Will you? she wants to ask, but she knows that he is telling the
truth. He had always struck her as a capable man, able to find a way to
survive in a time when there was no guarantee. Russia was swept red with
more than just the color of the Party, the fervor of the cause. Anya knew
as well as he did that survival had not been guaranteed for him if he were
to return to Russia. If they sent him to kill her, gave him an order than
he did not obey then his superiors would make an example of him. A
failure to follow through, allowing the last Romanov to continue to live
would be a form of treason.
Even the rumor of her existence had been dangerous, sweeping like a warm
breeze through a freezing Leningrad. Hope had brought the Bolsheviks to
power. It could just as easily take it away from them once more.
The streets are not that busy. There's a smattering of shoppers, people
coming and going from jobs and offices. It will get busier the closer they
get to the train station. The massive tree and all of the lights, with a
skating rink that will bring out the children. It's still early enough that
many are still at work. A smile slips once more onto her face at the
simple fact of Christmas after so many years without one. It doesn't
feel like the ones that she had known, half-recalled from the recesses of
her mind. It won't feel the same without the family she'd had the last time
one had been so openly celebrated. But the brightness of the feeling, the
merriment still feels contagious. It isn't New Year's Eve, a bigger, more
festive holiday back home, but it is still welcome. The day of the year
Christmas falls on is off, but she has heard from the few other Russians
she's encountered that she'll get used to it.
"Neither have I," she agrees. With a turn of her head, she considers him
outside of all that he has told her, all that he is. Gleb can't be much
older than she is. "It's been a long time since Christmas was celebrated in
Russia. But this isn't a Russian Christmas. It's &mdash" pausing, she waves
a hand towards the garlands creeping up the lampposts, the displays in the
windows. "Something entirely else. Much noisier."
no subject
Will you? she wants to ask, but she knows that he is telling the truth. He had always struck her as a capable man, able to find a way to survive in a time when there was no guarantee. Russia was swept red with more than just the color of the Party, the fervor of the cause. Anya knew as well as he did that survival had not been guaranteed for him if he were to return to Russia. If they sent him to kill her, gave him an order than he did not obey then his superiors would make an example of him. A failure to follow through, allowing the last Romanov to continue to live would be a form of treason.
Even the rumor of her existence had been dangerous, sweeping like a warm breeze through a freezing Leningrad. Hope had brought the Bolsheviks to power. It could just as easily take it away from them once more.
The streets are not that busy. There's a smattering of shoppers, people coming and going from jobs and offices. It will get busier the closer they get to the train station. The massive tree and all of the lights, with a skating rink that will bring out the children. It's still early enough that many are still at work. A smile slips once more onto her face at the simple fact of Christmas after so many years without one. It doesn't feel like the ones that she had known, half-recalled from the recesses of her mind. It won't feel the same without the family she'd had the last time one had been so openly celebrated. But the brightness of the feeling, the merriment still feels contagious. It isn't New Year's Eve, a bigger, more festive holiday back home, but it is still welcome. The day of the year Christmas falls on is off, but she has heard from the few other Russians she's encountered that she'll get used to it.
"Neither have I," she agrees. With a turn of her head, she considers him outside of all that he has told her, all that he is. Gleb can't be much older than she is. "It's been a long time since Christmas was celebrated in Russia. But this isn't a Russian Christmas. It's &mdash" pausing, she waves a hand towards the garlands creeping up the lampposts, the displays in the windows. "Something entirely else. Much noisier."