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Many years later he would remember the image of the man atop the burning hill.
There are equal parts desire and desperation behind his actions, and he tightens his hold: not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark.
“That’s good,” he’s told softly. “Just like that.”
“As you command, my lord.”
There are no more things that can be said. And for the next moments, he lets everything else fade away.
Long before he met the tsar, he heard stories about him. And there is no lack of stories about a man such as him. Terrible, glorious. Too many words and at the same time not enough. But it’s enough to feed an imagination. Enough to feed ambition.
“One day,” his father would say.
Now, many years later, his father’s words ring in his ears.
Terrible. Cruel. Glorious .
Give a man power and you will find out who he truly is. And he knows, oh yes, he knows this better than anyone.
One day, he thinks, and watches as blood drips down, choking the ground beneath.
“He resembles her, you know?” the man said to his father. “The tsar always had a soft spot for her.”
His father didn’t answer.
“Perhaps…”
“Alright,” his father finally speaks. “I understand.”
The first time he meets the tsar his father and his brother are by his side.
And yes, the tsar is every bit the legend they make him out to be. But he is also just a man.
He hears his father speaking, and the tsar’s eyes are not on his father, but on him.
He meets his eyes, holds his gaze for a moment, and he recognises what is reflected in the eyes of the tsar.
Later, he catches a snippet of what his father is told by the tsar.
“...has potential,” the tsar says.
One day, he thinks. And that day is getting nearer.
Give a man power and he will show you the secrets hidden deep in his heart.
Give a man power and you will find what lays behind his mask.
Teeth. Fangs. Inside every man you can find a monster.
“Basmanov, you scoundrel! You accursed wretch!” the man curses at him. “You are nothing but a dog!”
“If I am a dog, then what would that make you?” he laughs.
A vein in the man’s neck stands out, barely concealed rage in his eyes. He continues cursing even as the oprichniks take him away.
And the ground beneath his feet becomes heavier with blood.
The hand caresses his body, slowly moving down his chest, lower and lower, and he closes his eyes. Kisses fall over his skin, the smell of sweat and sex thick in the air.
His mouth tastes like ash.
One day , he thinks.
The waves roll over him, until there is nothing left in the ocean.
“The tsar has gone too far,” his father says. “To go so far as to destroy Novgorod…” he runs a hand over his chin, shaking his head. “He must have lost his mind.”
“What would you have us do?” his brother asks.
And just how much have they promised in exchange? he thinks.
They call him a dog, but even a dog can bite its master’s hand.
My light, my sunshine, my lord, do not throw me away. Remember how I served you, how I did not deny your will in anything.
Let others serve you as I do!
But there are only the cold walls of the cell, the chill penetrating deep to his bone.
He is handed a sword and he knows what he must do.
He runs his hand across the cool metal, muscle memory kicking in and he holds it tightly in his hand.
He looks up and meets the tsar’s gaze, his eyes confirming what he already knows.
When he lays eyes on his father he feels nothing but disgust. What a pathetic little man , he thinks. Was there ever really a day when he looked up to this man?
His father’s eyes stare at him. Eyes just like his own. No. Perhaps in a time long ago. But now they are just those of a defeated, desperate man.
Give a man power and he will do anything to keep it.
Take power away from a man and he will show you his claws.
He swings down the sword. The body crumples to the ground, a pool of deep red spreading out around it.
“You have betrayed your own father,” the tsar speaks up. “You will betray me too.” His words are like cold water over his head.
“My lord,” he falls to his knees, his forehead hitting the ground, and he calls out after his retreating back. “My lord, my moon, my king, do not leave. Do not leave me here!” he cries, his words mixing with the taste of blood, falling heavy to the ground.
And the man atop the burning hill watches.