Olya was biting her lips. She looked from her sleeping Marya to Sasha and back to Vasya. She said nothing for a long time.
“And Masha is the same as you?” Olga asked suddenly. “She sees—things? Chyerti?”
“Yes,” Vasya said. “She does.”
“And that is why Kasyan wanted her?”
Vasya nodded.
Olga fell silent again.
The other two waited.
Olga said, slowly, “Then she must be protected. From the evils of sorcerers, and the cruelty of men both. But I do not know how.”
Another long silence. Then Olga looked up, directly at her siblings. “At least I have you to help me.”
Vasya and Sasha were silent, startled.
Then— “Always,” said Vasya, softly. The morning sun slanted across the burned backs of her hands, and put a little color on Olga’s gray-pale one. Vasya felt as though the light had kindled inside her somewhere.
“There will be time for recriminations later,” Olga added. “But there is also the future to plan for. And—and I love you both. Still. Always.”
“That is enough for one day,” said Vasya.
Olga put out her hands; the other two took them, and they sat a moment silent, while the morning sun strengthened outside, chasing winter away.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The icy, earthy terrain of medieval Muscovy is not necessarily the most natural setting for a fairy tale. This time and place are brutal, complex, and fascinating, but the fairy-tale form—strong on villains and princesses—does not always leave room for the infinite shades of gray necessary to do this location and time period justice.
It would take a far longer and more ambitious novel than The Girl in the Tower to give a full and vital picture of the wars, the shifting alliances, the ambitions, of the monks, priests, merchants, peasants, princesses, nuns, and faiths that made up this incredible and poorly documented era.
In this book, I have striven for accuracy; I have also tried my best to at least hint at complex depths—of personality and of politics—when I could not delve into them more deeply. I have tried to stay true to the fairy tales that are my source material, but not to lose the texture of a time and a place I have come to love.
I have done my best. For inaccuracies and shortcomings, I apologize.
There are plenty of books out there for those wishing to learn more about the realities of this time period. I would like to recommend the dense and fascinating Medieval Russia, 980–1584 by Janet Martin （2007, Cambridge University Press）。 I have also benefited from Russian Folk Belief by Linda Ivanits （second edition, Routledge, 2015）。 The Domostroi is one of a few primary sources—it is a householder’s manual written somewhat later than the events of this novel, around the time of Ivan the Terrible.
Any of these will help those hungry for more historical detail.
As always, thank you all for reading.
A NOTE ON RUSSIAN NAMES
Russian conventions of naming and address—while not as complicated as the consonant clusters would suggest—are so different from English forms that they merit explanation. Modern Russian names can be divided into three parts: the first name, the patronymic, and the last, or family, name. In medieval Rus’， people generally had only a first name, or （among the highborn） a first name and a patronymic.
First Names and Nicknames
RUSSIAN IS EXTREMELY RICH in diminutives. Any Russian first name can give rise to a large number of nicknames. The name Yekaterina, for example, can be shortened into Katerina, Katya, Katyusha, or Katenka, among other forms. These variations are often used interchangeably to refer to a single individual, according to the speaker’s degree of familiarity and the whims of the moment.
Aleksandr—Sasha Dmitrii—Mitya
Vasilisa—Vasya, Vasochka Rodion—Rodya
Yekaterina—Katya, Katyusha
Patronymic
THE RUSSIAN PATRONYMIC IS derived from the first name of an individual’s father. It varies according to gender. For example, Vasilisa’s father is named Pyotr. Her patronymic—derived from her father’s name—is Petrovna. Her brother Aleksei uses the masculine form: Petrovich.
To indicate respect in Russian, you do not use Mr. or Mrs., as in English. Rather, you address someone by first name and patronymic together. A stranger meeting Vasilisa for the first time would call her Vasilisa Petrovna. When Vasilisa is masquerading as a boy, she calls herself Vasilii Petrovich.
When a highborn woman married, in medieval Rus’， she would exchange her patronymic （if she had one） for a name derived from her husband’s name. Thus Olga, who was Olga Petrovna as a girl, has become Olga Vladimirova （whereas Olga and Vladimir’s daughter is called Marya Vladimirovna）。