“How?!” Mikhail looked at the crowd. “This is chaos, Anya. No one emerges from fights like these. Please, I’ve seen them. Live another day with me, please!”
“Like this,” Anastasia squared her shoulders and looked at him in defiance. “Are you with me?”
Silence fell between the two of them as the sounds of the skirmish faded away. They looked at one another, and Asya’s words rang in Mikhail’s head.
Encourage the Romanov magic.
Mikhail looked at Anastasia and wrapped his hand around the back of Anastasia’s head, pulling her closer. He kissed her in a way that let the past and the future fade away from them, Mikhail letting out a grunt against her lips as he forced himself away from her just as quickly.
“I’m with you,” he nodded, and Anastasia grinned. She turned on her heel — facing the worst of the fray — and threw her hands up in the air.
A sweeping wave of magic began rolling up towards them from behind, feeling like the beginning tremors of an earthquake.
Mikhail ducked and nearly fell as the force erupted from behind them, Anastasia’s hands throwing it forward. The air seemed to move around her as her hands exploded in bright, golden light, grabbing the attention of all of those around her.
Some people squealed and others screamed as Anastasia looked like an Orthodox saint reborn for vengeance. She screamed as she controlled the sweeping waves of magic, sending the forcefield into the line of soldiers.
It hit them in a crash, sending them falling and scattering like bowling pins. The other soldiers around them fell over, almost in shock.
A few attempted to stand again, the men who had been hit with her magic looking dazed and confused. The people around Anastasia began to cheer as they realized that she was fighting for them. Her hair was slipping out of its braid, and she had a manic look on her face.
Mikhail stood behind her — always faithful and watching her back — as his mind drifted to how her body was holding up under the constraints of using such power. Once the group of soldiers had recovered from the shock, it only took a few seconds for them to all train their rifles on Anastasia.
“Anastasia!” Mikhail shouted from behind her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling them both to the ground. Her concentration on her magic broke, sending another shockwave through the ground around them.
Peasants and soldiers alike for blocks fell, window panes shaking against the walls. As soon as they hit the ground, a volley of bullets went buzzing past them in the air.
Anastasia jumped up to her feet; her mind consumed with one thing as her magic danced across her hands. The soldiers were so dumbfounded by what they had seen that they began tripping over one another to get away from her.
There were cries all around them: from the peasants who believed her a saint and the soldiers who were convinced she was a sinner. The mysterious priest without his collar with her only sent the crowd into a Revelations-inspired panic.
The car began to gather more traction as people cleared away, stray bullets still flying all around her. Anastasia didn’t know if her father had recognized her — but the soldiers certainly had.
Anastasia’s magic was no longer a secret. It was one thing to help people in the shadows, but this open act of warfare against the Imperial troops was a declaration made public.
Both Anastasia and Mikhail needed to be prepared to face the consequences. The word would spread: Anastasia Romanov had magic, a mysterious priest at her back, and used her poweragainsther father.
Soldiers moved to follow the car, their command more focused on protecting the Tsar than worrying about returning violence against the revolutionaries in the street.
The bullets had died down, but the people began throwing things at the retreating motorcade. The crowds swarmed the streets as they collected their loved ones and helped those who were injured. The ground was streaked with blood as protestors slowly stood and began dusting themselves off.
Anastasia’s eyes stayed with the bodies that didn’t get up, the ones being covered by shrouds, sheets, or shirts — whatever was on hand.
“Anya,” Mikhail stood, his hand reaching for her shoulder. She was still primed for a fight, looking around as the magic flickered between her fingers.
Down the street, the motorcade had cleared the densest part of the crowd, picking up speed and disappearing on its way back to the palace. He knew what the expression was on her face. It was one that he had experienced a million times over during his time at the monastery.
She was unable to control the adrenaline coursing through her, her chest heaving with the effort to get enough air into her lungs; she couldn’t see that the threat was gone, not when there was so much death.
He maneuvered in front of her and put his hands on both of her shoulders, rubbing her arms up and down.
“Release it,” Mikhail said softly, ducking down so he was able to look her in the eye. Anastasia’s expression was wild, her nose bleeding. “Let go of the anger. It’s over. You can’t hold on like this when the fight is over or you’ll hurt yourself.”
He gave her shoulders another squeeze, and Anastasia started blinking rapidly as if she was coming back into her body.
“They fired into the crowd,” she hissed, “At innocent people. They only have weapons to defend themselves! Why is he even out here?”
Mikhail opened his mouth to respond when a middle-aged woman ran up to them, interrupting.
