“I am Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova,” her voice was steady, “and my father cannot keep me in chains.”
She felt the bonds begin to vibrate, heating up continually, although they didn’t burn her.
Anastasia sat up taller, feeling a great swelling in her chest as she heard Asya’s words echoing in her head and remembered the calm touch of Mikhail at her back.
“I am Anastasia Nikoalevna Romanova… and my father cannot keep me in chains!” The bindings turned an even brighter orange, the joints where the metal was forged beginning to melt. Drops of molten iron hit the marble floors underneath Anastasia and hissed.
“I AM ANASTASIA NIKOALEVNA ROMANOVA. MY FATHER CANNOT KEEP ME IN CHAINS!!” She screamed it, yanking her wrists apart and letting out another cry when they snapped in half.
There was an explosion of golden light as her magic came flooding back to her, erupting from her fingertips and bathing the room with its electric current.
Anastasia sagged, covered in a gold cloud as the chains dissolved in front of her. She tried to stand on weak legs, her adrenaline fading as her injuries caught up with her.
“I am Anastasia…,” her voice cracked, her throat sore. Anastasia collapsed to the floor of her suites, drenched in her magic, and lost consciousness.
27
Mikhail felt the earth-shattering around him as he surrendered himself to the masses. There was nothing left for him beyond seeing Anastasia’s face once more — and with her away in the palace, there was nothing left.
There were hands on him, grabbing and tugging, but he was beyond pain. He was still shirtless, the cuts on his body bleeding on the hands of those who touched him.
The voices were muffled. He waited for death to take him, his senses dulled. He was uncomfortably jostled and pulled through the crowd once more… suddenly finding that his senses were growing clearer. And clearer. The edges of his vision began to return.
She’s waiting for you.His mother’s voice slid in from the din all around him.She lives, she’s free. She’s waiting for you. You’ll have to get to her yourself.
He no longer hesitated when he heard his mother’s voice from the ether these days; as soon as he heard it, he kicked his legs out and tried to get his bearings. The crowd shuffled around him like a living thing that he was fighting against.
“Stop!” A voice rang out near him, the first clear voice that he could hear. “I know this man!”
Mikhail felt the hands disappearing from his arms, blinking feverishly against his blurred vision.
He was on his hands and knees in the street, a small circle had formed around him. He was still shirtless after being ripped straight from Anastasia’s rooms and tossed into the streets.
“How could you?” A voice hissed nearby, sounding angry and ready to fight. “Do you know who this is?!”
“It’s the Priest Rasputin!” Another voice from somewhere around him. The more that he was coming to consciousness, the more he was aware of his wounds.
He took a deep breath and sat back on his knees, looking up and getting a glimpse at the crowd for the first time.
The faces that looked down at him ranged from inquisitive to enraged. As soon as he blinked his vision clear, the cacophony started again.
“What do you have to say for yourself?!”
“Kill him!”
Mikhail let out a low growl when someone emerged from the crowd, pointing a rifle at his chest. When Mikhail finally spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“I’m getting really tired of people pointing guns at me today,” he deadpanned, looking up to see the nameless man who was insistent on sending him to hell for his sins.
“I’m not who the Tsar says I am,” Mikhail said slowly, speaking to the whole crowd but looking directly at the man with the rifle. “Would you truly trust that man? The one who has left you all to starve in the streets?”
“We have no business trusting the Tsar —”
“You saw what happened to the palace! God is watching.”
“God hasn’t watched over St. Petersburg in a long time.”
A barrage of opinions rose from the crowd, each of them valid in their own ways. Mikhail could tell that everyone was confused, frustrated,angry.
