“Is your heir and your mirror,” returned the bannik. “She will have a horse and they will love each other as the left hand loves the right. She will ride far and fast when she is grown.” He paused. “If you and she survive.”

“It is a good future,” said Vasya, and then bit her lip, remembering.

“The Bear scorns the house-chyerti, as tools of men,” said the bannik. “We will help you as we can. His votary is afraid of us.”

“His votary?”

“The priest with golden hair,” said the bannik. “The Bear took the priest as his own, and gave him the second sight that frightens him so, now. They are bound together.”

“Oh,” said Vasya. Much was suddenly obvious to her. “I am going to kill that priest.” It wasn’t even a vow. It was a statement of fact. “Will it weaken the Bear?”

“Yes,” said the bannik. “But it might not be so easy. The Bear will protect him.”

Just then, Marya came running back into the dim bathhouse. “They’re coming,” she said, and frowned. “I think they will be glad to see you.”

Olga and Varvara appeared in her wake. Olga looked not so much glad as shaken. “It seems you are destined to astonish me with sudden meetings, Vasya,” she said. Her voice was crisp, but she took Vasya’s hands and held them tightly.

“Sasha said you knew I survived.”

“Marya knew,” said Olga. “And Varvara. They told us. I had doubts but—” She broke off, searching her sister’s face. “How did you escape?”

“It doesn’t matter,” broke in Varvara. “You put us all in danger once, girl. Now you are doing it again. Did anyone see you?”

“No,” said Vasya. “They didn’t see me jumping off my own pyre either, and they will not see me now.”

Olga paled. “Vasya,” she began, “I am sorry—”

“It doesn’t matter. The Bear means to dethrone Dmitrii Ivanovich,” said Vasya. “To send this whole land into chaos. We must stop him.” She swallowed hard, but managed to say steadily, “I must get into Dmitrii Ivanovich’s palace.”

22.

The Princess and the Warrior

SASHA’S DIVERSION WORKED BETTER THAN he could have hoped. Tuman, riled by the shouting and trained for war, reared, lashed out, reared again. More guards came, and more, until the three monks were at the center of a noisy throng.

“He is back.”

“The witch’s brother.”

“Aleksandr Peresvet.”

“Who is that with him?”

There was no chance of anyone seeing Vasya, Sasha thought grimly. They were all looking at him. More and more people were gathering. The guards looked now as though they didn’t know whether to turn inward to him, or outward, so as not to put their backs to the angry crowd. A lettuce came hurtling, rotten, from somewhere out of the crowd, burst at the feet of Sergei’s horse. The horses jolted into motion, beginning to climb the hill of the kremlin. More vegetables flew; then a stone. Sergei still sat unruffled on his horse, raised a hand and blessed the crowd. Sasha moved his horse up by his master, protecting Sergei with his body and Tuman’s. “This is madness,” he muttered. “Rodion—both of you—go to the Archangel. This might get worse. Father—please. I will send word.”