Just as Slava was rising to return to her rooms, Yarmila Kseniyevna came up and, bowing, said that the Empress wished to see her.

“My sister?” said Slava, startled. “Wishes to see me?” Having just been subjected to a display of the ill results of marriage, Slava’s first thought was that her sister was attempting to arrange yet another match for Slava with yet another prince who was rich in money and poor in everything else, such as personal charm or common decency. It seemed a little late in the day for her sister to be trying to sell Slava off, though. Normally by this time in the evening the Empress was so intoxicated with vodka and her own success that she had no use, even as a target of her mockery, for Slava, who, as her sister often told her, always brought down the spirits of everyone around her. As the Empress kept reminding her, “No one wants to have those big gray eyes staring at her,” and Slava could see whenever she was in company that that was the undeniable truth.

“Just so, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” said Yarmila Kseniyevna. “Right away, if you please. There is someone she wishes you to meet.”

Slava dutifully followed Yarmila Kseniyevna past all the whirling dancers and into a small side room where her sister was sitting with a tall woman with bright red curls covering her shoulders and most of her face.

“Ah, there you are at last, Slava,” said the Empress. “Please welcome Olga Vasilisovna, younger daughter of Princess Severnolesnaya, to Krasnograd. Olga Vasilisovna, my younger sister, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna.”

Olga Vasilisovna rose and bowed. “An honor, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” she said, smiling right into Slava’s eyes, and Slava saw that Olga Vasilisovna let her hair cover her face not because she was shy, but because she couldn’t be bothered to pull it back. She was, Slava saw on closer inspection, much older than Slava had originally guessed, with silver threads running through her hair and her face already covered with lines brought on by lots of smiling and lots of sun.

Everything about her appearance suggested a woman who had just been scrubbed down and pulled into clean clothes with the sole intention of being vaguely presentable when introduced to the Empress. Olga Vasilisovna sat back down without waiting for Slava to be seated and without showing the slightest concern over what Slava would think of that.

“A pleasure,” said Slava, sitting down and waiting for the Empress to reveal her design on Slava. Even thrice-blessed as she was with a wild fancy as well as the ability to see into the hearts of others, she was having difficulty imaging what could have brought the younger daughter of Princess Severnolesnaya, who had never had much fondness for Krasnograd, all the way from her Northern forests into the Empress’s private chambers.

Inasmuch as Slava had ever heard of Olga Vasilisovna Severnolesnaya at all, she had always heard of her wild ways, her liking for men and lack of liking for her family, and her general aversion to all things that smacked of a city. While Krasnograd had many men and few members of the Severnolesnaya family in it, it was most definitely, undeniably, the biggest and most city-like city in all of Zem’, and therefore the last place one would expect to find the woman sitting in front of Slava and, Slava suspected, grinning through her fiery curls.

“Dearest sister,” said the Empress, smiling the smile that was supposed to show that Slava was, in fact, dearly beloved, “you will never guess why Olga Vasilisovna has come! She has a request for me.”

“Yes, petitioners are rare,” said Slava. The Empress paused for a moment, her hurt expression showing that she couldn’t tell whether Slava was making fun of her (under their mother’s rule, petitioners had haunted the Kremlin night and day), remarking on the current absence of petitioners (due to the Empress’s habit of deliberately misconstruing or denying their petitions), or merely making a statement of fact. Slava had in fact intended to make a caustic comment on the Empress’s treatment of petitioners, but she was already sorry she had done so, and found herself hastening to soothe her sister’s feelings.

“After all, these days your subjects have little need for petitions,” she said, and promptly felt ashamed of her lie, since by sparing her sister’s feelings, she had only doomed countless others to pointless suffering.

“Of course,” agreed the Empress, her face clearing. Slava thought that Olga Vasilisovna was hiding a laugh behind her hair.

“Dearest sister,” the Empress began again, “Olga Vasilisovna wishes to make an expedition to the Far North. What do you think of that?”

“Now?” asked Slava. “In winter?”

“Better than summer,” said Olga Vasilisovna. “In summer the tundra becomes a sucking mess of mud and mosquitoes, or so I’ve been told by those who’ve ventured past the sunline and returned to tell the tale, and when I tried to go there this summer myself, I discovered they were right. It’s best done while there’s still snow on the ground, so if we are to do it, we should set out immediately.”

“What is in the tundra that is of such value?” asked Slava.

“We won’t know until we go there,” said Olga Vasilisovna. She grinned even more broadly than before. “People once lived there, or so they say, but there’s little hope of meeting any of them. All the tales agree they disappeared long ago. But I have high hopes for great magic. Northerners say…”

“Magic is the petty business of sorceresses,” interrupted the Empress. “If Krasnograd is to fund this expedition as you ask, it should serve the interests of Krasnograd. Zem’ has extended its borders as far as is practicably possible to the East and South. We also claim everything to the North, but no one has ever ventured out there on our behest in order to explore the limits of our territory. Olga Vasilisovna wishes to be that woman. As she says, Zem’ is called the Midnight Land, but no one other than a few lawless hunters and trappers has ever visited the truly midnight edge of our country. She has her own group of hand-picked explorers; all she needs is the money and the Imperial mandate. What do you think?”

“Let me come with you,” said Slava.

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