A Thousand Pieces of You

But that’s almost irrelevant compared to the fact that my father—the Henry Caine who loved and raised me—is dead.

I can’t tell him that. It would be too horrible, to tell him he’d been murdered.

“Nothing would ever keep you and Mom apart,” I say. “You study physics side by side, every day. I—I even have an older sister, Josie. I mean, Josephine. She’s a scientist, like you.”

Dad turns his head sharply, and I realize he has to fight tears at the thought of this other daughter he’ll never have the chance to know.

“Please,” I whisper. “I know it’s selfish of me, but I need to get back home. Mom must be so scared. I have to get back to her.”

After a deep breath, Dad looks back at the Firebird. His voice is uneven as he says, “This device is a thousand times more powerful than I’d ever dreamed. You still trust me with it?”

“You helped invent it. That makes you my best chance to get back where I belong. If we’re not able to get Paul’s Firebird back, you’re my only chance.”

He lifts one of the metal pieces, studying it in the candlelight, and his gaze sharpens. “Then, my darling girl, let’s get you home.”

My camp cot would be cold and uncomfortable under any circumstances. Now, though, I compare it to the bed I stayed in last night, with Paul wrapped around me, strong and warm.

Tonight Paul is camped with the other soldiers. He is only a few hundred feet away, in a tent not so different from mine. We might as well be on separate planets. Tomorrow he will be sent to join his proper regiment, which is on the way to join our forces.

“We will rendezvous with Colonel Azarenko’s regiment on the way,” he told me before we parted. “Of course I will ask him about the Firebird as soon as I have a chance—but that doesn’t mean I’ll get it back.”

“What, do you think he might have pawned it or something?”

“No. He wouldn’t. But he caught me out of uniform; taking the locket away was punishment. So he won’t necessarily give it to me right away.”

“He’ll give it to me,” I said. By now I’ve lived the grand duchess’s life long enough to know how to get some royal attitude on. I’m in touch with my inner Beyoncé. I tossed my hair and added, “If he knows what’s good for him.”

“I look forward to seeing that.” Paul smiled, then wiped the expression from his face—afraid we would be seen, and our secret discovered.

I toss and turn on the cot. It seems as though I will never be warm again. As though I can never again know the comfort and safety I felt last night. As though I will never know myself as truly as I did in Paul’s arms.

Finally I fall asleep, however fitfully. By the time I awaken, Paul has left with the other soldiers from his regiment. Although my first thought is to spend the day with Dad, I know I need to let him concentrate.

Vladimir provides a completely unexpected distraction.

“Letter for you,” he says, frowning down at the envelope in his hand. “We got a mail packet in from St. Petersburg. It looks as if your strange Parisian correspondent is back.”

Theo!

I snatch the paper from Vladimir, who chuckles at my impatience. Quickly I unfold the thick paper to see Theo’s chicken-scratch handwriting, even worse now that it’s in blotchy ink:

Marguerite,

I got your note earlier today—

When was this dated? Days before Christmas. I’d written him almost a week prior to that. Communications crawl here. I’ll never bitch about a 3G connection again.

—and sat down to write this as soon as I got done freaking out. I don’t know what Paul told you in London, and I don’t care. We don’t have the facts, and until we have the facts, you CANNOT TRUST HIM. Keep your distance. You say he doesn’t remember himself, and maybe he doesn’t, but the fact that this guy is your guard and is standing right next to you every day, with a gun? This is bad. (Or he has a bayonet or a saber or whatever the hell they carry here. Whatever it is, I don’t want it anywhere near you.)

I shake my head. He doesn’t understand yet; he didn’t see Paul’s face when he learned about Dad’s death. And Theo doesn’t know “Lieutenant Markov”—doesn’t realize that I’ve never been safer than I am when he’s at my side.

We’re going to leave aside how in the world you managed to fall down and break the Firebird. Yeah, this universe’s Henry might be able to fix it, but I’d be a lot happier if I could take a look at the thing. As in, I might someday be able to sleep again.

Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get me a visa to Russia, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to get to you. I don’t care if I have to walk the whole way there on snowshoes. We have to get you out of this place, safe and sound; nothing’s more important than that.

My breath catches, and I struggle to keep my face from betraying emotion. Theo would take on every danger Paul has taken on—he’d fight for me just as fiercely, want to protect me just as much. Everything I’ve ever felt for him bubbles up, and suddenly I miss him so desperately I can hardly bear it.

There’s no CNN in this dimension. Would Theo have heard about the revolt by now? Is he going out of his mind with worry, thinking that I might be wounded or dead?

I’m with the ESPCI here. That’s prestigious enough that you ought to be able to sell me as a lecturer, or someone who should be at the university, something like that. I’m going to go to the Russian Embassy again and beg on my own behalf. One way or another, I’m going to be back with you soon.