Aleksy Tarasov stared out the window. A storm brewed, and it was a night for worrying. The grand princess even now groaned in her birth travail. By morning, Grand Prince Vasiliy might have an heir to his throne, or he might be a widower. Lightning lanced across the sky, illuminating the room far more than any number of candles or sconces did. It drew closer with each strike. Despite the vague anxiety it caused, Aleksy couldn’t tear himself from the window. The events of this night, this birth, might be vitally significant in his future.
Another lightning strike lit up the room, and a deafening crack, like breaking stone, shook the floor beneath Aleksy’s feet at the same moment. The entire palace seemed to shudder, and Aleksy’s knees almost gave way. He kept his feet, but staggered back from the window, pushing his dark hair away from his chiseled, angular face.
Since when did lightning make a noise like that?
Running forward again, he gazed out at the sleeping city and the dull stones that made up the Wall. He immediately understood what the noise had been: lightning struck the Kremlin Wall. Huge chunks of it were missing, others tumbling to the ground as he watched. Many of the stones glowed red hot and spread fire where they touched grass or wooden structures below.
Aleksy watched, safe from the cold and the fires, as a knot of servants and soldiers gathered outside. Soon a group of men—soldiers, merchants, and peasants—worked together. They stamped out flames, poured water onto hissing rocks, and glanced nervously at the heavens.
Aleksy’s family had been close to the throne for decades. His father, one of the grand prince’s advisors, summoned him to the palace the moment word spread that the grand princess’s pains had begun.
Aleksy had a little wife who loved the grandeur of court and a strapping eleven-year-old son. He still stood relatively low on the chain, but he possessed a talent for intrigue. He was already doing favors for the right people, planting seeds of rumor with the best gossipers, and finding pathways to those with the greatest influence at court. He intended to get to the grand prince's side sooner rather than later.
“Young Tarasov,” a voice called behind him.
Aleksy turned to see the grand prince’s chief physician in the doorway.
“Where is your father?” the doctor asked.
Aleksy nodded toward the massive oak door leading to the library. He wondered if there were any way the doctor had not heard commotion from the lightning.
The doctor followed Aleksy’s gaze to the door, then nodded.
“I’ll let you tell them all. The grand prince sends word to his loyal boyars. The grand princess is well, and she has a son. Ivan IV, heir to the Russian throne.”
With that, he turned and disappeared back into the royal bedchamber.
Aleksy gazed out the window again. He would tell his family, who waited for word, along with several other powerful families in the library, but he wanted to see where the lightning had struck, first.
The fire had been brought under control, but a large portion of the Kremlin Wall had been destroyed. It needed to be repaired—the grand prince would see to that. The people saw it as too sacred a symbol to be marred in such a way.
This would breed talk, and not the good kind. At the instant the new grand prince's birth, lightning from heaven struck the Kremlin Wall. Did it portend a good omen, or an evil one? Was God saying this child would be a great leader, or that he would bring destruction to his country?
No matter what the future held, Aleksy was determined to be part of it. Mother Russia was his country, and he would see to it that she remained strong.
Squaring his shoulders, he spun on his toe and walked to the library door.