The Shining Falcon

Chapter II Suspicion

It was dark in the palace corridors, dim and quiet and cool, cool enough for Danilo, boyar, counselor to Svyatoslav, Prince of Stargorod, to be glad of the warmth of his fur-trimmed caftan. A fine-figured man, Danilo, though no longer young: distinguished, greying of hair and beard, proud of bearing. And right now, quite lost in thought, barely aware of the servants following at a respectful distance, barely seeing the familiar, gloriously bright murals covering every bit of wall, gold leaf glowing even in the muted light.

The marriage should do well. It should do well, indeed. Mikhail's son—eh, marriage will steady him. And my dear Vasilissa… Lissa loves young Afron already, or so Maria tells me.

Akh, Maria. Danilo had but the two children, the two daughters, Vasilissa, the elder, the betrothed, and Maria: sensible, clever Maria. If Lissa had inherited most of their poor dead mother's beauty, Maria had her wit and warmth.

Now I must see to her betrothal as well, Danilo told himself firmly. I should have done it years ago. But… I hate the thought of losing her.

Perhaps he'd come to depend on Maria too much. After all, in those dark years after his wife's death, when he'd determined never to wed again, he hadn't been able to turn to Vasilissa—no, the delicate thing, he couldn't burden her. It had been Maria, for all that she was the younger child, who'd pretty much run the household, and run it well.

But he was being selfish, thinking like that. Custom insisted a young woman be wed, and wed Maria would be. Though the girl did keep swearing in that calm way of hers that she would marry only for love.

«For love!» muttered Danilo. Well now, he was long past such youthful foolishness. Love notwithstanding, he intended to find her a husband who was a fine, noble man. «Someone who's worthy of — "

He broke off with a start at the sight of the figure that had suddenly appeared out of the shadows. «Forgive me, Danilo Yaroslavovich," said a man's voice. «I didn't mean to alarm you.»

Danilo peered into the dimness, trying to place that teasingly familiar voice, making out the shape of a fine-boned, pale face, a neat, dark beard—

«Alexei! How did you get in here?»

The young boyar grinned sharply. «I told the guards I had an appointment with you. They, ah, believed me.»

Danilo snorted. «They believed your gold, you mean.» If old Svyatoslav, suspicious enough at the best of times, knew that his guards could be so easily bribed, he'd have their heads! «Alexei," Danilo began again, then stopped, belatedly aware that his servants, uneasy, had surged forward. Impatiently he waved them back, very much aware that for safety's sake he should say nothing to Alexei, he should simply have the man thrown out.

But Alexei was giving him a hesitant, charming, innocent smile, a very familiar smile, and memory prodded Danilo. Even though he knew the man was about as innocent as a fox with a mouthful of chicken, he found himself remembering a younger Alexei, alone and friendless, the not-quite-respectable boyar's son, half peasant, who'd looked at him with just those hopeful, fearful eyes, the youngster he'd impulsively made his aide… It hadn't been that bad a choice; Alexei had proven clever enough, and most of the time his charm had seemed quite genuine. But, Danilo realized with flawless hindsight, there had always been that other Alexei, the inner, secret Alexei he'd never been able to reach, a slyness, a bewildering hardness beneath the innocence.

Maybe not so bewildering. Serge, Alexei's father, had always been a hard man himself, a cold man obsessed with status, never forgiving himself for his weakness with that pretty peasant girl, never forgiving his son for being less than pure of blood.

Maybe, Danilo thought with a touch of guilt, if I'd spent more time with the boy …

Dammit! Even now, Alexei still had the sly knack of making everyone else take the blame for his behavior.

No longer. Danilo had done what he could. He'd tried to show the boy there was such a thing as trust, and honor, and stability, and if he'd failed—

No, dammit, he hadn't failed! This wasn't a matter of some minor error in Danilo's account books or a midnight romp with a merchant's daughter. Alexei wasn't a child anymore.

«I doubt this is a chance meeting," Danilo said dryly. «You'd speak with me. Of what?»

«You know of what.» The younger man fell in beside him, voice soft and earnest. «Were you to speak with our prince about me — "

«No.»

«Please, hear me out. I've changed, truly I have. I — "

«No!»

«Danilo! We—we were friends once.»

«Until you betrayed my trust!» Danilo glanced back at the curious servants, then caught the younger man by the arm and virtually dragged him into the privacy of an alcove. «Alexei, I did speak to him once in your behalf! Have you forgotten? I vouched for you. And Prince Svyatoslav believed me. He gave you a position in his retinue, an honorable post. And how did you repay him? How did you repay me? You tried to steal from the royal coffers!»

«Oh, I only — "

«Don't lie to me! Do you know how close I came to being banished for your crime? You know, you surely must know, how quick to mistrust our prince can be— Yes, and even then, I was fool enough to pity you! Even then I was fool enough to risk my post and maybe even my life to argue in your behalf. And if I hadn't done so, you'd still be languishing in the royal prison. So don't come whimpering to me, man. I've done with you!»

The handsome head drooped. «It's true.» Alexei's voice was resonant with sorrow. «I was wrong. I admit it.» He glanced up beseechingly. «And I thank you for your help, you surely know that.»

«Alexei…»

«I have no genuine excuses. But I—I was younger then, and frightened, and foolish. I had debts — "

«Debts! You practically ran through your father's entire estate!»

Alexei's eyes glittered. «I was a fool. I won't make such a mistake again. Please, just tell the prince — "

«Again, no!»

«You're holding my birth against me, aren't you? That's it, isn't it?»

«For God's sake, man, don't whine. And stop trying to blame your mother's blood for your faults. There are men of full peasant stock I'd trust sooner than I'd trust you!»

«But can't you simply — "

«No! Alexei, you lie as easily as you breathe; it took me too long to realize it. There hasn't been any miraculous reformation. Oh no, you're the same sly, slippery Alexei you've always been. I've already endangered myself—yes, and my family, too—for you, and I'm not about to be such a fool again! The prince has been gracious enough to allow you back into the city. Be content with that.»

«You can't mean it. Surely — "

«Can't I?»

«Danilo! You're my only hope!»

«Then you'll be hopeless! Good day to you.»

There was stunned silence. And then, «You'll regret this.» For an instant the studied innocence was quite gone from Alexei's voice, and Danilo whirled to stare at him.

«What's this? A threat?»

«Oh no, of course not.»

Alexei bowed, straightening slowly, watching the boyar leave, then clenched his fists to stop their trembling. How could Danilo do this to him? Danilo, with his so superior airs, looking down on the poor little half-peasant, always lecturing him, always trying to get him to «do the right thing," which meant think like Danilo, act like Danilo—

Damn Danilo! One word from the boyar, and Alexei would have been returned to rank, to wealth…

To safety. Alexei shuddered. He had been so sure the man would forgive him just this one more time. How could Danilo turn against him? Saying his own life had been in danger—what nonsense. The man was a court favorite. Surely he'd have been able to wriggle out of peril, come what may.

Talking about his position and his safety—What about my safety? Doesn't he care what happens to me?

That made Alexei abruptly remember the creditors who were all but breathing down his neck, of his gambling debts and—worse—those to whom the debts were owed, and he began to tremble in earnest.

All right. So Danilo would play his sanctimonious little games, would he? Two could play at games. Maybe Danilo wouldn't sponsor him at court. But the man would still help him, like it or not. After all, Danilo was vulnerable. He had his daughters, his dear Vasilissa and Maria…

And for all the cold fear sickening him, Alexei managed a thin smile. «A threat, Danilo?» he said aloud, so softly it was a whisper. «No threat. A promise.»

It was market day in Stargorod, the great open square at the city's heart crowded with booths set up on cobblestones worn smooth over the generations. The air was heavy with musk and lavender, cumin and cooking oil, and fairly rang with laughter, song, the squealing of frightened pigs and the singsong chants of the merchants. Colors flashed, red, blue, gold, as pennants, cloaks, and wide-sleeved caftans caught the shifting breeze. Those city folk not actively engaged in buying or selling furs or gems or cabbages and carrots were busy watching the dancing bear or the jugglers or the minstrel with his sweet-stringed gusla. For this one day, boyars and commons swirled together in a wild, happy wave.

Only Maria Danilovna stood motionless, Maria of the long brown braids and worried brown eyes, barely aware of the servant‑loyal, stocky Sasha—standing protectively by her side. The young woman bit her lip, trying to keep her face impassive all the while her heart was pounding wildly as other servants hunted all that large, crowded square for her sister.

Where can she be?

They'd come to the great market together, Maria and Vasilissa, with the retinue of servants no noblewoman went without. Vasilissa, as ever, had been lecturing her younger sister on the decorum proper to a boyar's daughter. No, Maria mustn't stop to listen to a mere peasant storyteller, love the old tales though she might, and no, Maria mustn't think of buying some mere peasant-woven ribbons, pretty though they might be. And, as ever, Maria had been letting the lecturing drift by her, interjecting a docile «Yes, Lissa," or «Of course, Lissa.» She'd learned from sad experience that it was the easiest way to keep the peace.

But then the running monologue had stopped, a fact that had taken Maria, her thoughts for away, a moment to realize. When she'd looked up in surprise, she'd found to her shock that Vasilissa was gone. Somehow, despite all that entourage of servants, she'd managed to slip away, to simply‑disappear.

Maria fought down images of her beautiful, elegant, naive sister in the hands of ruffians, slavers. Surely Lissa had more sense than to get snared by such as those! And yet, behind the lecturing and the facade of stern propriety was a certain… fragility of mind, a fragility their father simply refused to see, sheltering the young woman as he would some rare, delicate flower. Lissa saw things sometimes, ghosts or spirits or visions from the past: things that just weren't there. The aftermath of one of these sightings or wide-awake dreams or whatever they were (Maria flinched away from that all-too-easy word, «madness») tended to leave her almost morbidly depressed. But she was, Maria knew, capable of the most incredibly swift shifts of mood, of action taken without a thought to the consequences.

«It'll be all right," Sasha soothed roughly. «You'll see, young mistress, it'll be all right.»

Maybe it would, at that. Maybe Lissa had wanted some time alone… No, with her betrothed, of course! There was no denying that Vasilissa had fallen madly in love with her handsome husband-to-be, while he… At least he was in love with the idea of being in love, thought Maria, wishing her father had picked a man of strong enough character to give Lissa the strength she lacked. But Afron was every bit as flighty as Vasilissa, and if the two of them had decided it would be daring and romantic to snatch some unchaperoned kisses, they would have conveniently forgotten the tongues eager to gossip.

«Akh, Lissa, I'm not against the idea of love, I'm not. But I only wish you wouldn't—Lissa!»

That last was a shout, because she'd caught a sudden glimpse of her sister. And that had almost certainly been Afron with her, the two of them running guiltily down that alley.

But—had there been a third person with them, beckoning them on?

«Boyarevna Vasilissa!» cried Sasha. «Boyarevna, wait!»

Of course she didn't wait. Maria gave a sharp little sigh. Much as she'd like to simply let the two have their fun, her father would be the first to suffer if the ridiculous laws of propriety weren't observed. «We can't wait for the others. Sasha, hurry!»

The alley, little more than a space between houses, twisted its convoluted way between windowless, wooden back walls, splitting off again and again into a maze of paths. It was so abruptly quiet back here after the noise of the market that Maria's ears rang.

«I don't see her," she said over her shoulder to Sasha. «There are so many ways — "

A sharp whistle of air cut into her words, a crack of a blow. Maria whirled just in time to see the man crumpling to the ground.

«Sasha!»

Horrified, she dropped to his side. Was he… Thank the Lord, he was still breathing. There was an angry red mark on his forehead, a round pebble on the ground—a sling, someone had struck him down with a sling!

But who—why—

And then they strolled into view: four rough men, roughly clad, one of them still swinging his sling casually in one hand, and all of them with hard, predatory smiles.

And here I am, thought Maria desperately, a young woman alone, dressed in what's obviously an expensive caftan—oh, wonderful!

Trying to buy time, she snapped, «What do you want?»

They chuckled. «What do you think?»

While they were wasting those few seconds in swagger, Maria had the chance to palm Sasha's knife and quietly slip it into her wide sleeve. Now what? No point in wasting breath in screaming—not with only blank walls to hear her, and everybody probably at the market anyway, the market with all its noise. And she was no warrior-woman out of the ballads, to defeat all these scum. That left only…

Maria burst up and away without warning, hearing startled curses behind her as she ran with all her might. If only she could find her way back through this maze to the market's safety!

Of course the men weren't going to let her go so easily. Maria heard footsteps pounding loudly in her ears. But when a rough hand snatched at her sleeve, she slashed out wildly with the knife. There was a yelp of pain and her sleeve was abruptly released, and Maria ran on, grinning in a way that rather shocked herself. Now, if only she could somehow manage to lose the rest of the men-No, oh no! There were more of them, coming at her from a new direction! This can't be a casual attack! she thought in terror. It can't be. This has to have been planned!

No time to worry about it. She was being herded, no doubt about it, herded into this one passageway—that ended in a blank wall. Trapped, Maria whirled to face her hunters, knife in hand, fierce with rage and fear.

But she was no trained fighter, and there were just too many of them. They were being overtly careful not to hurt her, and that care added to her terror. She lunged, but then the knife was being jerked out of her grasp, and strong arms were pinning her against the wall for all her frantic scratching and biting and kicking.

Even in the heat of that desperate struggle, some cool, sane part of her mind was noting, They're wearing boots. Under those rags are fine leather boots!

What good did that do her? In a moment they'd have her down, and then—

And then, amazingly, the rough arms were falling away from her. Amazingly, her attackers were running in all directions, pursued by someone's servants—Alexei! Here he was in all his dark-bearded handsomeness, asking her earnestly:

«Are you all right? My dear, are you all right?»

Only sheer pride kept her from bursting into tears. Lost in helpless shudderings, Maria could only nod.

«My home is nearby," Alexei was continuing in a solicitous tone. «You remember, I have a house in the city. Come, you'll be safe there.»

She was too shaken not to go with him. He must have spoken to her, but Maria didn't hear a word. Indeed, she didn't really begin to come back to herself till she was in the boyar's small hall, seated across a table from him, holding a cup of wine that she needed both hands to steady lest she spill it all over herself. God, that had been a narrow escape!

No; if she kept thinking about it, she'd collapse. And still that cool, sane little voice in her mind was insisting, Something's not right.

Maria let her gaze wander about the small room, noting signs of barely concealed poverty in threadbare rugs, worn furnishings. The walls had once been painted in bright, old-fashioned style, stiff, archaic figures against a sky-blue background, but now the paint was sadly faded, so stained and peeling that it was difficult to tell if the images were holy men or heroes. One figure, so worn that only its eyes remained, seemed to stare at her, pleading or pitying, till Maria, fighting down a shudder, looked down at her winecup instead, noting for the first time that it was of cheap, common pewter, not silver. It was true then: Alexei was at the point of bancruptcy, too proud to soil his hands with work, too drawn by the love of gambling to save himself.

But why was he studying her like this? Why did his eyes glitter with passion? All at once Maria began to wonder very much about that so obviously planned attack, and the fine leather boots on men in rags, and the perfectly timed rescue.

«Alexei," she began slowly, «I'm very grateful for your help. But how is it you chanced to be there just at that very moment?»

He gave her a charming smile. «Why, good fortune, Maria Danilovna. Good fortune. You see, the city guards can't be everywhere, and so I have my own men patrol the area about my house. It happened that I was with them this day.»

«I see.» But her hands were beginning to tremble anew, and Maria clenched them fiercely about the winecup. «Boyar Alexei, I may be wrong about this. And if I am, I sincerely crave your pardon. But—what had you to do with Vasilissa?»

His expression of surprise was just a bit too perfect. «I? Why, nothing, boyarevna! She's betrothed, isn't she? What should I have to do with a betrothed woman?»

«Then you'll deny I saw Lissa and her betrothed—and you—running towards this house?»

«Why, my dear, what a thing to say!»

«Alexei, stop it. I'm not the little girl who was bedazzled by your charm. Did I or did I not see you guiding them here?»

His elegant glance seemed to caress her, gently admiring. «No longer a little girl at all," he murmured, voice smooth as dark velvet. A small shiver of response ran up Maria's spine, and angry at herself, she snapped:

«Answer me!»

«Temper doesn't become you.» He paused, then added thoughtfully, just before she could explode, «Of course, it is possible that I might have yielded to romance and let a certain young couple have a bit of privacy on my small lands.»

Maria stiffened. Very carefully she put down the half-filled cup of wine lest she hurl it into his smiling face. «And you made certain I'd see them, didn't you?»

«Did I?»

Curse it, she wasn't going to let that smooth voice be-guile her! «You timed the whole thing very nicely, Vasilissa and my attackers, and the so‑called rescue‑it must have taken every one of your servants.»

«Oh, it did," he admitted, smile fading just a bit. «But how did you suspect?»

«My God, Alexei, if you're going to set a trap for someone, think of the details! Ruffians don't wear expensive boots.»

«Ah. Of course.»

The smile had gone completely; Alexei never had liked being corrected, Maria remembered. She hurried on, «The whole thing was a trap for me? But—but why? What could you possibly hope to gain?»

«You," he said simply.

«What!»

«You, my dear.» The velvet was back in his voice. Before she could move, his hands had snared hers, so quickly she barely had a chance to release the winecup, holding her with a grip so firm it was almost painful. His eyes burned into hers, sending renewed shivers racing through her.

«Alexei, let me go.»

«Not yet. Not till you hear me out. Don't you see, Maria? Did you never guess? Do you not remember that

Maria felt herself blush. They'd both been barely more than children, he enough her senior to have little to do with her. Till that day he'd cornered her in an empty hallway and seen her for the first time as girl rather than child. «I slapped your face.»

«But you didn't tell your father.»

Tell him what? That Alexei had let her go the moment after his lips had brushed hers, suddenly remembering who and what she was? That for all her shock and anger she hadn't exactly disliked the experience? «It was nothing.»

«But you do remember.»

She tried to pull her hands free, but he only tightened his grip. Some women might have enjoyed the feeling of being held helpless like this, Maria supposed in growing unease, but the man's air of casual superiority infuriated her. «Are you actually trying to seduce me, Alexei?»

«And would that be such a terrible thing?»

«It would be an astonishing foolish thing!»

«Akh, Maria, did you never guess? Did you never before notice how I watched you all the years you were growing up, you and your sister—oh, hers is the quick, elegant beauty, but you, with your radiant charm… Many a time I ached, burned, to take you in my arms, Maria, but your father would never let me — "

«Stop it.» No other man had ever spoken to her like this; they'd all been too dazzled by Vasilissa. She might have believed him. She wanted to believe him. But in his contempt for her sense, her willpower, he'd gone too far. This was just too polished a speech to be genuine. Maria thought of all the poor, simple, silly young women who must have been snared by it, and torn by regret and pain and a rage that nearly left her breathless, she gasped out, «Alexei, let me go.»

«No, my dear, not till — "

«Stop it!» With a surge of panicky strength, she twisted her hands free. «What do you really want?»

Alexei paused, studying her, still smiling faintly. «Akh, fierce young woman. Clever woman! I spoke the truth. I want you.»

«Liar!»

The smallest hint of anger flickered into life in his eyes. He continued, with only the slightest roughening of the urbane voice, «Why, my dear, such a bitter word doesn't belong on such lovely lips.»

«Liar, I say!»

She started to scramble to her feet, but he caught one wide sleeve of her caftan and pulled her sharply down again. «I told you that temper doesn't become you, Maria.» The velvet had been replaced by steel. «But I will kiss it away and — "

«You never learn, do you? I don't want you. "

«You will.»

He leaned slowly towards her, eyes hot. And Maria slapped him. It wasn't as hard a blow as she'd have liked, what with the table so awkwardly between them, but she made a point. Alexei released her with a hiss, face gone cold and deadly.

«That was a foolish thing, Maria. So now, my dear, you want the truth? I do want you. Oh no, not from any overblown sense of the romantic. But, as I said, you're a clever woman. Figure it out.»

«I won't play games with you.»

He sighed. «So be it. You know I'm still in disgrace with our most unforgiving prince. Without a court position, my fortune is fading rapidly. I barely have enough gold left to maintain this house in proper style.»

The chill, calculating passion in his eyes frightened her. As coldly as she could manage, Maria spat, «What's this? Am I supposed to pity you?»

«My dear, I hardly care. Your father might have helped to restore my place in Svyatoslav's good graces. But he refused me. This time he isn't going to be so hasty.»

«You can't actually be planning to hold me for ransom!»

«Oh, no. My intentions are quite honorable.» He added with deliberate malice—revenge on her for her blow — «I would have preferred your pretty, pliable sister, but she is already as good as wed. That left only you.»

Maria stared at him in disbelief. «You can't be meaning to marry me!»

«Can't I?»

«But there are dozens of unmarried women. Go to them!»

Alexei shook his head gently. «No. Your father alone has both the wealth sufficient to replenish mine and the social rank high enough to bolster my … sadly sagging reputation. And there's a certain lovely justice in my becoming his son‑in-law, don't you agree?» His smile hardened. «Think, girl. We're alone. There's no one to help you. One way or another, Maria, I do mean to have you. One way or another, there will be a wedding.»

She refused to let him see her fear. Unable to meet his gaze, she moved quickly to the room's one window, staring blankly out, mind racing with panic—

Until she noticed the garden below. Soft earth… and it wasn't so far to the ground, not so far at all, and the wall beyond it looked quite scalable… She remembered her younger days, scandalizing the household with her tree climbing…

But then Alexei was at her side, putting his hands possessively on her shoulders, and Maria pulled away, returning to the table.

«There will be no wedding," she said firmly.

«Come, let's be civilized.» Alexei moved smoothly to her side. «You'll have to marry someone. And who's to say the man your father picks won't be old, or ugly, or cruel? I'm still young, and I know you don't find me uncomely, and as your husband, I'll treat you kindly enough. And when I'm your father's son‑in-law," continued Alexei blithely, «why, he'll treat me kindly as well, and we'll all live happily forevermore, just like folk in a minstrel's tale.»

«No! Alexei, this is ridiculous. Let me go. Let me go, and I won't say anything about — "

«Oh no, my dear.»

With that, he lunged at her. Maria didn't wait to learn what he intended. With one quick twist of the wrist, she neatly flipped the contents of her winecup full in his face. Alexei gasped, clawing the stinging wine out of his eyes, but Maria was up and away, out the window before she had a chance to think twice about it, hanging by her hands for an instant, then letting go, falling, landing in a breathless but undamaged heap. Back in the house, Alexei was swearing in a choked voice, but he hadn't called to his guards, not yet—

«Maria!»

It was a horrified gasp. Maria scrambled to her feet to find Vasilissa staring at her, a rather rumpled and red-faced Vasilissa, and with her an equally disconcerted Afron, tall and golden and weak of chin. Maria caught her breath enough to say sharply, «We're leaving. Now.»

«But where—how‑Maria! Wait!» Lissa grabbed her by the arm, whispering frantically, «You can't tell Father where we were!»

Maria glared, jerking her arm free, ready to spit out some furious reply. But the childlike panic she saw in those big eyes made her bite back what she was going to say and mutter instead, «I wasn't planning to.»

«But what on earth are you doing here?» Vasilissa, shaky with relief, was struggling to slide back into proper aristocracy. «Alone, with a man — "

«I wasn't the only one! And this is hardly the time or place for a—a chat!» Maria whirled to the two men at the gates. «Guards! Open those gates! Stand aside!»

It was her father's tone of voice. And it worked. Startled, the guards obeyed. But then they were looking uneasily past her, and Maria spun about to see Alexei, winestains darkening the front of his clothing, anger darkening his pale face. «Good day, my lord," said Maria hastily, and virtually dragged her sister out to safety, praying Alexei wouldn't try to stop them.

But Alexei made not the slightest move to stop them. As Maria and Vasilissa and the sheepish Afron hurried off, Alexei merely stood, as though turned to stone.

«My lord?» It was one of the guards. «My lord, should we go after them?»

«No, you fool! Leave me.»

«But — "

«Leave me!»

The guard bowed, cringing from that cold, cold face, never guessing at the terror lurking behind the frozen facade or twisting at Alexei's bowels.

His creditors; his debts. The debts that now he could never hope to pay… Assuming those creditors let him live long enough to worry about it…

Oh, God!

How could things have gone so wrong? It had seemed such a simple, foolproof plan: frighten the girl, play the gallant rescuer, have her fall about his neck in gratitude… But she'd thrown him off balance right at the start by being so damnably clever about those leather boots— Why hadn't he remembered to warn his men not to wear them?

Yes, but even so, Maria had been weakening beneath his charm; he'd felt it. He should have been able to win her over quickly enough, with pleasure in the winning for both of them; clever creature though she was, she was still only a young woman, innocent in the ways of men. But‑dammit, how could things have gone so wrong?

I had her! I had her, and a way out of this mess, and I let her escape!

So what if the foolish thing had thought she wasn't willing? It would have been so simple, so easy—some quick, rough bed-sport (who knew? she might even have enjoyed it!), a few tears, and the girl would have agreed to wed him. She would have had to wed him, or have the whole city know she'd been ruined.

But he'd underestimated her and her nerve, there it was. He'd let her escape. Now she would go straight to Danilo. And that, realized Alexei in new horror, would be the end of everything.

Danilo again! Alexei bared his teeth in a hating grin, remembering all the years he'd needed to be humble to the man, all the years he'd forced himself to bow beneath that condescending kindness.

Danilo, always in his way. Proud Danilo, honorable Danilo‑Damn the man!

Alexei drew in his breath with a sharp hiss. All right, then. No more playing about. It would have been simpler, safer, to have married Maria, but there was still a way out. In his strongbox were certain letters, forged with care by a scribe who knew how to let himself be bought, and how to stay bought. They had cost Alexei a good deal of gold, those letters. But what price glory? Or his life?

It was a risky plan. It might not work, and failure might well mean his death.

And if he played the noble fool, and did nothing? Why, it was just a matter of which death he preferred: the mercifully swift axe of the headsman—or the clubs and daggers of his creditors: a dark alley, and pain, and himself left broken, to bleed out his life in the filth…

No, he mustn't think of that. He must think only of seeing himself elevated, and Danilo humbled! And old Svyatoslav was such a suspicious sort… Oh, it might work after all. It would work! And when it did, all hail Alexei—and farewell Danilo.