Page 43 of Tiger's Trek
Before they reached the door, it opened widely, and she could just make out the outlines of several figures. Stacia could tell they were conversing with Zima, who had stopped dead in her tracks just in front of them, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying to her until they got closer. When she did, what she heard was shocking.
“Why did you return?” one woman asked.
“Look what you have done, child,” the other accused.
“You know it isn’t time.”
“What will the others say?”
“You know they will blame us.”
“They’ll say we can’t control ourselves.”
“How did you get across, anyway?”
“We made a deal.”
“They shouldn’t have reneged.”
“I told you we should have left well enough alone. But you wanted to be a mother.”
“You know I wasn’t the only one.”
“It isn’t her fault. Let the girl come in. She’s probably hungry.”
“They’re always hungry. Children eat and poop all the time. That’s what they do.”
“Stop being so moody. You’re getting old.”
“We’re all old.”
“Some of us more than others,” a voice said who wasn’t standing at the door. “Stop being rude and invite the strangers inside. Can’t you see they’re cold?”
The three old women, framed in the door, looked up then and noticed Stacia and Zakhar for the first time. “Who are you?” an older lady with gray braids and a moon-shaped face asked.
“Dobry vecher,” Zakhar said, bowing stiffly. “I am Zakhar Balakin, a humble traveling priest accompanying my tsarina, Her Royal Highness, the Empress Stacia Stepanov. We discovered this lost malyshka on the other side of the river and took it upon ourselves to escort her home. She told us of seven lovely aunties who care for her. Are you perhaps the ladies she mentioned, or can you point us in the direction of their home so that we might find respite for the poor child?”
Stacia peered at Zakhar with a side-eye, a raised eyebrow, and just the tiniest lift of her lip, showing she was impressed.Well done, Priest, she thought. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Zakhar went to her father’s diplomatic charm school. He was far too good to be a simple priest. He had someskills. She’d correct him on the tsarina title later. Technically, neither she nor her sister had accepted the role as of yet. They were still tsarevnas. But she supposed it didn’t matter to these women in either case.
She could actually see the bitter melting off the old lady as she batted her nonexistent eyelashes at Zakhar. “Why, yes, we are Zima’s aunties. Thank you so much for escorting her home. We are in your debt, good sir. Please,” she said, nodding more to him than to Stacia, “won’t you two come in and warm yourselves by our fire for a bit before you return to town?”
“What a kind offer,” Zakhar replied, smiling warmly at the woman. He then quite obviously blew on his hands and managed to blush, deftly apologizing. “I’d offer my hand as a token and a blessing on your home, good lady, but I’m afraid they’re quite cold, and I wouldn’t want to offend anyone with skin so delicate.”
All three of the women nearly simpered at that one. Stacia could barely contain a giggle. Instead, she disguised it with a delicate cough, a trick her mother had taught her. Instantly, Zakhar turned to her with an expression of concern. “My dear tsarevna, are you becoming ill? What a dolt I am to be escorting you about in weather such as this. Your parents will give me a tongue-lashing, that’s for certain.”
“Do come in and we’ll put both of you by the fire.”
“Yes,” another auntie said. “Come in. Come in. Zima, take off their boots. We must get those wet stockings off.”
“You are too kind, Aunties, truly,” Zakhar said. “But I can tend to the tsarina while you must be anxious to care for your niece.”
“We won’t hear of it. Let us take care of her.”
Two more aunties entered the room and tugged Stacia to a corner away from Zakhar. In a matter of moments, her wet things were stripped away behind a changing screen, and she was dressed in a woolen nightdress far too large, with heavy, itchy socks hitched up her feet; then a warm blanket was wrapped around her, and she was tucked into an oversize chair by the fire. Zima was quickly whisked away to bed.
Meanwhile, Zakhar could barely keep their hands away from him. He was able to insist on changing his own clothing, though, and soon disappeared behind the screen alone. Stacia sipped a hot cup of tea and warmed her toes, waiting for his return, along with the seven other women, who stared at the screen with anxious eyes. Stacia smiled, enjoying the sweet brew, content to let Zakhar take the lead on this one.
She’d learned long ago that women, especially older women, tended to respond better to young men. In fact, her parents employed a bevy of attractive diplomats of both sexes of various ages and engaged them as useful tools whenever necessary. Plying state secrets from others using honeyed sweets rather than pointed threats was often far easier. When her parents were younger and single, their looks had been used to charm others, but after they committed to each other, they vowed never to do so again.
