When she had first pulled herself out of it and had begun sneaking here on her own, she knew instinctively what to do. He just needed to remind her.
Mikhail watched the transformation as Anastasia began using her magic without hesitation. It flowed from her effortlessly. She followed the woman around the kitchen, gently grasping bread loaves and jars of pickled herring, amplifying them like Christ until the kitchen was full - a true miracle.
The rest of the family was now crowded by the door in awe. Some of the siblings ran outside, grabbing neighbors, people on the street, friends, family members. Soon, a small crowd had gathered in the impossibly small doorway to watch Anastasia work. The transformation in her face left Mikhail breathless.
It was as though her layers were peeled away from her, revealing a woman who walked in total faith in herself with the support of the world at her back.
She laughed and chatted easily with the matriarch, the magic flowing between her fingers as though it was an extension of her — and it was. Mikhail looked upon her face with a proud adoration, feeling a sharp pang of regret as he realized how stifled and trapped Anastasia lived daily.
He wasn’t much better; living at the monastery had changed him forever. He still harbored conflicting feelings for Anastasia.
Everything about his existence had been centered around the idea of revenge onGrand Duchess Anastasia. It had defined him, drove him through all of the abuse at the monastery, swearing that he would get justice for his mother’s death.
Asya. The woman who had made him swear to protect the Romanov magic. The woman whose death was a chasm between them. Mikhail felt himself cursing under his breath, wondering how Asya had managed to bring them together and, at the same time, keep them apart.
Because you two won’t drop your pride.Mikhail heard his mother’s voice in his head.You’re too afraid you won’t accept each other once the scars are out.
There was an outburst of laughter, and Mikhail looked up. Anastasia entertained a small group of children with dancing sparks, making shapes of animals in the air.
He realized that he was staring, his jaw nearly down to the floor. Anastasia looked so full of life it paralyzed him. There was a love for her gift that he saw in her eyes when she used magic here as if she felt the purpose behind it.
It wasn’t this terrifying thing that was pent up inside of her, driving her mad, but something that could better someone else’s life. Her magic confused her — and at this moment, she loved it.
I thought I knew captivity,Mikhail thought to himself,but at least I had sunshine. I even ate better than she did. I went outdoors. It wasn’t so bad once they accepted I wouldn’t take the vows.
“Mikhail!” Anastasiagiggled.He looked up at the sound, utterly enraptured, as he struggled with the inability to release his hatreds and heal.
It was a conflict that both he and Anastasia were dealing with and had made little progress in over the weeks.
“Yes, Anya?” He smiled, pushing off the wall where he had been leaning with one foot, and walked over to her. Anastasia’s breath caught in her throat. She often forgot howbighe was until he moved closer to her, the bun piled on his head nearly brushing the top of the low ceiling.
“Duck!” Her smile was bright like her magic as she tossed a ball of sparks in Mikhail’s face. They exploded all over him like dandelion seeds. He started sneezing uncontrollably, the magic tickling his face as he waved the last of the sparks away.
“Anya!” Mikhail couldn’t stop himself from grinning — he couldn’t even begin to be bothered when Anastasia was in front of him,smiling. Laughing. Joking.
When his vision cleared a second later, she was crouched on the floor with several of the children. They all exploded in giggles and ran to hide behind the kitchen counter.
Mikhail opened his mouth to let Anastasia know they needed to leave soon when the door to the small home shuttered open with a bang.
It got everyone’s attention, and the small crowd turned, seeing the family’s oldest son standing in the doorway.
He was wearing the iron collar from the boyar, with large spikes sticking out to prevent him from lying down or sitting comfortably.
It was a cruel practice. The sight of it made Mikhail sick to his stomach as it always did — he had seen a lot of the practice at the monastery. The boy offered a small smile, embarrassed that he had accidentally drawn so much attention to himself.
“Come here,” Anastasia’s voice broke the tension, and Mikhail turned to look at her. She stood from where she had been sitting with the children and held out a hand to the young boy.
He walked toward her without fear, which was more than Mikhail could say for himself when he had first met Anastasia.
He studied her face and tried to decipher the emotion that was on it. Her brow was furrowed, and she tossed her long, blonde braid over one shoulder. She laid a delicate hand on the boy’s shoulder; her sleeves always pulled down over her knuckles.
Mikhail watched as she closed her eyes and began to focus, her expression contorting as if she was deep in thought.
The atmosphere in the room changed as the air was electrified. With a sudden gust of wind, half of the lights went out, causing the crowd in the room to gasp and huddle closer to one another.
Anastasia didn’t seem to notice; her eyes still screwed shut as a sheen of sweat began to break out across her forehead.
A small whirlwind began to circulate around Anastasia, trapping her in a vortex as her skirts whipped around her ankles. The boy just stared at her, transfixed, with a small smile on his face. Whatever she was doing didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest.
