“As I am to see you.” He hugs me back, only for a moment. “I hear the heroic Lieutenant Markov is to thank for your safe return.”
I smile back at Paul, who just looks even stiffer. “Yes, he is. You’re certain you’re well? Shouldn’t you have gone on to Moscow too?”
“His Imperial Majesty wishes me to report on these events to my king, to ensure that other nations will hear the true version of the rebellion.” Dad’s forehead furrows with worry. “But I wish I might have stayed with Peter. He was badly shaken.”
“And Katya?” I ask.
Dad smiles. “Katya was ready to aim a cannon at Grand Duke Sergei herself. She had to be dragged from the front. Pity women can’t be soldiers. That one has the fighting spirit of ten ordinary men.”
“I can believe it.” She tackled the soldier who tried to kill me, even though he had a knife and she only had her fists. Then again, no one should underestimate Katya’s fists.
“You’ll go to Peter soon, won’t you? He needs someone.” Dad brushes my hair back from my face, then catches himself, realizing he shouldn’t show such affection toward the “tsar’s daughter.”
“Soon,” I promise, “but first I need something from you. Do you remember the locket I gave you to work on? Do you still have it?”
Dad blinks, caught off guard. “Yes—it’s in my new valise, actually—but surely that doesn’t matter now.”
“Please let me see it.”
His valise sits in one corner of the tent. Dad opens it and draws out the lace handkerchief; my heart sinks as I see that the Firebird remains in several pieces. He’s matched up several of the parts, but not nearly enough.
“It’s actually rather interesting,” Dad says. “The parts do form a mechanism; that much is obvious, even though I don’t understand what it’s meant to do. But there’s a fascinating logic to its construction—complicated, but undeniable. I look forward to puzzling out the rest.”
“I need you to hurry. I need this put back together right away.” My fingers trail along the locket’s chain; it’s all I can do not to clutch it in my fist. I never want to be far away from this thing again.
Dad clearly doesn’t want to contradict me, but—“Your Imperial Highness, I am under orders from the tsar. Although I fully appreciate the sentimental value of your locket, right now we have more pressing concerns.”
“We don’t. We really, truly don’t.” How am I supposed to convince him?
Then I look back at Paul and think, He believed me. Wouldn’t Dad? Especially if Paul backed me up?
So for the second time in twenty-four hours, I tell someone in this dimension the truth: about who I actually am, where I’m from, what the Firebirds can do.
Dad isn’t buying it.
“Your Imperial Highness, stop and consider.” His voice is gentle. “Yesterday you suffered a tremendous shock. The fear alone would have confused most people. Combine that with nearly freezing to death—”
“I’m fine! Do I sound hysterical to you?” Wait. I’m ranting about parallel dimensions. Shouldn’t have asked that question. So I direct his attention to the steadier dimensional traveler. “What about Lieutenant Markov? His dreams are the memories of my Paul Markov. How could that be possible if none of this were true?”
“What Her Imperial Highness says is accurate,” Paul confirms, still standing at attention. “I believe her.”
Dad sighs. “Forgive me for saying it out loud, Markov, but I believe you’d back the grand duchess if she claimed to be from the moon.”
I keep trying. “I know this talk about parallel dimensions sounds strange, but I’m thinking clearly, and I’m telling you the truth. Which is why I need the Firebird repaired, right away.”
He’s clearly unconvinced; probably he thinks I’ll snap out of this after I’ve had a good night’s rest. “I’ll continue to work on it. I promise you that. But your father’s orders come first.”
And that’s when I know how to convince him.
“I know things the Grand Duchess Marguerite never realized on her own,” I say. “Things that prove I come from somewhere else. From another reality.”
From his place at the flaps of the tent, Paul looks intrigued despite himself. Dad looks more like he’s humoring me. “Such as?”
I whisper, “I know the tsar isn’t my father. You are.”
17
“SOPHIA NEVER TOLD ME,” DAD SAYS. “NOT IN WORDS.”