sneak out, miss,” said Masha.
“True, but knowing my father, there’s a good chance he will soon feel remorse for his outburst and come to apologize to me.”
“But surely if you’ve said you’re feeling unwell, he wouldn’t try to wake you if you don’t answer the door.”
Galina gnawed briefly on her lip, a nervous habit she’d picked up of late, no doubt from the strain of keeping so many grave secrets. “He can be a tad impulsive and has, on more than one occasion, forgotten that I am now a grown woman and barged into my chambers, despite my scoldings. No, I think you had better bring Mathilde here.”
“But, miss, then she’ll know who you are.”
“There’s a risk either way, and if I have to choose between the possibility of overt discovery by someone who is not yet an ally, and revealing sensitive information to a confirmed ally, I choose the latter.”
Masha clearly didn’t like the idea, but she nodded. “As you say, miss. I’ll go fetch her at once.”
“And if my parents ask who she is, tell them she’s an herbalist you are acquainted with who you hope will be able to soothe my unsettled stomach.”
“Yes, miss.”
Once Masha was gone, Galina sighed and sat down in the chair next to the fire. She had been looking forward to shedding her corset and gown, slipping into a nightgown, and curling up in bed with a book, and perhaps a glass of warm milk. But at the same time, she could not deny the thrill she felt at this new element of intrigue.
Shortly after Masha left her chambers, her father arrived with the anticipated apology.
“I thought you were getting ready for bed, Galechka,” he said when she answered the door.
“Masha has gone to fetch an herbalist, Papa.”
His brow furrowed. “Oh, dear, is it that bad?”
“I’m afraid so, Papa.” She made her way slowly back to the chair beside the fire. Having always been thin and sickly looking, people rarely questioned her claims of illness.
“Hopefully the stress of my near outburst in front of the commander and Sebastian’s mother did not exacerbate your condition,” he said contritely. “I know how truly fond you are of Sebastian, and that you would be greatly distressed if he was forced to break off the engagement for political reasons.”
“Please don’t worry yourself, Papa. I know you did the best you could.”
He sighed and looked into the crackling hearth. “I still remember what it was like before the empire came. When the nobility truly had power in Izmoroz, rather than merely being figureheads for the commander and his lackeys to push around. When we lost the war, it was… a difficult adjustment. I thought it would get easier…” He glanced back at her, the glare from the fireplace gleaming in his glasses so that they masked his eyes. “But it hasn’t. If anything, it grows harder each year.”
Galina wished she could bring her father into her confidence. To tell him that she was at that very moment working on ways to free them of the empire. But to what end? What could he do to aid the cause? And in selfishly unburdening herself, she would be putting him at risk.
“Perhaps Izmoroz will be free again someday, Papa.”
“Not in my lifetime, but perhaps in yours.” He leaned over and tenderly kissed her forehead. “Well, good night, my dearest. I hope Masha’s herbalist is able to give you some comfort.”
Then he turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him. Her father did not often show such vulnerability, and when he did, it always struck at her heart. She promised herself that if there was any way she could free Izmoroz within his lifetime, she would do it. No matter the risk.
Some time later, there was a quiet knock on the door.
“Come in,” Galina said as she closed her book in her lap and put it on the small table beside her.
Masha entered, followed meekly by Mathilde.
“Thank you for coming so late, Mathilde,” said Galina.
“You…,” said the old woman, her eyes widened. “I seen your face before. You’re the young lady betrothed to that wizard.”
“I am indeed,” Galina agreed.
“That’s how you always know when and where he’s going to strike next.”
“It is.”
As Mathilde gazed at her, a strange sadness crept into her expression. “You still going to marry him?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Galina. “I will do whatever I think is best for Izmoroz.”
Mathilde nodded, but the mysterious sadness remained.
“Now,” Galina said briskly, “if you would, please tell me what is