Demon Prince of Mangala Ch. 05

Eventually, a new purpose in his stride, he returned to the ballroom. As he did so he caught sight of his reflection in the window. For a moment he stopped, staring, intrigued - where before his eyes had been sapphires, now they were rubies.

He grinned. The colour of blood, that had to be an omen.

******

Flying north in the dark took them into a rainstorm. Light at first, by the time they neared the Rostov Kremlin heavy drops were drumming on the armoured skin of the flyer. They had sat in silence throughout the journey, Nataliya staring forlornly out of the dark window - her reflection showing the silent tears she cried - Yelena holding her, Vasily slumped in the seat opposite.

In contrast to the brightly lit dacha, with its myriad lanterns, its blazing candelabras, the Rostov Kremlin was almost entirely in darkness, a sparse few lanterns picking out the scattered guards on night watch, a lone light high up in one of the tower rooms.

Despite the hour of the night, their arrival did not go entirely unnoticed. The night guard met the flyer as it landed, running to alert the kremlin to the arrival. So it was that when Yelena walked her in - still crying, her face a mess - her father was waiting, disturbed by the arrival of the flyer so late in the night. As soon as she saw him - his face stricken, worried, his massive bulk looking faintly ridiculous in his long nightgown - she ran to him, throwing herself into his arms, sobbing once again.

"Natasha," he said, his voice rumbling, concerned, wrapping her shaking body in his bearlike arms. He smelt familiar, comforting - of cooking and mint and wine. When he spoke it was to Yelena, above her head. "What's happened? What's wrong?"

"I'm not certain what lies behind it," Yelena said, "but there was an argument. She's been like this since the dacha."

Nataliya buried her face in her father's chest, her tears drying, seeking the security there she had sought as a child. Somewhere between the dacha and home her anger had leached away, leaving her exhausted and bereft and desperately frightened.

"Dacha? What dacha? I thought she was with you?" he said, looking at Yelena, his voice accusing.

"Perhaps Natasha had better explain..." Yelena said awkwardly, taking Vasily's hand.

"Natasha?" he said.

For a while the silence stood between them. From further back in the kremlin she could hear servants moving about, waking. Faintly she heard her mother's voice, drifting from the staircase at the back of the hallway, her arrival slowly stirring the small kremlin into life. Nataliya took a breath, straightening up, looking into her father's soft blue eyes.

"Father, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have done it..." she said quietly.

"Done what?" he said, worried. Then to Yelena, "Is this about a boy?"

From the corner of her eye she saw Yelena nod slowly, unsurely. "It's not Lena's fault, I wanted it, I did it," she said quickly, glancing briefly at Yelena.

"What, Natasha? What have you done?" His hands were on her shoulders, holding her away from him, looking into her eyes, his face worried. "Has someone hurt you?"

Nataliya's lower lip found its way between her teeth. "I've been seeing someone behind your back," she said quickly, rushing to get the words out, to explain. "It ended tonight, we argued, he said some things about you - lies, slanders."

"What? Natasha..." he said, his voice a conflict of emotions - anger, concern, curiosity. "Who? What have they said? What did they do to you? If this is that Bezhukov boy, again..."

"No father, it's not Dmitri," she said, staring at Yelena with a pleading look. "Oh, God... I was seeing Andrey Azarov."

She felt her father flinch. "By the Nine, Natasha! Of all the people..."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry..." She started sobbing once again. "You were right about him, he is a monster... I hate him."

For a moment he held her, hugging her close, his beard tickling her cheek. When he spoke his voice was odd, strained. "Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No, he didn't hurt me." Just my heart, she thought.

"What did he say about me?" he said, his voice hollow, tense.

She looked up at him, curious. He was angry, she could see that, but he was frightened, too. "He said that you were a smuggler of old tech," she said slowly, haltingly. "I told him he was a liar..."

"Oh, God." His face drained of colour, turning ashen. "What else?"

Nataliya stared, her mouth dry. "Oh no..." Suddenly everything was falling into place as quickly as it was falling apart. She looked at Yelena, who was staring back wide eyed. "He said that if you went to the Drissa Falls that you would be caught and executed."

"The Nine help us all," he said, staggering to the base of the staircase, sitting on the lower steps, his face green. "How could he know?"

She stared at him in horrible fascination. It was true. Everything Andrey had said was true. "He told me that they'd caught a courier, that he'd interrogated her."

"Oh God, they'll kill us all," he said, his voice like ashes. "When are they coming?"

"They're not," she said, horror crawling up her spine. What had she done? "Or they weren't..."

Her father looked at her, his face sick. "What do you mean?"

She turned to Yelena. "Oh God, what have I done, Lena?"

Yelena looked aghast, her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. Finally: "You may have just killed us all," she said weakly, her face as white as her father's.

"Natasha, what do you mean they're not coming?" he said, hope pathetic in his voice.

Nataliya felt sick. If what Andrey said was true, he'd lied to the Lord Prince to protect her, to protect her family. What had she done?

"Andrey, he lied to the Lord Prince, kept your name away from him - said he did it to protect me," she said, looking at Yelena, realisation seeping in. "Oh God, I called him a liar, I called him a monster - oh, Lena, did you see how he looked at me at the end?" She staggered, she felt sick, frightened.

"He did that? You mean I'm safe?"

The sound of servants moving around was louder now, her mother's voice clearer. If they were lucky they'd have only a few more moments before they were caught up in the maelstrom that was her mother's organisation.

"Yes, you're safe father. For now," she said, looking at him, her face confused, torn, scared. "But that's not all he said..."

"What do you mean?" Glancing back over his shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps from the floor above. "What did he say, Natasha?"

Again she glanced at Yelena, seeking her support, her eyes frightened. "He said that you were to send me to him when the twins were full," she said, her voice lost and lonely. "Send me to him or he would come for you - for you and for me and for our entire family."

"Oh, Natasha," Yelena said, going to her, holding her tight.

Her father, Prince Fyodor Vladimirovich Rostov, made no reply, hanging his head in his hands.