Encounter at the Abandoned Chapel
Yet the only thing that felt the same was the sudden appearance of a stranger in this forest; everything else had changed from before. Anastasia rose from her seat with deliberate haste—careful not to seem too frivolous—brushed off her clothes, and faced the man.
“Who are you?”
She could remain calm because of the man’s appearance and manner. Had he worn the same look as the grocer who once tried to drag her into the woods, Anastasia would have fled at once.
This man, however, was clean and neat. His eyes held none of the greasy gleam of that merchant’s. Instinct told her he meant her no harm.
“…….”
Anastasia was startled by her own composure in the presence of a stranger, and her mind drifted back to the first time she had met Mikhail. Why had he seemed so terrifying then? Beautiful as he was, she had felt as though she stood before someone who had come to kill her….
The man stared blankly at her, then seemed to collect himself, bowing hastily as he spoke.
“I-I’m sorry! I never thought anyone would be here!”
He removed his hat, pressed it to his chest, and kept dipping his head toward Anastasia.
“I am Ilya Valeryevich Isayev! Usually written simply as Ilya Isayev. If it is not too forward, may I know the young lady’s name?”
Anastasia hesitated a moment before answering.
“I’m Anastasia.”
She deliberately omitted the Lauderdale surname. From the day it had first been given to her it had felt like ill-fitting clothes; now it felt like shackles.
“Anastasia. Truly a beautiful name.”
Is it? The generous praise left her no choice but to smile. There had been an Anastasia in the kitchens, another in the gardens, and still more among Elizabeth’s and Catherine’s maids; she had always thought the name thoroughly common, and never expected to hear it praised.
“But Mr. Ilya, how did you come to be here? There is no proper path….”
The only tracks leading to the chapel were those of beasts. Even a lost traveler would not easily find this place.
“If you were looking for Edenhurst Manor, you ought to go that way.”
“No, no. I must visit Edenhurst Manor as well, but I came seeking this chapel.”
“Here?”
The more she listened, the stranger it seemed. No one but herself had ever sought out this abandoned ruin; how had he known of it? When Anastasia continued to regard him with open curiosity, Ilya bowed once more.
“Good heavens, I have not even properly introduced myself. I am—no longer an associate professor of Historical Theology at the Novgord Empire Central Academy. I serve as a full professor now. When I mentioned I would be visiting Edenhurst, the Imperial Household commissioned me to survey the old chapels in this region….”
“Central Academy?”
That single phrase caught her ear above all else.
“You came from the Academy?”
Anastasia took another step toward him.
Ilya Isayev was not in his right mind.
“It was probably built some two hundred fifty to two hundred thirty years ago. It appears to follow the mid-period Luzia style.”
He was speaking, yet he could not tell what he was saying or whether the words were even coherent. His gaze remained fixed on the red-haired young woman before him, eyes bright as she listened to every explanation.
“One distinctive feature of the Luzia style is the door at the entrance….”
“I know that one. It’s the Gate of Heaven, made so it can never open, isn’t it?”
Ilya nodded vigorously. A delighted laugh followed, as though she had answered a quiz correctly, and his thoughts grew even more disordered. He found himself recalling everything that had brought him here.
Until a month ago he had still been an associate professor at the Imperial Central Academy. Professor and associate professor—the titles sounded as if promotion were only a step away, yet Ilya had long known he would remain an associate until the end of his days.
A professorship at the Academy was an exalted post. Knowledge alone was never enough; one needed a distinguished title, outstanding contributions to Academy research, or the patronage that made such research possible.
He possessed neither title nor a family able to offer substantial support, so he had half resigned himself from the start. Brilliant research might still have opened the door, but Historical Theology rarely produced the kind of results that earned such advancement.
Then, out of nowhere, word had come from the Academy: he was to be appointed full professor and to carry out the research proposal he had once submitted.
How overjoyed he had been. The honor of a professorship, a salary far beyond anything an associate received, and the freedom to pursue his studies at last.
Research on the early chapels of western Novgord.
Edenhurst stood at the very heart of that region. The Academy had hinted—then stated outright—that he already had connections there and ought to survey the surroundings thoroughly.
Ilya had seen no reason to refuse.
I had been fretting about them all this time anyway….
He worried for the Lauderdale mother and daughters with whom contact had been lost. Worse still, the rumors swirling through capital society were grim. If the three of them truly were being toyed with by that man Mikhail, he meant to bring them to the capital at once.
On his way to the manor he had examined a map drawn some two centuries earlier and noticed a chapel marked in the old Edenhurst hunting forest. He had decided to look it over before presenting himself at the house….
Now he watched, dazed, as the young woman drifted toward the weathered Gate of Heaven. The moment he had pushed through the trees and found the ruined chapel, he had forgotten to breathe. In the center of the wreckage a red-haired woman had been praying with such pure devotion that she seemed sacred. In this forsaken place where no one ever came.
She could not be an angel; scripture mentioned none with red hair. Yet everything about the scene had made her holy: the sweet birdsong, the cool breeze, the light filtering through the stained glass, and the quiet figure at prayer.
Ilya had looked upon a sight more beautiful than any sacred painting he had ever seen.
Even after she rose, moved, and proved herself human, his heart refused to settle; it only raced harder. Especially now, when she smiled.
She took a lively interest in details of the chapel that left most people cold. So Ilya poured out every scrap of knowledge he possessed.
Before he realized it, the sun was sinking. Lengthening tree-shadows finally recalled him to himself; both he and the young woman needed to leave the forest.
“Um… if you would not mind, I should like to escort you home.”
“I’m quite all right. You said you were bound for Edenhurst Manor, didn’t you? I’ll show you the way.”
Anastasia knew it was time she returned as well. Any later and Natasha would come searching with tears in her eyes.
She went back to the stone seat, slipped on the shoes she had set aside, and gathered the book she had brought. She had meant to read in peace, yet Ilya’s sudden arrival had kept her from turning a single page. She felt no regret.
“Mr. Ilya, is the Academy truly like a city unto itself?”
Walking ahead, Anastasia kept plying him with questions about the Academy.
It was a place she had long been curious about. She had asked Mikhail more than once, but he only ever answered that she could see it for herself someday and never offered details. That only sharpened her curiosity. And now here was Ilya, come straight from its halls—a professor who taught its students. Better still, unlike Mikhail and so many others, he showed her no hostility at all.
“It is. Fifty years ago His Majesty Emperor Yaslav gathered the scattered research institutions into one place with lavish imperial support, and they took the name Academy. Because the original bodies had been transplanted wholesale from Ils, the Ils designation was kept as well.”
Ilya spoke on with growing animation. Before long the manor came into view. Listening intently, Anastasia suddenly halted.
“But Mr. Ilya, what business brings you to Edenhurst Manor?”
Caught up in his accounts, she had forgotten to ask why he sought the house itself. Just then a familiar voice drifted from the garden.
“You’ve arrived, Ilya.”
“Elizabeth!”
The speaker was Elizabeth. Anastasia started, stepped quickly backward, and lowered her head deep.
It had been so long since she last faced Elizabeth. And more than that—
She must hate me.
She had heard the marriage talks between Mikhail and Elizabeth were nearly concluded. Then everything had been swept away as if it had never been….
“It’s been a while, Anastasia. I was beginning to worry, seeing so little of you. Are you feeling better now?”
“……!”
The unaccustomed gentleness in the voice made Anastasia look up in surprise. Elizabeth was smiling at her.
“Wait, Elizabeth. You know Miss Anastasia?”
Ilya glanced between them in astonishment. Still smiling at Anastasia, Elizabeth answered.
“Of course. Who would fail to know her own younger sister? Isn’t that right, Anastasia Lauderdale.”