It is done. There is hard knocking on the door. It is Josef from the village. The Tsar has been executed. There is a stunned silence, her mother lowers her eyes and the seeds of tears form on her lashes.

“Is it not enough that he gave up his throne? He had stepped down no?” she asks her voice strangled.

Anya stares at her. Couldn’t she see this was not enough? He would always be there. Ripe for someone in power to wield like a sword. The head needed to be cut off, like the head of a snake, lest it repair itself and slither back into its lair. But Anya says nothing. The Royals had been under house arrest since March.

Josef continued, “It is so. He has been shot. In Yekaterinburg.”

“What of his children? His son?” Yula asks ringing her hands on her grey apron.

“I am not certain, they say the Tzarina and her son Alexei have been taken to a secure place.” Josef accepts a crust of brown bread from Yula.

“Thank you Josef.” Her mother nods and turns away, back to the flour covered table where she was kneading dough for bread to go with the stew boiling on the hearth.

Anya walks out with Josef. “Josef, are you not sure of the fate of the family? Why execute the Tsar and leave his heirs free to rise up and claim the throne?” She tries to sound concerned. She is not. She knows that the entire Royal family has been shot and bayoneted. The Tsar, his wife, and his five children.

Josef buttons up his coat and wraps his scarf tightly around his ears. “I do not know Anya. But this might mean your Oleg will be home soon. Take heart!” He smiles and starts back for the road.

Oleg. Anya realizes she has not thought of Oleg for a long time. So caught up in the resistance she has been but also she has put up a wall against the pain. His letters have been infrequent and vague. They are faded and feel as though they are from someone else, from somewhere else in a different time, a different world. One all in her head.

She has been carrying messages back and forth. The anti-Tsarists, their plans, and movements. Her nighttime walks. A feeling of exhilaration overtakes her. She has been a part of this. She did not wish death on anyone, no. But she understands the will of the people, her people. Allowed to shape their own destiny. To work for their families and their food. To travel and learn. To become something not as its always been.

No more warring with other nations for no real gain. A loss of life and livelihood. The Tsar and further, those who overthrew the Tsar, continued to keep Russia in the war. The Bolsheviks, under Comrade Lenin, stood for the proletariat. The workers. The people. Anya. That is why she made her nighttime walks. That is why she knew of the absolute downfall of the Royal family. That is why she allowed it to be as a small victory despite the brutality. She could not allow herself to think otherwise.

Next Chapter: Lyllian, sometime, 1996