The Ice Swan by J’nell Ciesielski

October 1917

Petrograd, Russia

The night burned red with the flames of revolution.

Shots ringing out. Cannons exploding. People screaming. The Bolsheviks came intent on death with anarchy in their iron fists.

Her Serenity the Princess Svetlana Dalsky hurried down the corridor of the Blue Palace carrying a travel case that had been packed for weeks should this very scenario arise, not daring to use a single candle lest it draw attention. The dozens of windows reflected the red sky, turning the drapes and carpets and ancestral portraits to stains of blood. The rebels would soon be at their front door, and not even her father’s protection unit of White Guards could hold them back. The time for that was over.

She slipped into her younger sister’s chamber still cloaked in darkness and moved to the bed. A weak candle on the bedside table illuminated Marina’s sweet face relaxed in worriless sleep.

Svetlana set her case down and shook her sister’s shoulder. “Get up, Marina.” Marina moaned and flipped over, her hair like dark honey across the lacey pillow. “Get up!”

“What for?” Marina rolled back and cracked open an eye. Taking in her sister’s dark travel clothes, she bolted upright. “It is happening?”

“Yes.”

Marina sprang out of bed and rushed to her wardrobe to change while Svetlana stuffed her sister’s personal items into the waiting travel bag. Father had told them this day would come and they had prepared well.

Svetlana scrounged through the jewelry box. “Where are the rubies?”

Marina patted her stomach as she jammed her feet into thick stockings. “Finished sewing them into my corset last week.”

Another preparation. Their carried items were bound to be searched or confiscated, but their most precious items, the ones that would keep them alive, would never leave their bodies and hopefully slip right under the rebels’ noses.

Dressed in heavy layers and thick coats to withstand the malevolent Russian weather, the sisters grabbed their two small cases and left the chamber, stealing down the corridor of their family’s home as swift as shadows. The light beyond the windows grew brighter as if a bonfire had ignited just outside the palace gates. Gunfire ricocheted off the surrounding buildings.

Soon. They would be here soon.

A cry of despair echoed down the corridor. “The day has come!” Their mother’s wail reached them a split second before she hurtled around a corner clutching her fur coat and kubanka hat. “They will kill us all!”

Marina gasped. Svetlana placed a steadying hand on her shoulder to ward off their mother’s hysterics. “They will not find us, Mama. Where is your travel case?”

“Well, I . . .” Mama looked around as if the bag would appear by sheer willpower. “I see no reason to pack as if we are leaving forever. Your father will fight. We’ll return in a matter of days. They have no right to be here!”

Svetlana stepped forward until she was inches from her mother’s pale face. “We may never return.”

“The tsar cannot abandon us to these madmen!”

Glass shattered.

Mama screamed, clutching her cross necklace. “Saint Peter preserve us!”

Voices shouted from the foyer. Boots pounded across the marbled floors.

A dark figure flashed around the corner leading up from the back staircase. “Svetlana! This way. Toropis!” Sergey. One of her brother’s oldest friends.

“No. This way.” Svetlana turned away from the front of the palace and down a twist of passageways to a small closet in the servants’ hall. She pushed a back panel to reveal a hidden staircase. “Go down. Quickly!”

Marina and Mama disappeared into the secret entrance. Svetlana and Sergey followed and sealed the door behind them.

“Sergey, what are you doing here? Where are Nikolai and Papa?”

“Called to defend the Winter Palace. The Bolsheviks have broken in. I knew it was only a matter of time before they came here. I’ve come to take you to safety.” His heavy breathing echoed in the tight space as they fumbled their way down the darkened stairs. The barest light seeped through the cracks to keep them from complete treachery. “Where is this leading us?”

“To the gardens.” If they weren’t caught.

The tunnel grew steadily brighter, but the night they emerged to was far from clear. It was red, exploding with horror and treason. Behind them, the palace, their home, shimmered with rage as dark figures raced along the windows. Their torches and guns refracted against the glass. Mama sobbed as Marina whimpered. Svetlana turned them away and out through a rusty gate. The street was quiet and slick with rain from the day before.

The day before their world ended.

Sergey herded them away. “We must hurry to the train station.” He took Svetlana’s hand and tucked her close to his side.

It was only a few blocks to the train station, but the distance seemed a hundred lifetimes as they darted around buildings and ducked behind carts to avoid the roaming mobs of citizens crying hateful threats of violence to anyone daring to cross their path.

A mass exodus of nobles swarmed the train platforms as women in jewels and men in fur hats crammed their panicked selves into already full cars.

“This way! Up front.” Tall, with long arms and legs, Sergey pushed his way through the crowd holding tight to Svetlana. Marina and Mama hooked their arms through hers as they wound through the sea of desperate humanity.

Svetlana’s travel case was ripped from her hand. A young woman with frayed clothing clutched it tight in triumph. “Give that back at once!”

The woman grinned, revealing rotting teeth. “It belongs to the People now. Your time is over, Printsessa.”

Grubby hands reached out and snagged Marina’s case. “Long live the People! Long live the Revolution!” They disappeared like smoke.

Svetlana caught glimpses of the train through the teeming bodies. Of people standing cheek to jowl inside. Of men kicking women off the ladder as they attempted to board the crammed cars. All of Petrograd was fleeing, but not all would make it. Fear curled cold and hissing in Svetlana’s stomach. They would make it. She would ensure her sister and Mama made it.

The crowd thinned to allow for a gasping draw of breath as the engine belched its black smoke. A whistle trilled. The crowd screamed and plunged toward the train in final desperate flings to find space.

Sergey pushed them to the front car. Grabbing Marina, he shoved her onto the ladder before hoisting up Mama. The train wheels started to turn.

Tweet! Tweeeet!

Soldiers with red arm bands flooded the platform, striking at men and woman alike with clubs and trampling anyone knocked under their black boots. The Bolsheviks. “Get them! Don’t let them flee like rats.”

The soldiers rushed forward and ripped people off the train as it started to move. Sergey grabbed Svetlana, kissed her on both cheeks, and threw her up the ladder. “Paris. I will find you.”

“Sergey!” Svetlana hoisted herself to the rail and held out her hand, begging him to take it. “Sergey!”

Arms striped with red bands locked around him and dragged him back where he was swallowed into the rioting of chaos.