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Moscow, November 1549
“There you are.” Taras stood as Inga entered his rooms, still in his day clothes despite the late hour.
The commotion in the palace caused more messes than Inga usually dealt with, so she’d been kept late. She felt relief at seeing him, but also anxiety to find him fully dressed this time of night. She could guess why, though.
Taras crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders. He must have seen fear in her face because his expression changed. “You’ve heard?”
She nodded. “Are you in danger?”
“I don’t think so. The ones arrested are powerful boyar families, the kind that have openly opposed Ivan and have enough money and power to be influential. Neither is true of me.”
“But you don’t know for certain?” Inga pressed.
“No. I need to speak with Nikolai.”
“Then go speak with him.”
“I’m not leaving you alone, Inga. Sergei and his father are practically prowling the corridors.”
“Sergei’s father?”
Taras nodded.
“Is he...? I don’t know anything about Sergei’s father.” Tarasov had been part of the court for as long as Inga could remember, but he always melted into the background. Inga never thought of him as a threat.
“He’s exactly like Sergei. Or Sergei’s exactly like him. Where do you think Sergei learned his lack of scruples? Besides, if the father is in charge, the son will be given free reign. I am going to speak with Nikolai. You’re coming with me.”
He took her hand, pulled her gently away from the door, then went through it, towing her behind. Their footsteps whispered through the dimly lit corridors, their shadows fleeing before them, guttering in the dim light of the sconces.
Taras didn’t have to tell Inga to be silent. She instinctively felt danger while roaming the halls. Everyone did. The Tsar had rounded up the most wealthy, influential boyar families and decreed they would be publicly executed in a week’s time.
Ivan had screamed and thrashed when someone released the Tatar prisoners only days before their execution—something Taras refused to discuss with her, for some reason—but for a ruler to publicly execute his own people was unheard of. Even for Ivan. He’d dropped every pretense of justice.
Silence cloaked the palace because of the late hour. Inga could feel people awake in their beds, staring at blank ceilings; frightened boyars, waiting tensely for the Streltsi to burst in and take them to the dungeons; servants wondering what would happen next, and who they would serve if their masters were taken away.
When they reached Nikolai’s rooms, Taras knocked softly. Because Taras and Nikolai were good friends, Inga had been to Nikolai’s rooms several times over the last two years, carrying messages between the two of them. Nikolai rarely answered the door. He simply called out for whoever knocked to enter. Tonight was different. After a long pause, the door opened a few inches. Nikolai’s narrowed eye peered out from it, oozing threat. When he recognized Taras, the threat evaporated. His face softened and he stepped back, holding the door open for Taras to enter.
Taras pulled Inga around in front of him, pushing her through ahead of him, as if too afraid to leave her alone in the hall for a single moment.
Nikolai shut the door firmly but quietly behind them, and Inga’s eyes widened. Yehvah sat in front of the fire. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to find the other woman here.
“Are you all right?” Nikolai addressed Taras.
“For now. Nikolai, what is Ivan doing?” His voice sounded angry. “So much for his grief dissipating.”
“I don’t know about his grief," Yehvah said grimly. "His capacity for violence is certainly not lessening.” Her expression looked bleak. Inga sat by her on the hearth, taking her hands.
“I’m afraid that capacity might only grow,” Inga said.
“I agree.” Nikolai nodded, then turned to Taras. “I got a hold of the list of families being brought in. Neither of us is on it.”
Inga exhaled, relieved. Yehvah gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. Her look said she understood. She'd no doubt felt the same tension about Nikolai’s safety.
“None of the boyars directly around the Tsar, at the palace or in court, have been accused. It’s easier to accuse those of treason who are not here, bowing and scraping to prove their loyalty every second.”
Taras walked toward the fireplace where Inga and Yehvah sat while Nikolai talked, but did not sit beside them. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the mantle. Inga recognized the stance. He took it often when he thought hard about something, turning it over in his head.
“Nikolai,” Taras said quietly. “Are any of them truly guilty of treason?”
Nikolai glanced away. After a moment, he shrugged. “Who’s to say? If the Tsar thinks they are, then—”
“But what evidence does he have? What intelligence is pointing the finger at them?”
Nikolai stared at the wall, refusing to look up.
“Nikolai,” Taras glared at his friend, his voice accusatory. “You saw the list. What else did you find out?”
Nikolai sighed. “The Tsar claims the voice of God has come to him in his morning prayers, telling him who the traitors are.”
Taras stared at Nikolai, his eyes widening with the news. “So he doesn’t know for sure.”
“Come, Taras,” Nikolai sighed in frustration. “Even your kings and queens of England claim divine right to rule, do they not?”
Taras turned fully from the fire. “Yes, but—”
“Then who’s to say Ivan isn’t hearing the voice of God?”
Taras’s head fell back. Conflict flitted across his face like the shadows of birds in summer. He made no reply. Perhaps he had none.
“None of us,” Nikolai included Inga and Yehvah, “is in trouble. Not yet. The best we can do is bide our time and be smart. You’re right. I thought Ivan would calm down, come to his senses before long. I was wrong. Obviously it will get worse before it gets better. If it ever gets better. Taras.”
Taras turned to Nikolai.
“You must show loyalty to the Tsar. If you want to stay off his traitor-list, actively show him he has nothing to fear from you.”
Taras didn’t answer. He stared straight ahead of him at nothing. A cold fear wriggled its way into Inga's stomach. Taras usually maintained peaceful relationships with those at court—for the sake of his investigation if nothing else—but if his honor or personal morals were at stake...
“I have a question,” Inga said quickly, afraid Taras and Nikolai would argue if Taras didn’t answer soon. “Why is the Tsar using the Streltsi? They’re his personal bodyguards. Why not use you, and the rest of the standing army?”
Yehvah answered. “Because the standing army is made up mostly of the sons of boyars and minor nobles. They would not want to arrest their own kind for execution. The Streltsi, on the other hand, is almost exclusively middle and lower class workmen. They are happy to arrest rich families that have kicked them into the dust their entire lives.”
Nikolai nodded. Taras looked thoughtful.
So, Ivan’s diabolical mind did still work. He wasn't insane. At the least, his logic and political intelligence were still intact. Inga sighed. Every time she thought life in the Kremlin couldn’t be any darker, it somehow found a way to get worse.
As Taras and Nikolai discussed what they thought might happen at the execution, Inga’s eyes wandered around the room. Nikolai's library never ceased to amaze her. Books were stacked everywhere. Her eyes fell on a volume of Russian myths that dated back to the days of Rurik. She'd read it as a teenager, when Yehvah brought it for her. The copy she'd read looked exactly like Nikolai's. The cover had even worn through on the same corner.
The connection sounded in Inga's head like the blow of a hammer on its anvil. She'd wondered for years when Yehvah obtained her education, and from whom. She and Taras often discussed where she borrowed her books from. Why hadn't she realized before? Nikolai.
Yet, he and Yehvah were not on speaking terms for years, not until Taras came and a wolf attacked Yehvah in Kazan. Inga wondered, not for the first time, what happened between Nikolai and Yehvah all those years ago to keep them apart for so long. Inga knew Nikolai had married once, and his wife died young. Surely that had something to do with it.
“Just don’t draw Ivan’s—or anyone’s—attention,” Nikolai was saying. “Stay calm, watch your back, and we’ll all make it through this alive. Whatever insanity the Tsar is exploiting right now, I believe we can ride it out. We must be patient. And smart.”
Taras nodded, not looking happy.
A few minutes later, Inga and Taras stood to leave. Inga hugged Yehvah.
“It’ll be all right,” Yehvah whispered. “You’ll see.”
Inga smiled her encouragement. “I know.” A lie, but she didn't want to ruin Yehvah's attempt at kindness. Inga's heart had fluttered nervously all day with the news of Ivan’s accusations and the pending executions, worried that even if Taras was not yet a target, he could become one. Now, after speaking with her friends—her family, really—she felt better. Not by much, but some. Perhaps, as Nikolai said, if they kept their eyes down, this would pass, and life would return to normal.
She smiled at Nikolai on her way out, feeling too awkward to hug him. He didn’t seem to mind. He gave her a smile and a respectful nod. Inga took Taras’s outstretched hand and together they slipped once again into the dim, shadowy corridor.
