is... is he talking to you?”
“Yes.”
“And you understand him? Like he did when you were a tiger?”
“Yes. And he’s still blind as well.”
“How fascinating,” Zakhar said. All former feelings of awkwardness vanished as he found a seat and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. Indicating a spot next to him, he dipped his quill. “Please, tell me everything that’s happened to the two of you thus far.” He held up an ink-stained finger. “Oh, and before I forget, don’t touch the meat. Nik thinks it’s tainted with forgetting magic.”
Is he serious?Iriko asked. His jaws were wide open right next to the meat, preparing to pull it away from the fire.I’m starving!
“Well, of course you are,” a too-happy voice said from the darkening tree line. “And just so you know, there’s nothing magically wrong with the meat. Is it magic? Technically, yes. But it will fill your bellies. And believe me—you’ll need it where you’re going.”
“Who’s there?” Stacia cried out bravely, placing herself in front of Zakhar, who squeaked again and began gathering his things should they need to hastily depart. She had no weapons, but she’d fought without them before. Of course, she’d never faced a magical being, but there was a first time for everything.
Iriko’s heavy body slid along her leg until he stood next to her. She placed her hand on the ruff of his neck.
You be my eyes, and I’ll be your claws and teeth.
Stacia nodded, though she knew he probably wouldn’t get that. Still, she could feel the two of them beginning to move in sync. It reminded her of her army. She had trained a group of elite soldiers, and they’d worked together until they moved almost as one, anticipating each other’s moves to the point where they only needed a few hand signals. Together they’d infiltrated enemy camps, sneaking in and out without a life lost. They’d been a secret tactical unit used on many occasions.
Then last year everything changed. Their mother announced it was time for Stacia and her sister to come out of hiding. They needed to be public figures. It was for the good of the empire, she’d said. The first thing their mother had done was make those prokljatyj coins. Stacia had tried to tell her it was a mistake to spread their images all over the empire. Enemies would recognize them.
It meant Stacia and Verusha wouldn’t be able to function as warriors any longer. Stacia had tried to reason with the tsarina, but their mother wouldn’t listen. It didn’t make sense at the time. Of course, now Stacia understood why. Mila knew she was dying. The season for hiding was over.
Stacia couldn’t blame her mother for doing the things she did. Mila was trying to preserve the legacy she and the twin’s father, Andrey, had worked so hard to build. As their daughter, she could understand it, but that didn’t mean it was easy to accept. The empire was their dream, not hers. She and her sister were too young, and their parents had left them too early. It wasn’t fair. Why did life need to be so hard? Why was there only one path? Was a choice too much to ask for?
As for Zakhar, his eyes were riveted on the young woman standing in front of him. He’d been around young ladies in the past, of course, but none of them had looked like the tsarevna. She stood with such bravery, such authority, such power. He could see her leading an army on the battlefield, her sword held high as she shouted orders. Stacia was fascinating.
“Breathtaking.” His mouth formed the word softly before he could stop himself. He didn’t think she heard him, but the tiger’s ears flicked backward, and his face colored.What am I thinking?He was a priest. He shouldn’t have such feelings about a woman. Then again, was it wrong to appreciate beauty or art?Yes, Zakhar thought.That must be all it is. I simply want todrawher. She is royalty, after all.
Besides, even God, looking down on all His creations, felt right in pronouncing them “good,” didn’t He? There was nothing bad about admiring the lines of a horse. And how much closer to God was a woman than a horse? Men and women were made in His image, weren’t they?
Of course, now that Zakhar was thinking of horses, he was envisioning the tsarevna, Stacia Stepanov, dressed in glistening armor as a goddess warrior astride a black horse, with a cape flying behind, ascending into a storm-filled sky to fight a horde of monsters. What an imposing image. The horse’s mane a reflection of her glorious red hair, which would be the focus of the painting and would frame her face like the sun bursting through the cloud, shining light upon the darkness...
“Now, now,” the voice said. “Put away those sharp claws and let’s sit awhile, shall we? There is much to discuss.”
Zakhar swallowed, attempting to shift his focus to the man speaking and record his words instead of imagining the heretical art his fingers and mind were desperate to create as his muse continued to inspire him with her every move. He closed his eyes and mentally rehearsed the Ten Commandments, even mumbling them nonverbally to regain focus.
There was a rustling in the bushes, and a bald man stepped out. His eyes sparkled shrewdly. Stacia always looked at the eyes. Most would have focused on the man’s gap-toothed smile and dismissed him. Not Stacia. Her parents had trained both their daughters to look for details that might not be as obvious.
Every visiting diplomat was a test. Every soldier they faced had a tell, a weakness. Her father always said, “Battles are fought with the strength of your mind, not with the power of your arm,” and “A true conquest is achieved only when there is no loss of life and both sides have gained something.”
As brilliant as her father had been, it was her mother who was the keen observer of people. Mila never failed to notice things the rest of the family had missed. Immediately, just as she’d been trained, Stacia began to catalog details of the stranger. She took in his clothing, the color of his skin, his accent, the way he carried himself, and possible places he could conceal weapons.
Her mind spun in a million different ways as she sought patterns, but every time she thought she was narrowing in on a certain thing—like the way he was standing, for example—he’d suddenly straighten up and turn and wink at her, then she’d have to start all over again. It was disconcerting, to say the least.
The man carried a white walking stick taller than himself that was carved at the top to look like a roaring bear. “Like it?” he asked when he saw Zakhar inspecting the staff with the utmost concentration. “He’s got quite a bite, this old bear.”
The man pushed a hidden button, and the bear’s mouth opened, revealing a hidden spearhead. It gleamed like polished stone, and when turned in the light of the fire, it shone in colors of purple, blue, and green. “Now if it’s magic you’re looking for, this old spear has it in spades. Get it? Spades?” He laughed uproariously at his own joke, then looked around. “Oh dear. I suppose that one didn’t translate well.”
