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I think of the peacock hanging in Leon’s house, wondering how it is that he had one exactly the same. Somehow, I’m certain it isn’t a coincidence.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. There’ll be time for all those questions. And I can’t hide up here forever.

I turn to go, bracing myself for the barrage of people, the conversations I’m not ready to have. Just as I’m about to walk down the stairs, I see Leon, standing on the deck below mine.He’s facing out to sea, but in the light cast from a nearby window, his face is clearly visible.

At first, I mistake the glistening on his cheeks for sea spray.

Then I see the grief etched into every line, as deep and unfathomable as the ocean in front of him, and realize it’s tears.

He glances up, meeting my eyes. We look at each other for a timeless moment, two relative strangers united by loss, not only of someone we both loved, but for the family we could never have together—and that we never will.

Leon pulls a balled-up piece of cloth from his pocket and stares down at it, rolling it in his hands. He raises it to his face, closing his eyes, and inhales deeply.

Then he throws it over the railing.

It’s only when the light catches it that I realize what it is: the silk peacock hanging.

Somehow I know he brought it here in the hope it would be reunited with Ekaterina’s. Instead, he’s sending it to comfort her, in the watery grave Yakov consigned her to.

The silk rides the air slowly down to the water and ripples on the surface for a time, the golden peacock glittering in the ship’s lights.

My father and I remain on our separate decks, standing silent vigil until the last glimmer finally sinks in the yacht’s wake, taken by the night sea.

40

Abby

Dimitry is still up on the top deck. I know he won’t relax until he knows every man is safe.

And I need a minute.

I stand under the hot jets of the shower in our suite, feeling the odd jolt of shifting from one life to another. I’m not sure when the permanence of Jacey’s death will truly seep into my nervous system. I still feel edgy, uncertain, as if at any point I might discover his death was a lie and that he’s still out there, stalking me with malevolent intent.

Jacey.

Jacob.

Yakov.

I wonder if life does this on purpose, twines our threads with others who share our past in some way.

My father is in the salon with Pavel and the others, already several drinks in. There’ll be time enough for us to talk later, when we’re out of here. I know he needed to be here, to know I was safe. For now, that is enough for us both.

I dress in a sarong I find in the closet. I don’t want to face the raucous party I can hear going on in the main salon, but Ido want a drink, so I slip out of the suite and pad quietly down to the dark lower deck to help myself. I’ve just poured an indecently large gin when Roman’s voice comes out of the darkness, startling me so much I almost drop my glass.

“How are you feeling, Abby?”

“Oh!” My hand flies to my chest, where my heart is pounding frantically.

“Sorry.” Roman peels off from where he’s leaning over the railing and comes toward me, smiling ruefully in the dim light. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” I tentatively return his smile. “It might be a while before I stop jumping at every strange movement, I’m afraid.”

He nods, his smile fading. “That place.” His mouth tightens. “Christ, Abby. I had no idea. Just the scale of it. And the condition some of those girls were in...” His voice trails off, and when he refills his glass, I notice his hand isn’t quite steady.

“Yeah, it was a treat, alright.” I revert to the jocular tone I usually take with Roman. It’s the way we’ve always communicated, he and I. We joke, or we bait one another with acid little barbs. Very occasionally, we exchange a genuine smile or nice remark.

Usually, we just default to politely ignoring each other.