A Thousand Pieces of You

“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.”

We’re sitting together in his tent, my hands in his. The pieces of the Firebird sit on his camp table, glinting in the candlelight. I lean close, eager to hear about how, in this unlikely world, I came to be. “So you weren’t sure until now?”

“I was sure.” Dad is smiling, but it’s the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. Because he’s not looking at me—he’s staring into the past, at my mother, whom he will never see again. “We’d already—we weren’t together long. It was intensely dangerous for us both. Of course Sophia could not speak of her delicate condition, but I realized after a few months that she was to be a mother again. The tsar might as easily have been the father. I told myself that had to be the truth. Then one day, not long before you were born, she came in to see Vladimir at his lessons. While he was distracted, she . . . she took my hand.” Dad’s voice breaks. “She placed it on her belly, so I could feel you kick. That was the only acknowledgment she ever made. The only one I ever needed.”

“Oh, Dad.” I hug him, and he returns the embrace almost convulsively. I realize this is the only time in his life he’s ever been able to show his true feelings.

Then Dad stiffens and draws back. “Lieutenant Markov,” he says, expression going blank. “Are you going to report this?”

“Of course he isn’t!” I look to Paul for confirmation.

Paul bows his head toward me. “The grand duchess’s secrets are my secrets. I will speak no word of this to anyone else.”

Dad relaxes as he realizes we’re safe. I ask, “Katya—she’s the tsar’s, that much is obvious, but Peter?”

“Your mother and I were never together again. I couldn’t endanger her like that. It was a relief that you looked as much like her as you do.” Dad’s gaze softens as he looks at my face. “I wish she could have seen you grow up.”

“She did.” I lean forward, hoping to make him understand. “In my dimension, she’s alive and well. The two of you fell in love when you began doing scientific research together.”

“A scientist? Sophia was able to be a scientist?” There are no words for the joy of his smile. “Her mind was wasted on court etiquette and ballroom dances. She was utterly brilliant.”

“I know. Because she invented this.” I tap on the Firebird again.

He believes me now, I know, and yet Dad still wants to hear more about this world in which he and Mom got to be together. “And we’re married even now? She and I?”

That catches me short. First of all, Mom and Dad never actually got around to getting married. Apparently they had the license once, but then there was some sort of breakthrough in the lab and by the time they were done working out the ramifications, their license had expired. Mom keeps saying they’ll go back to the courthouse eventually, when they have the time, and follow through with an actual ceremony, but honestly I think they’ve mostly forgotten they aren’t already hitched. It never bugged me or Josie; we knew neither of them was going anywhere. I doubt the Henry Caine in this more traditional world would see it the same way, though.