The Second Archon War: Comoedia Glacialis 4 (Patreon)

Comoedia Glacialis 4: The Band Begins to Play

Sable & Savor had a reputation as the finest dining establishment in Saint Petersburg, though it had only been open for a decade or so. Chefs there had largely been imported from France, and the haute cuisine there was the finest available. There were Russian staples of caviar and stroganoff, and even a very fine borscht that Anatoly was quite fond of. He dined there on occasion, but not too often, as it was an open secret that the restaurant’s owner was one of his greatest rivals and Anatoly’s former employer. 

Viktor Milankovitch was a liver-spotted man with a nose that had been broken more than once, balding hair, and a sagging gut. He offended Anatoly’s aristocratic sensibilities because he had been born as a poor factory worker’s son in the Soviet Union, but had already been rising through the criminal underworld of Saint Petersburg when he triggered, and became the villainous cape they called Axe Head. The name had nothing to do with axes or Viktor’s head, but rather the fact that his powers made him almost impossible to kill. 

Viktor was a Brute in nature and in power-set, with the ability to affix himself to a point, and become impossible to dislodge. While he was fixed, he also was essentially invulnerable, so long as he didn’t move. He’d planted himself on train tracks and been hit by a freight train going nearly 80 KPH with a nearly incalculable amount of force behind it, and not only had he not moved or been harmed but the train itself had been completely destroyed. With clever use of his ability, he had not only survived battles with other deadly capes, but he’d found ways to grind down capes with far flashier and more impressive power sets. 

Even before the destruction of Moscow and the fall of the Soviet Union, Viktor had been a force to be reckoned with, with a large organization with hundreds of criminals that included half a dozen other capes. He’d been one of the foremost kingpins, and, of course, he’d had his hand in obtaining and smuggling weapons.

Which was how Anatoly’s father had known the man. Anatoly himself had only known Viktor as a fellow arms dealer, though remarks by his father had led him to believe that Viktor was a lowborn criminal who wasn’t of much consequence. Still, he was a business associate, even if a distasteful one. 

Then Behemoth had come, and Anatoly’s world had come crashing down. His family’s considerable wealth had nearly all been consumed when Moscow had been destroyed, and despite Anatoly’s best efforts, the rest of it had been taken by debt collectors, his father’s former associates, and the myriad “friends” of his father who had swooped in and lied and cheated until Anatoly had nothing left. 

In a last desperate gamble, Anatoly had gone to Viktor, hat in hand. “You knew my father. He always gave you a fair deal. All I ask for is a job. I’ll do anything, just so long as I can feed myself and my sister.”

Viktor had laughed at Anatoly in this very restaurant. “You, boy? You’re a pampered brat born with a silver spoon in his mouth. You have to be so stubborn they’d use your head to grind an axe if you want to succeed in this world. If you want a job, you have to show me you’re an axe grinder, like me. Not show up in a fine suit like the soft-headed child you are.”

Furious and embarrassed, Anatoly had stalked out of the restaurant, and gone to a pawn shop. He’d sold the suit, one of the last articles of clothing from his old life. Then, he’d found a drug dealer, and bought some cocaine. He’d pushed that on the street, nearly getting himself killed twice and getting into several fights, but he’d done it. 

The next evening, he’d gone back to Viktor with a black eye, a bloodied lip, and a broken nose. This time, he’d needed to sneak in, because he was no longer dressed well enough that the waitstaff would have let him in. He’d strode up to Viktor’s table, only to be collared by bodyguards before he’d been within ten paces. 

“I’m not just some softheaded boy!” Anatoly had snarled. “I’m as axe-headed as you! Look at this, what I have, in just one day! Think of what I could do for you!” 

Anatoly had motioned to his bodyguards, and they'd let him stumble forward to put the cash he’d made on the table, along with the drugs he’d gotten after getting into a knife fight with a rival dealer. As they said, the first place prize in a knife fight was a trip to the hospital, or in this case, to Anastasia’s unskilled stitchery. The second place prize was a trip to the morgue. 

Viktor had examined the drugs and money, then pocketed the cash, and tossed Anatoly back the drugs. “Very well. We can always use another bro. You start at the bottom, soft head. But I can see now you’re no spoiled brat.”

It had taken four miserable years of hard work to slowly inch his way up from the bottom of Viktor’s organization, to make his own connections. He’d never have succeeded, however, if not for the stroke of fortune that led to him beating a drunken German in a card game, but he still had Thoma beside him to this very day. 

For now, he was back at Sable & Savor, sitting down at a table with Viktor as the first course was served. 

“Well, young soft head, what brings you back to my table?” Viktor asked, smiling at Anatoly. Despite the fact that they were both criminal oligarchs in the same town, their relationship was cordial, with neither of them competing with one another much. Anatoly had moved away from drugs and protection rackets and into weapons and brothels. Not that he didn’t sell drugs, or Viktor run whore houses, but they kept to their own districts to keep the peace. For now, there was more money to be made if they kept the peace then squabbled over turf. 

“For once, I’m here to offer you a slice of my pie, instead of asking for one of yours,” Anatoly said with a smile. 

“Oh? A new business deal? Or something else? Something to do with those women you brought back from Moscow?” Viktor asked, smiling toothily at Anatoly. 

It was hard not to grimace: Anatoly knew he had spies in his organization. He had his own eyes and ears in Viktors. Spies were always killed if they were found, but they could also be paid handsomely. “Something to do with that, yes. What if I told you I found a way to stop peddling nose powder and twisting arms, and go to the other side of the tracks?”

“What other side of the tracks?” Viktor said with a derisive snort. “If I called the so-called Primere right now and told him to meet me, he would. If I demanded the cops stop harassing my peddlers, they would apologize to me. I could shoot a man in the streets and rape his wife and daughter and I would get a small fine and a request to do it privately next time. We are the new Tsars, you and I.”

“And yet we live in a country that is nothing but a backwater joke, fighting over scraps when we could have gold. What is the point of being tsar of a dungheap?” Anatoly demanded. 

“Ha! You act as if things were ever any better. You might be young and foolish enough to wish for Uncle Ioseb and the communists to return, but let me tell you, life was not so good for thieves then. And no matter how you dress now, you are a thief, Anatoly Borisevich, and so was your father. Do not think because you grew up in fancy suits that you are not the same as me,” Viktor warned, pointing his fork at Anatoly. 

“I readily admit that I am a thief, but I would steal something of value. Why not steal back the glory of Russia?” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Viktor, if you join forces with me now, we have a chance to not just restore our Motherland to glory, but to become two of the richest and most powerful men on the planet.”

Viktor looked skeptical, but there was a flash of interest in his eyes. “What did you find in that grave of a city?”

Ostentatiously, Anatoly looked around the room before whispering, “You know there is a new Archon, yes?”

Viktor jerked back so fast that it was as if he’d been bitten. The man froze, his eyes wide, and his power activated. Behind Anatoly, Thoma stirred, and he felt the tingling sensation on his skin that told him his aide was getting ready to use his powers. He raised a hand and the feeling vanished, but he kept his eyes on Viktor. 

After a few moments Viktor moved again, but only to shake his head. “You are a fool, a soft-headed moron. Are you insane?!” 

“I do not think so, but why are you so troubled, Viktor?” Anatoly asked slowly.

Viktor had gone red in the face, and he leaned forward, stabbing the table with his index finger. “Do you know nothing!? Where have these Archons appeared, eh? Japan! German! Iraq! And what has happened, each and every time? Dead brother thieves! They are horrible for business! You think a new one would make you a tsar? They would execute you for a thief! If you have one, then we should kill them. But I hope you are mistaken.”

What Viktor said made a degree of sense, but Anatoly scowled. “Bad for thieves, perhaps. But we could be far richer and more powerful serving an Archon than selling drugs and pimping whores.”

Sneering, Viktor leaned back in his chair. “You always did think you were better than me. You come here, eat my food, and then piss on my head and tell me it’s raining. I hope you don’t have an Archon, Anatoly Kamisarov. But if you do or not, you are not welcome in my restaurant again.”

Slowly, Anatoly wiped off his lips, then tossed the fine linen napkin onto the table. He stood, then nodded to Viktor. “I will always be grateful you gave a spoiled young brat with soft hands and a soft head a job, Viktor Milankovitch. I do not wish us to be enemies.”

“Then you should not have insulted me under my own roof. Get out,” Viktor snarled, and Anatoly nodded to him, then turned on his heel and left, with Thoma following a step behind him. 

Once they were outside, Anatoly allowed himself a show of temper, snarling and swearing as they went to his car. “That small minded fool! He really could use his head for a grindstone. He is so stubborn, he cannot see an opportunity when it is handed to him!” 

“He is set in his ways,” Thoma said with a shrug as he opened the door for Anatoly, then slid in beside him. 

“To the safe house,” Anatoly ordered the driver, and the man nodded, pulling out onto the road. He looked out the window as they drove, frowning at what he saw. People in worn clothing. Rusting cars. Cracked pavement. Sagging buildings. Certainly, in the wealthy parts of the city, things looked good.

 But Anatoly had been to Japan, where he had taken Anastasia to Tokyo so she could go on a shopping trip, while he had pursued their Tinkertech weapons. Say what you would about the Shogun, but even after the disaster Scion had put her country through, they were already more prosperous and content then Japan. And a wealthy Japanese was so much more wealthy than a rich Russian. It was maddening. Japan had once been nothing but a backwater, when Russia was one of the great powers of the world. Now, it was a shining city on a hill, while Russia was a rotting corpse. 

“We can have that glory once again,” Anatoly growled, mostly to himself. 

“You really think this mute woman will change all this?” Thoma asked. 

Anatoly turned to the other man and frowned. “What, do you not wish for Russia to be strong again?” He was too polite to state the obvious: A German would not want to see Russia become a force again. 

Thoma held up his hands and shook his head. “I am not Russian by birth, but by choice. I have no desire to go back to Germany. I would very much like to see Russia become the vibrant nation it once was again. You know where I came from, and what I went through: I would have revenge on the Behemoth for what he did to my hometown, as well as yours. And if there was one person to help me get it…”

“I had considered that,” Anatoly admitted. “To find someone who could get justice for Moscow, and Cologne as well…it would be sweet indeed.”

“So you needn’t worry about me. I’d be more worried about what Viktor will do,” Thoma said quietly. “He is a stubborn man. With many forces at his disposal. He is dangerous, as you and I both know. And he is of the basest sort. That is why I work for you, and not him.”

“Hmm.” Anatoly rubbed his chin, then grimaced. “You will have to stay the night at the safe house. I’ll have Grach over as well, but I don’t trust him in the house with my sister, or Kollei. Let alone that woman.” 

“I will be a perfect gentleman,” Thoma promised. “Though we should stop at the store first. I promised Kollei to bring her some more books. She is doing quite well: she finished those early reader books I got for her, though she still struggles to sound them all out.”

That brought a small smile to Anatoly’s lips. “You should have been a school teacher, Thoma Johannevitch. You’re quite good with the child.”

Thoma’s expression went stone-faced, and he turned to look out the window. Anatoly worried he’d offended the man, until Thoma said in a rough voice, “I used to teach my little sisters to read. Emma would have been Kollei’s age.”

Anatoly felt like he’d been stabbed, and had to blink and look out the window. After a moment, he said, “Driver, stop at the bookstore. I wish to make some purchases.”

They didn’t speak on the matter further, instead discussing how to secure the house, and what sorts of books they’d get to read themselves while they spent the night. Thoma was fond of those comics that came out of Japan he insisted on calling “manga.” 

“Anastasia likes them as well, you know. She’d enjoy it if you got her some, especially Furūtsu Basuketto,” Thoma said, holding up a book with a picture of an overly effeminate man on it.

“And how do you know what my sister likes to read?” Anatoly asked, feeling slightly miffed. 

“It’s my job to pay attention and notice details. Besides, I enjoy this series as well, and we’ve talked about it when I guard her,” Thoma said with a grin. “You can stick to your stuffy political treatises. I read to enjoy myself.”

“If one is going to read, it might as well be to improve one’s own abilities,” Anatoly grouched, but he bought every copy of the comic series the store had available, even if it was quite dear. 

They headed to the safe house, with Anatoly a little concerned Viktor would have ordered a hit already. It had been five days since the woman had awoken, but she’d still not spoken a word. Was Anatoly a fool for thinking he had a true treasure on his hands? Or did he simply have a very pretty mute? 

Thankfully, the house was intact upon arrival, with the team Anatoly had watching the place waiting for him. He spoke to the one in charge, warning them to be on the lookout, then headed inside with his gifts. 

“Mr. Anatoly! Mr. Thoma! You’re back!” Kollei said, standing up from the table where she’d been poring over a picture book and hurrying over. A few moments later, Anastasia poked her head in, and smiled on seeing them. 

“Ah, Tolyan, Thoma, good to see you. She’s doing better.”

“Has she spoken?” Anatoly asked eagerly, stepping past his sister to peer into the other room. 

He found the woman sitting quietly in front of the television. It was on, and she was watching an old drama with apparent disinterest. She glanced in Anatoly’s direction, then turned her gaze back to watch the screen again. 

“Not yet, but she’s helping to dress herself now, and we went for a walk this morning,” Anastasia said. She looked exhausted, and Anatoly frowned. 

“Are you well, Nastya?” he asked, concerned. 

She sighed. “I’ll miss another performance tomorrow, my second one. I know this is important, but, well…dancing is my life.”

“Hmm.” Anatoly considered. They could fort up here, hide from Viktor. On the other hand… “Call the theater. Tell them you’ll perform tomorrow. We’ll bring her. Perhaps seeing Tolstoy’s masterpiece will wake her up a bit.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Anastasia’s face transformed from sorrow to joy. “You mean it? Truly? Oh, that is wonderful! But I will have to call and tell them! Oh, thank you, Tolyasik!” 

She rushed off immediately, leaving Anatoly alone with the woman. She had turned from the television and was studying him closely. He approached, then knelt on one knee before her, taking her hands in his. “My lady. Your people need you. I need you. My family is in danger once more. I can fight Viktor Milankovitch if I must, but it will be bloody, and he has more capes than I do. Please. If you truly are…what I think you are… can you not see how badly Russia needs its mother?”

She regarded him for long moments, her expression placid and calm. Then she removed her hand from his, and turned away from him. He felt like shouting and raging, but he forced himself to calm. He was good at that, and always had been. Besides, it would be pure suicide to attempt to slap sense into this girl. If she truly was an Archon. 

But Anatoly believed. He had to. For if it did come to war with Viktor Milankovitch, he was not certain it was one he could win. 

There was no attack that night, not at the safe house, though Anatoly’s spies did say that Viktor was up to something. Anastasia left early the next morning to go to the theater for a last minute rehearsal and preparations, while Anatoly took Kollei and the woman shopping along with Thoma. 

While most men seemed to dislike shopping, Anatoly did not mind so much. He enjoyed being able to show off his wealth and taste, and while it could get tiring when Anastasia tried on endless shoes or dresses, it was worth it to see her smile, and to remember that he was a good provider for his little sister. 

Taking Kollei shopping was like those days from before; when their parents were still alive, and he’d taken his young sister to the toy or candy store. When she saw the dresses that Anatoly wanted her to try on to wear to the theater, she cried, and hugged him tightly, thanking him over and over. 

“What kind of a big brother would I be, if I did not dote on my little sister from time to time?” Anatoly asked, gently drying her eyes with his handkerchief. She was not really his sister, more like a pet, really, since she was a half-feral peasant, but she was cute and charming, and it didn’t hurt to be tender and kind even to your lessers. Besides, Anastasia was smitten with her, and the little girl did seem to be more merely ignorant than actually stupid. 

In contrast, the woman fingered a few fabrics, walking up and down the fine tailor’s racks. A few she obviously dismissed as inferior, and Anatoly’s practiced eye noted those were less expensive items of inferior make. 

For Kollei, Anatoly got to play dress up, choosing the dresses and having her try them on. It was somewhat fun, and she turned out to not be an unattractive thing, provided she put on makeup to cover her freckles. She was a slender youth still, though obviously one becoming a woman. She reminded Anatoly of the Anastasia of five years ago, and he resolved to take the opportunity to give this girl the dresses he couldn’t afford to purchase for his sister when she was that age. 

In contrast, the other woman picked out a fine black gown of silk, and through various hand signs, indicated she wanted a black veil as well. 

“Are you a widow?” the tailor asked her. “Those are mourning clothes, madam.”

She considered that, then shrugged.

“Give her whatever she wants,” Anatoly told him. “Under my account.”

“Of course, sir,” the tailor readily agreed, as Anatoly and his sister were two of his best customers. 

They ended up picking out three dresses for Kollei, two that would need adjustments and one off the rack that was a good enough fit with a few changes that could be made that afternoon. The other woman, however, insisted on three black gowns, and very firmly had the tailor take her measurements, directing him like a queen who knew exactly how she wanted her clothes cut and fit. 

“That is a rather daring style for mourning clothes,” the tailor said hesitantly. “But if madam is certain…?” 

By the regal tilt of her head and the imperious wave of her hand, she was. Just one of her dresses would cost as much as all three of the gowns Kollei had chosen, especially with the alternations that would need to be made. She waited patiently while the tailor measured, then tapped her foot when they were done, clearly expecting her wishes to be carried out immediately. 

“We are attending my sister’s performance tonight, it will be a rush job,” Anatoly told the tailor. “I’ll pay the fee to expedite, of course.”

“Of course, of course, come back in three hours, we’ll have the first dress done then,” the tailor promised. 

After that, Anatoly took the girls to lunch at a restaurant he owned. He was fond of Italian food, and he’d brought in chefs that made excellent authentic dishes. However, he had not considered Kollei’s reaction.

“Kollei, that’s the wrong fork. When you’re eating a salad, it’s this one,” he told her for what felt like the fifth time.

She looked at him in confusion, then picked up the salad fork, but held it like it was a shovel. “Like this?”

Anatoly was about to scream in frustration until he glanced at the woman. She held a hand to her lips, but she was hiding obvious amusement. Interestingly, not only was she holding the proper fork, but she was exhibiting perfect table manners, with an easy posture. Indeed, she looked more at home in the upscale bistro than she had anywhere save the exclusive tailor’s shop. 

“Thoma, sit with Kollei, would you? You’re the one for teaching etiquette,” he said.

“Of course,” Thoma agreed and pulled up an extra chair. “Like this, Kollei. Now, sit with your back straight, like a lady. There, better.”

The meal passed in good order, with Thoma sharing several of his seemingly endless amusing anecdotes, and Anatoly watching the woman as she apparently enjoyed her meal. She even smiled at a few of Thoma’s jokes, though she remained silent and distant, even when Anatoly or Thoma tried to draw her into conversation. 

They returned to pick up the dresses, then went for a walk near the theater. Kollei was fascinated by everything, chattering away and listening raptly when Anatoly lectured her on the finer points of city history. She even asked a few intelligent enough questions, if one assumed she was a completely uneducated child. It was rather edifying to have such a rapt audience though, as Anastasia no longer found his lectures to be quite as amusing as she had when she was younger. 

Then it was time to go to the theater. Anatoly excused himself to visit Anastasia and Elena backstage, leaving Kollei and the woman with Thoma. 

“There you are, Tolney! I was beginning to wonder if I still had a boyfriend, you’ve not been back to your flat in nearly a week!” Elena said, accepting the bouquet of flowers he’d brought along with a kiss. 

“I’ve been busy with something. Something important. Perhaps you’ll see soon,” Anatoly promised, giving her a kiss.

Elena was beautiful, strikingly so. Indeed, the only woman more comely than her in the entire theater troop of gorgeous women was Anatoly’s sister, though he was admittedly biased in his assessment. He’d selected Elena to share his bed because she was the most attractive, but she’d turned out to have a sharp wit and shared Anatoly’s droll sense of humor. He’d had her move into his flat a few months back, and enjoyed her company most of the time. 

“Oh? Something to keep dearest Stasya busy?” Elena asked, turning to Anastasia as she walked up. She was in full costume now, dressed as Clara in a beautiful period dress. 

“You’ll hear of it soon, I’m certain,” Anastasia laughed. She cocked her head to one side, biting her lip. “Is she…?”

“Both here. Kollei is very excited to see you dance, like a small child the night before Christmas. As for the other…well, she seems more alert at least,” Anatoly said. When he sensed Elena’s sudden gaze on him, he coughed. “Ah, I have adopted a…ward. A  young girl. Anastasia is quite taken with her. And another woman, one who was sick.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear all about them later,” Elena said in somewhat dangerous tones. Anatoly wondered how aware she was that he had slept with other women. He did try to be discreet about it, but if he rubbed her face in it, well, it was natural she would take offense. He’d make it up to her later, especially since he was entirely innocent this time. 

“I’ll tell you about it,” Anastasia promised, taking Elena’s arm. “I’m glad you could make the performance, Tolney.” 

“Likewise, I look forward to seeing the Sugarplum Fairy dance,” Anatoly said as a desperate bone to Elena, who was playing that role. 

After that, he headed to his private box, where Kollei was practically vibrating with excitement, asking Thoma a million questions and examining the special program they’d gotten. 

The other woman sat regally, a pair of opera glasses in her hand, her veil over her face as she reclined as if it were natural for her to have the best seat in the house. Anatoly took a seat next to her and smiled. “I sponsor this theater and the troupe, and my sister is an excellent performer. You’ll enjoy this show, I promise.”

She turned her head ever so slightly towards him, and then Anatoly’s heart skipped a beat as she nodded regally, then turned back to face the stage. Soon, the lights dimmed, and Anastasia appeared on stage. She was a bit old for the role of Clara, Anatoly knew, but at the same time, she was his sister, and he’d made it known that he expected her to get the best roles if the theater wanted to continue to receive his patronage. He hoped she wasn’t aware of that fact, but at the same time, didn’t mind using his influence to enforce his will. 

Especially since she was clearly the most skillful ballerina on stage.

Kollei’s prattle ceased as she watched breathlessly, and even Anatoly found himself swept up in the music and dance. He’d always been fond of the classics, and The Nutcracker was a particular favorite. He looked at the woman, who was watching with rapt attention, though her face was as blank as ever. 

The production quality was excellent, as Anatoly had lavished funds for the very best costumes, instruments, and set pieces. He wished to be known as a generous patron of the arts, though he did avoid the spotlight too much as it was bad for business for his name to be too well known. Enough that those who needed to know knew he was the one who sponsored ballet, orchestra, and art galleries in the city. 

Kollei was enraptured from the start, and to Anatoly’s delight, so was the woman. She seemed especially intrigued by the appearance of the monstrous Rat King, then the appearance of the Nutcracker. She even applauded at the conclusion of the climactic battle, a smile on her lips. 

At the intermission, Anatoly offered to show the women to the restrooms, with Kollei gratefully accepting. “It was so wonderful! I had to pee, but I didn’t want to get up and miss any of it!” 

That was rather crass, but Anatoly offered her his arm. “And you, madam?” he asked the other woman. 

She gave an ever so slight shake of her head and flick of the hand in dismissal. Had she ever gone to the bathroom? Some capes did not. Still, he took Kollei to the facilities, then helped her put her dress to rights afterward. Then it was the second act, and Anatoly reclined in his seat again. 

“So, the monster is defeated. And yet, the show goes on. I wonder, what else is in store?”

Anatoly sat up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. Kollei jerked upright as well, and Thoma started, as all three of them turned to look at the woman. She had doffed her veil, and was looking at the stage with real interest now. 

Clearing his threat, Anatoly managed, “They visit the kingdom of sweets, and some of the most famous dances are in the second act. You…enjoyed the show?”

The woman inclined her head but did not utter another word as the curtain was raised. 

It was hard to pay attention as Elena danced as the Sugar Plum Fairy, as Anatoly was studying the woman. She had gone back to placidity, but there was a small smile on her lips now, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. Was this it? Was she finally awake?

But she said not another word throughout the performance, only applauding politely. Anatoly was about to lose all hope, until the very end of the show.

As the audience rose to applaud, the woman stood as well. Instead of clapping, she stretched out her hand. A glowing blue light formed, taking the shape of a snowflake. There were gasps and startled cries from the performers, some of whom flinched back. The audience noticed as well, and there were a few screams. Anatoly felt his heart stop in his chest. What was happening?

Then the snowflake flew down, splitting into a dazzling flurry of snow. It fell upon the dancers and orchestra, with a large crystal coming to rest over the head of Anastasia. 

“Your performance has pleased us,” the woman said, her voice soft but clear. Anatoly didn’t think it was loud enough to cut through the clamor, but the theater went suddenly silent. All eyes had turned to the woman. Anastasia herself had gone very still, her eyes fixed upon the snow crystal that was slowly descending towards her. 

“Take now this boon I give you, my child. For your dance has warmed our heart this night, and you have earned our favor,” the woman decreed regally. As she did so, the snowflake grew into an icy blue rose that came to rest in Anastasia’s outstretched hands. 

Everyone was still and silent, until Anastasia bowed, clutching the rose to her breast. “Thank you, ah, my lady. I am glad you enjoyed the performance.”

The woman nodded, then raised her hands. Slowly, she began to clap. Slowly at first, then rising in volume like a swelling tide, the theater erupted into cheers and applause. The other dancers bowed, casting uncertain glances up to the box, but the woman merely applauded politely for nearly a minute. Then, she turned about. “Let us depart. That was a diverting evening, but we are yet weary. Return us to our residence.”

Anatoly shot Thoma a look, but his aid looked as baffled as he felt. Bowing, Anatoly managed, “Yes, my lady. I am grateful you enjoyed the performance.”

With a nod, the woman swept out of the box, and Anatoly had to hurry after her, though he was half a step behind Kollei. 

“Wait, please! You, you never told me your name!” she begged, grabbing the woman’s hand in hers just at the exit. She knelt down, tears in her eyes. “I…I never said thank you. B-but thank you, so much. You saved my life. Are…are you an angel?”

The pale lips quirked in a smile. “You know not who I am? Have you not read that foolish novel of Beezelbul’s fanciful child?”

Kollei opened her mouth to speak, but that was when the gunfire started. 

“Shit, GET DOWN!” Anatoly snarled, reaching into his suit and pulling out his Glock 36 from his shoulder holster as Thoma formed a barrier between them and the door. Even as he did so, the door was knocked down, and a massive form with razor-sharp teeth shoved its way through. It was Akula, one of Viktor’s minions, a powerful brute cape. 

“THEY’RE IN HERE!” Akula began, her jaw opening wide as she prepared to attack. She couldn’t get through Thoma’s barrier alone, but she likely had reinforcements. 

Before Anatoly could even get his gun up, the woman held her hand out to one side. “Such insolence. This insult will not stand.”

A massive sword that looked to be carved from ice, with a glowing blue snowflake sigil appeared in the woman’s hand. Though it looked like it had to weigh at least 20 kilos, she swung it easily, shattering Thoma’s barrier and carving Akula in half. The sharklike cape froze solid when the weapon struck her, her two parts falling to the ground and shattering into frozen chunks. 

There was more gunfire, and Anatoly watched as thin walls of ice formed in front of the woman. She peered at her creation for a moment, then lazily swung her sword up to rest on her shoulder. That thing was taller than she was. She turned her head, a mischievous grin on her face. “Associates of yours?”

“Footsoldiers of my enemies,” Anatoly managed. “It is Viktor. I told him you…you might be an Archon. He was less than pleased.”

“Ah, so you at least have a brain. Good. I detest being surrounded by incompetents. Still…” the woman turned back to the barrier, where bullets were skittering off it harmlessly. “I hate to simply slay mortals, especially those of my own people. Which one is this Viktor?”

Hesitantly, Anatoly stepped forward, his gun still in his hands. He paused, then turned to Thoma. “Find Anastasia and Elena! Keep them safe!”

Thoma, good man that he was, took one look at the woman who had both shattered his own barrier then created a stronger one, then saluted and said, “Jawohl, mein Führer.” Then he turned and ran. 

Kollei was on her knees still, hugging herself and trembling, her eyes full of tears. Anatoly rested a hand on her shoulder. “Stay with us. We will not let harm come to you.”

She nodded gratefully, and the woman…Archon? Looked amused as he stepped forward and peered through the icy barrier. Viktor was there alright, with two dozen of his men, and two more capes he employed. “There. That’s Viktor. I know the other two. Nogot and Slozhnyy. They’re both capes. Dangerous ones.”

“Yes, I sense the stench of the Sustainer upon them. Well. Perhaps killing them will not be so onerous. It has been too long since I got my own hands dirty,” the woman said. Then she charged forward, bursting through her barrier with her sword held out before her. As she moved, the entire street outside froze, along with every single one of Viktor’s henchmen as their feet were covered in frost. The three capes all tried to react, with Viktor stopping his motion to activate his powers, while Nogut flicked a few fragments of his nails out, and Slozhnyy pointed one of his contraptions at her. 

Pirouetting like one of the ballerinas they’d just watched, the woman spun about, swinging her sword in a great arc. She took off Nogut’s arm just above the elbow, and took off Slozhnyy’s at the wrist. Viktor, however, stopped her sword, and it rebounded off of him with a sound like a cracking glacier. 

Still, the woman continued her artful dance, completing her spin. She let go of the sword with one hand, and reached out, caressing Viktor’s cheek like a lover. Ice spread across his body, and he seemed to turn to an icicle. 

The woman brought her sword down, right on Viktor’s head. This time, instead of glancing off, her sword shattered Viktor into hundreds of pieces. The woman slowly spun to a halt, turning to look down at Viktor’s scattered remains. Slozhnyy and Nogut were down and gasping in pain, clutching their severed limbs. 

“Not a god after all, but simply a mortal man,” the woman mused. She looked around to the footsoldiers, who were looking at her in horror. “I am benevolent and merciful. If you throw down your arms and plead for your lives, I may, perhaps, grant you clemency this once.”

“Who…who are you?” Nogut gasped, clutching his still-gushing stump. 

The woman set her sword before her at an angle, resting her hands on the crossguard and leaning on it. “You may call me…the Tsaritsa. Now. Kneel.”

A wave of adoration swept over Anatoly, and he fell to his knees, even as Kollei prostrated herself. All around him, those who moments before had been trying to kill the Tsaritsa knelt in awe and supplication. It brought no joy to her eyes, nor a smile to her lips, and she simply nodded. 

Far too late, Anatoly realized that he had been in less control of the situation than he had thought. 

The Tsaritsa was here.