Wicked Deceptions - Amy Cecil Page 0,4

and his face is somber as if he is holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’m afraid, my darling daughter, it is,” he says sadly. He’s worried. I can see it in his eyes. My father is the kindest of men and has always advised my uncle against war. My uncle believed war would solve Russia’s problems, and although it was something he would not initiate, he made it clear he would welcome it if it ever came. My father looks at my mother. “Our armies are strong. I pray that it will not last long,” he says, trying to reassure us all.

But we all know he believes differently. We’ve talked about it many times.

For the next several days, my father spends a lot of time away from home—much more than any of us like. I worry for him all the time now. I know he is with my uncle and his advisors, working on military strategy.

I also know there is a good chance my father and my brother will be sent to the front. My mother is beside herself at this prospect and has been seen by the doctor. There was not much he could do, but he did give her something to calm her nerves. She now spends most of her time in bed. When Father is home, he does not talk of the war or what he has been doing, despite the many questions. It’s only been a few days, and everything is already changing.

Mikhail is all I have now, and he tries his best to ease my worry. I know he means well, but it does not help. He told me our uncle is planning to go to the front, and we have to make preparations. “What kind of preparations? Preparations for what?” I ask. I do not understand what he means.

“We need to be prepared for what is to come, Yekaterina. We need to pack some of our belongings, clothes and jewels—anything we can bring that may fetch a price, and no more than two bags, love. We must keep it light.”

“Are we leaving, Mikhail?”

“Not yet, but there may come a day when we must and quickly. We need to be ready.” He caresses my cheek. “Please, no more questions. Just do as I say.”

I nod. I know now something bad is about to happen, and my fear of what is to come heightens. I do as Mikhail asked, keeping my two allotted bags light.

A few days later, as we are sitting at dinner, Leonid comes into the dining room and announces there are men in the foyer who would like to see my father. It is clear my father was not expecting anyone, as he curiously looks up to Leonid and asks, “Who are these men?”

“Officers, sir,” he replies.

My mother shrieks, “Alexi, do not go!” She pleads with my father, but he stands, straightens his dinner jacket, and proceeds to leave the dining room. Stopping at the entrance, he turns back and addresses my brother. “Mikhail, remember what I told you. Now is the time you must attend to your sister.”

Mikhail nods, knowing exactly what he means. The whole interaction leaves me confused, but I have a good feeling it has something to do with the two bags I have packed sitting on the floor in my room.

“Mikhail?” I question.

“Yekaterina, we must go. Go to your room. Grab your packed bags. Make it quick, and meet me at the back entrance of the house.” Mikhail is my older brother by three years, and I have always looked up to him. When he tells me to do something, I usually do not question, but this time, I want to understand. Before I can protest, he demands, “Now!”

I look over at my mother and she nods, agreeing with my brother. I give my mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I whisper in her ear, “I love you, Mama.”

“And I you,” she says. “Now run along.”

My heart sinks, for I know without a doubt this is the last time I will ever see my mother and father.

I do as Mikhail says, and in no time, I am at the back entrance of the house, also known as the servants’ entrance. Carrying my bags outside, I see an old troika, not the usual troika carrying our family crest but one that looks almost broken down and old. Leonid is driving.

Mikhail jumps out and grabs my bags. “Hurry, get in,” he says, placing