The Lost Souls of Angelkov by Linda Holeman

with all her questions.
    “Did you love your puppy very much?”
    “But of course, princess.”
    There was silence.
    “I suppose you have many dogs,” Lilya finally said, when it appeared she was expected to speak.
    “My father and brothers have dogs for hunting.” Antonina thought of the three elegant, aloof borzois, lounging on the red velvet sofa or on the thick wool rug in front of the fire. She was not allowed to touch the dogs, although her father daily brushed them. In the spring he used a strong boar brush, urging out the soft undercoat that thickened in the colder months. When she had been very small, she remembered leaning against her father, watching him as he crooned and sang to his dogs while he worked over them.
    Lilya licked her lips. Was it her turn to speak? “But you don’t have your own dog?” she asked.
    Antonina shook her head.
    “That’s too bad,” Lilya said. “I will get another puppy soon. My father promised.” She again looked at the grave; she didn’t know where else to look.
    “Let’s say the prayer for Romka, then,” Antonina said, standing beside her now, and Lilya felt a surge of relief. This was as it should be—the princess deciding what was to be done.
    Together they bowed their heads and clasped their hands. “Which one?” Antonina asked, and Lilya hesitantly began:
“Into Thy hands, oh Lord, I commend the soul of Thy servant
Romka,”
and Antonina joined her in the Prayer for the Dead,
“and beseech Thee to grant him rest in the place of Thy rest, where all Thy blessed Saints repose, and where the light of Thy countenance shineth forever.”
    Then Lilya added, “And I beseech You, oh Master, be merciful to Romka.”
    “Amen,” they both said, crossing themselves.
    Lilya gathered some tiny wild spring hyacinth and knelt, laying the little purple blossoms on the earth. Her kerchief had slipped to her shoulders, and Antonina looked at the whiteness of Lilya’s scalp through her dark hair as she bent over Romka’s grave.
    “The next time I come by the village, will you show me your new dog?” Antonina asked.
    Lilya quickly got to her feet, her head bowed. “Yes, if it is your wish, princess.” Cautiously, she looked up. “But … why?”
    Antonina shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, and it was true. She didn’t know what made her want to keep talking to Lilya, what made her feel that she didn’t want to leave.
    At a horse’s snort, they turned to see Kesha and Semyon. Though Antonina had ordered them to stay behind, they had come nearer, pulling Antonina’s pony with them. They were close enough to hear the conversation.
    Antonina shook her head, annoyed. But she understood that this was their duty. Should anything befall her, Kesha and Semyon would pay with their lives.
    Lilya lowered her head again, even more uncomfortable. The two burly men might think she was at fault for talking to the daughter of the landowner. “Have I permission to leave?”
    “Yes.”
    “Goodbye then, Princess Olonova,” Lilya said, bowing from the waist before she turned away. When she had taken ten steps through the grove, Antonina called out to her.
    “When do you get your new puppy?”
    Lilya had to turn around and bow again. “Next week. Today my father showed me a litter, almost weaned. He said I can pick one.”
    Antonina thought of her own father. Would he do this for her? She didn’t know. “Then I will come to Kazhra next week, to see it.”
    Lilya performed another small bow. “As you wish, princess.”
    But Antonina wanted something more. “Lilya Petrova,” she said, and Lilya cocked her head. “Do you
want
me to come?” Antonina asked.
    Lilya pulled her kerchief up, tying it firmly under her chin. She looked over Antonina’s head at the softly swaying branches with their small, furled buds. Her eyes skittered past Kesha and Semyon. When she finally looked at Antonina, her face was tight, suspicious.
    “I don’t understand, princess,” she