Page 92 of Emerald Malice

Arina looks after her and then her gaze flits to me. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Andrey,” I tell her patiently. “Your son.”

“Son,” she whispers softly. “My son.”

She doesn’t talk again for a long time. I accompany her through the gardens, down to the pond where a gaggle of ducks paddle along in the water, dipping their curved necks beneath the surface.

“How have you been?” I ask when the silence gets to be too much.

She looks at me with an irritated frown, as though she’d rather be watching ducks instead of answering stupid questions. “Can’t remember.”

“Fair enough.”

Another five minutes before she turns to me with a start. “I know who you remind me of.” She scowls. “My husband, Slavik. Do you know him?”

“We’ve met.”

“I thought you were him for a moment. But then… you’re younger.”

And a very different man.

“Do you know him?” she asks again.

“Yes.”

“How?”

I concentrate on two ducks venturing close to the bank. “He’s my father.”

She winces, and I almost laugh. Disease is chewing away at her brain, but she still knows enough to pity me for drawing that shitty card in life. “That must be hard for you.”

“You have no idea.”

“He’s not a good man, that Slavik.” Almost as soon as the words pass her lips, her face flushes with fear. “But don’t tell him I said that! He’ll beat me for it.”

In her panic, she grabs my arm. I place a hand over hers, shocked at how papery-soft her skin feels. “I won’t breathe a word.”

“He has spies, you know?” she tells me conspiratorially. “They watch me wherever I go. He killed my favorite brother, too. He denies it, but I know he did.” She looks around the garden with wide eyes as if she expects Slavik himself to jump out of the rose bushes. “He killed Leonid because he knew we were close. He doesn’t want me to have anyone.”

“You don’t have to worry about Slavik,” I assure her. “He’s gone now.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “Gone? Gone where?”

“Russia. He’s not coming back.”

“He left… He really left?” She sounds astonished. “If he left, he would have put me in a cage first. He always puts me in a cage when he leaves.”

You are in a cage, Mama. An invisible one, but a cage nonetheless.

My throat is so dry, it’s painful. “You’re free now, Mama.” She flinches when I call her that. “You don’t have to worry about Slavik. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

She starts tugging at the ends of her long, gray hair. It used to be a luxurious chestnut brown. But in the last few years, it’s gone thin and wispy. “… evil man. I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad!” she hisses, as if talking to someone standing directly in front of her. She turns suddenly and grabs my arm. “My boys! What about my boys? Did he take them with him?”

I stare into her eyes and for a moment—one solitary, heartbreaking moment—I see the woman who raised me. The woman who ran her fingers through my hair to wake me in the morning. The woman who sang out-of-tune songs to put me to bed at night.

“No, he didn’t take the boys.”

She sighs in relief. “Oh, thank God. At least they’ll stand a chance now.” She pauses, taken by a sudden realization. “Although, they must be bigger now? They must be men.”

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