Endless (18 page)

She lay there for a long time, thinking about all the unanswered questions and the guy named Nikolai, wondering, just before sleep claimed her, if she would dream about him again.

She waited a long time, wanting to be sure Ana was asleep, before she threw back the bedcovers. Ana was a sound sleeper, though this was only one of many obstacles Maria faced on her way to the private sitting room at the end of the hall.

She left her feet bare, not wanting the scuff of her slippers to draw attention to her escape. She avoided looking at her sister as she crept past her bed, as if this would prevent Ana from hearing her.

She stopped when she came to the door, placing her ear against it and listening. The guards were more lackadaisical in this wing, focusing instead on Mama and Papa. Perhaps they thought it unlikely that the children would try to escape on their own.

And they were right, for Maria had shunned more than one opportunity to make an escape. This despite the terror that seemed to live inside her now, day after day, as the guards became harsher, the family’s provisions more spare.

She listened carefully for the steady boot steps or muffled laughter of the guards, but all was quiet. This was no guarantee, of course. A guard could be asleep or playing a silent round of cards with one of his comrades.

But seeing Nikolai had become necessary. She found that she could get through anything if she knew when they would next be together. He was a lifeline. She had to hold fast to him no matter the consequences.

She waited a few minutes, knowing that the guards sometimes patrolled at intervals. No sound came from the hall and she eased open the door, peering through the crack before opening it wider.

Now that the door was open, she had to move quickly. She stepped into the hall, shutting the door softly behind her, and hurried toward the room at the end of the hall that was her and Nikolai’s meeting place.

She passed the governesses’ chamber as well as those of Olga and Tatiana and Alexei, finally reaching the sitting room unseen. She stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind her with a soft sigh of relief.

It took a moment to get her bearings. She looked around, taking in the two sofas near the fireplace, the fringed lamps and heavy curtains pooling at the windows, the piano against one wall.

“You’ve made it.” She was not startled by the whispered words. She would know Nikolai’s voice anywhere.

Nikolai stepped carefully out of the shadows. Even in the little light that managed to seep in through a crack in the curtains—light that came from spotlights that remained on all night rather than the moon—Maria saw the tension in Nikolai’s face, the worry in his eyes.

He came toward her. She met him in the middle of the room, walking into his arms, inhaling the clean scent of him, relishing the safety he brought with his presence. It was an illusion. She knew that even Nikolai and his love for her couldn’t save her if the worst were to happen. But she took it nonetheless, for what else did she have?

“Maria … ” He breathed her name, holding her tight before he pulled away and reached for her hand.

He led her behind one of the couches, pulling her to her knees in front of him so the guards wouldn’t see them if the door were opened for a quick inspection.

As soon as they were kneeling face-to-face, he kissed her. His mouth was urgent on hers, as if he were trying to drink her in before she disappeared. She returned his kisses without thought to propriety. Without thought to anything but him. It was only here, only with Nikolai that she felt safe, that she felt hope.

She felt the effort it took for him to pull away. He placed his hands on her face, studying her as if to be sure that she was whole and safe and really in front of him. “Are you alright? Have you come to any harm since we last met?”

She shook her head. “I’m alright. They are watching us very closely. More closely than ever. I might not be able to meet you again for a while.”

She was not worried about her own fate should she be caught sneaking around the palace. What could they—what
would
they—do to a helpless young girl caught wandering unattended?

But she had heard the hatred with which some of the guards spoke her father’s name when they talked among themselves and she feared the scrutiny such an incident would bring her family.

Nikolai nodded, his face grave. “Things are getting worse. Bolshevik sentiments are running high. They blame the Romanov family for everything. There are a few among them who speak of sending you into exile unharmed, but the more … extreme elements are not satisfied with the idea.”

Maria soaked in the information, piecing it together with what she had managed to gather on her own. Her father was insistent that their lives remain as normal as possible, even as they seemed to have fewer and fewer necessities and the rooms they occupied in the Winter Palace grew colder and colder. Still, Father forced Maria and her sisters and Alexei to focus on their studies, refusing to speak of the war that seemed closer to their doorstep with each passing day. What she knew came from whispered conversations overheard as she passed from room to room and from the actions her own mother had ordered Maria to take with her sisters in preparation.

“It all makes sense,” she murmured.

“What makes sense?” Nikolai asked.

“Just yesterday Mama told us to sew jewels into our clothing. She and Papa must be planning escape. Or exile.”

Nikolai opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it before trying again. “Please, Maria. Let me go to your father and beg him to let us flee together. I know people, have contacts here in the palace that could help us escape.”

“Then why not help all of us escape?” she asked, too loudly.

Nikolai looked toward the door before turning back to her. “Sneaking one girl out of the palace is possible with the right connections. But spiriting away an entire family? A Tsar under constant guard? A sickly boy?” Maria winced at the mention of her little brother. Nikolai shook his head. “I’m sorry, Maria. It would be the death of us all.”

Her shoulders sagged, a now-familiar wave of resignation seeping through her bones. “I will not leave without them.”

A sound came from across the room and they both ducked beneath the back of the sofa just as the door was opened. Maria held her breath.

“Maria? Are you in here, Maria?” a voice whispered across the room.

Maria breathed a sigh of relief, rising. “What are you doing here, Ana? You’ll get us both in trouble.”

“The guards are patrolling every ten minutes,” she said softly. “They just completed the tour of this wing.” Nikolai rose next to her. Ana’s gaze drifted to him before she continued. “You should come back now.”

“Come in and shut the door.” Maria had suspected her sister knew of her trysts with Nikolai but hadn’t been sure until this moment. She turned to Nikolai. “I must go.”

“I know.” He pulled her into his arms. They enveloped her totally and completely, blocking out her sister’s presence only feet away. He looked down into her eyes. “I love you, Maria. I want to protect you. Think about what I said. Let me get you out of here.”

“I … I don’t know.” She couldn’t think. Everything was happening too fast. “I must go.”

“Just think about it,” he said. “You can send me word through Igor.”

Maria nodded. “What if they move us?”

Nikolai bent to kiss her. “It doesn’t matter. Wherever they send you, whatever happens, I will find you. I will always find you.”

Jenny sat up in bed, the late morning sunlight streaming through her curtains. There was only a second of disorientation before she was up, throwing on shorts and a tank top and running down the steps and out the front door, her feet still bare.

She didn’t pass her dad, had no idea if he was even home. She crossed the field and hit the path through the woods with only one thought.

Please be there, Nikolai. Please.

She saw him as he’d been in her dream. Heard his voice in her head.

I will always find you.

And then, the guy named Nikolai next door. The same dark hair and green eyes. The same person.

I’ve finally found you.

She hadn’t worked out the logistics, didn’t know how it was possible. But the Nikolai from the past and the guy next door were one and the same, and she belonged with him.

Belonged
to
him, even though it didn’t make any sense at all.

She flew through the trees, dodging low-hanging branches that threatened to hit her face. She had her first moment of hesitation just before she reached the house. The practical side of her, now just a whisper, wondered if she had gone crazy. If Nikolai would think she was crazy, too. If the whole thing was one wild dream taken way too far.

But then she crashed into the clearing in front of the house, and he was there, standing in jeans and bare feet at the bottom of the porch steps. Waiting.

There was reverence in his eyes as he opened his arms to her.

She didn’t even slow down. Just let her feet carry her over the lawn, up the hill leading to the porch.

He reached out for her, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her to him like a drowning man clinging to a life raft.

Finally
, she thought.
Finally.

She buried her face in his neck. Breathed in the familiar clean scent. She felt alive, awake, in a way that she’d never been. And something else. She felt found.

“Jenny, Jenny,” he murmured into her hair. “I knew you would remember.”

*

“I don’t remember,” she said later. “Not exactly.”

They were sitting on the porch steps. Nikolai was turned slightly to face her, as if he was afraid to take his eyes off her for even a minute. He held her hands in his. The feel of his touch seemed the most natural thing in the world and the most thrilling all at the same time.

“It may take a while or you may never remember everything,” he said, his voice sympathetic. “But you
know
. That’s what matters.”

And she did. She knew. They had belonged to each other in the past. Belonged to each other now and always, though there was no rhyme or reason to it.

“I don’t … ” She shook her head. “I don’t really understand any of this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It is you, right? Nikolai? From my dreams?”

“Tell me about them,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “I’ve had more than one dream, but I’m always a girl named Maria. I think I might be … ” She laughed a little. “It sounds crazy, but I think I might have been a Romanov. I’m always in danger.” She met his gaze. “And you’re always there.”

He looked at her tenderly. “Those aren’t dreams. They’re memories.”

“But I’m only seventeen.” She said it even though her mind had already started to formulate the possibilities, was already preparing her for the truth she would have to acknowledge.

“The body is just a vessel, but our spirits are energy. They go on and on. And they remember. Sometimes, if someone dies in a traumatic manner, their soul can’t be at peace in its new form. Occasionally, the person actually remembers their other life, though the memories aren’t usually as vivid as the dreams you describe. It’s usually more of a … sense. A feeling. An unexplained aversion or fear.” He reached out, touching a fingertip gently to the birthmark on her collarbone. “A mark, carried with you from one life to the next.”

She knew what he was talking about, had always believed in reincarnation. But believing it in the abstract and believing you were actually having past-life memories were two totally different things.

“So I was Maria Romanov in another life.” It wasn’t a question. Not really.

He nodded. “And I was the clockmaker’s grandson.”

His words made the world tilt around her. She hadn’t told him about the dream with the still-life painting, the clock repair made by the young man named Nikolai while Maria painted with her sister.

“How are you here, now?” She looked at him carefully, confirming what she already knew. “You look just the same.”