Sarwat Chadda - Dark Goddess

“I’ve no more business in Moscow.” Billi put down the knife she’d been cleaning. “But thank you. For helping me when you didn’t have to.” Billi knew Ivan had risked a lot-including his loyalties as a Bogatyr. Let alone overcoming a personal vendetta in order to help the young Polenitsy child escape. Her heart beat faster as she looked at him sitting there. She needed to remind herself why she was here in the first place.

Ivan’s frown slowly mellowed into a smile. He put the bottle on the floor and stood up. He offered his hand.

“Let me show you Moscow before you leave.”

“I really don’t have time. There’s still a lot to do before tomorrow morning.”

“Please. We won’t be long.” Ivan’s hand hadn’t moved. Maybe he wasn’t arrogant, but he was certainly stubborn.

“Ivan Alexeivich Romanov!” Billi exclaimed, frustrated. He straightened some more, head up and proud. Deep shadows formed under the clifflike high cheekbones, and those gray eyes lost their weary drunkenness as she spoke his name.

It was already six, and this was her last night here. She had no idea what lay ahead except hard fighting and doomsday. She could spend it pondering and worrying about things she couldn’t control, just waiting for tomorrow. Or she could spend it with Ivan. There he stood, his wide chest heaving under the half-open shirt as he took a deep breath to steady himself. Despite the vodka flowing through his veins, his hand was steady.

Billi took it.

Dimitri drove them into the heart of the city. Unlike London with its labyrinth of narrow streets and buildings all cramped together, Moscow was wide and broad. The boulevards gave Billi endless panoramas, especially along the river. Ice shone on the roads, and a fresh cloud of snow was beginning to descend.

The tires rumbled on the cobbles of Red Square. Ahead stood the multicolored onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral. The composite building was actually interconnected churches, each with its own individual spire and dome. Veiled in snow, the cathedral looked as though it had been snatched from a fairy tale. Moscow had an ethereal magic when it was cloaked in winter. To one side stood GUM, the gigantic department store, its walls and windows outlined by thousands of golden bulbs. Opposite that were the immense, dark-red walls of the Kremlin fortress.

“Once, this was all ours,” said Ivan. His eyes shone with the reflection of the lights and dazzling colors. “My ancestors were crowned there.” He pointed to a series of golden roofs behind the red fortress walls. “Archangel Cathedral. Saint Michael was said to be the protector of our family.” He leaned back in his seat. “I heard a strange story about him recently.”

Billi kept her attention on the scenery, but her voice went soft and quiet. “Oh? What story?”

“Do you believe in God? In His archangels?”

“You’re asking a Templar that?”

“The Patriarch of Moscow is a close personal friend of the Romanovs,” said Ivan, referring to the head of the Russian Orthodox Church. “He told me that Michael had fallen; it came to him in a dream. That he had been cast down.”

Billi didn’t move, but sweat trickled down her back. Did he know? That she had cast the archangel down?

“I wonder what the other archangels must think, knowing that their brother has been sent to Hell.”

Billi could feel how close he was to her.

“What do you think, Billi?”

“I think you should be careful what you read into the dreams of an old man.”

Ivan laughed. Billi liked the sound of his laugh. His guard was down and the imperious barrier he usually put up had fallen away.

“You area difficult person to understand,” he said. “You have many secrets, I think.”

“No more than most.”

Ivan watched her thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is true: we all have things we are frightened of telling others.”

They drove along Kremlevskaya Naberezhnaya, the broad road that ran beside the riverbank. Billi watched the broken platforms of ice drift slowly down the Moscow River.

They were rolling along beside a park when Billi caught a flash of fire from beyond the trees.

“What’s that?” There were more flames. Streaks of light wove and spun in the darkness.

“Dimitri, stop,” said Ivan.

The car pulled up by the curb, and Ivan jumped out and opened Billi’s door. “Bolotnaya Square.” He held out Billi’s new coat for her to put on.

“You’re quite the gentleman, Ivan.” Billi laughed.

“We do things differently in Russia.” His hands lightly brushed her shoulders as he placed it around her. Then he turned her so that they were face-to-face.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked, straightening her collar, his fingers resting on the top button, next to her neck.

Billi flushed. Despite the snowflakes, she was suddenly more than warm enough.

Ivan took a step back and collected his own coat from Dimitri. Then he offered Billi his arm.

“Shall we?”

They moved down the path toward the flames. Music beat across the night sky, a cacophony of clashing beats and drums and guitars, and slowly Billi started to make out groups of people collected like tribes around the open center of the park.

Fire dancers spun fireballs attached to long chains around their bodies in a seamless path of golden light. There were dozens of them: some competing, others showing off or egging one another on. Large steel bins had been placed around the park, each a fire pit that one of the tribes was gathered around.

Despite the subzero temperatures, some of the men were bare-chested, and the orbiting fireballs threw ever-changing patterns of light and shadow over the contours of their bodies.

“Koshchey doesn’t like me coming here,” said Ivan. “He says I shouldn’t mix with ‘peasants.’”

“Is that what you think?” She’d never met a bona fide member of a royal family before. Her own ancestors were thoroughly anti-monarchy. The SanGreals had taken part in the French Revolution. The closest they’d come to royalty was when they’d operated the guillotine.

“Nobility isn’t about coats of arms or titles.” He nodded in the direction of more dancers. “I’ll never be free, like them. Every moment of my life has been dedicated to one purpose. To lead the Bogatyrs. To protect those under me. And as a Romanov, that means Russia.” He sighed. “That’s why I like it here. Just for a short while I can forget what it is to be Ivan Alexeivich Romanov.”

Billi touched his hand. Ivan took it all so seriously. When she’d met him she’d thought he was just about fancy clothes and posh living, but he was more than that. She knew how he felt. Didn’t she feel the same about being a Templar? They were both dedicated to their lives of duty, and nothing else.

“For what it’s worth,” said Billi, “I think you’ll do a great job.”

“If Koshchey lets me.” Ivan gripped her hand. “I’m not so naive as to think he’ll just hand it all over when I turn eighteen. He’s just waiting for me to slip up.”

“Look, if you’re going to get in trouble for being here, we can go.”

“I’m in enough trouble already.” He waved at one of the dancers. The girl smiled as she whirled a pair of burning chains around her body, wrapping herself in an incandescent pattern.

“For helping me?” Billi should have known that there were always going to be consequences for Ivan. “I’m sorry.”

Ivan frowned. “Don’t apologize. You stepped up to protect that girl. It’s what I should have done.”

“You defied the Bogatyrs.” She thought about that talk she’d had in the elevator, about how Ivan was an idealist. “You defied Koshchey.”

“Only because I followed you.” Ivan raised his hand to her cheek. “You have that effect on people. Haven’t you noticed?”