It was Christmas Eve. We had fasted at dedushka’s dacha – Danilo, Prokovitch, Alexei, Rubenya, Stepan, Azovka and I – until the first star of the Savior rose. Azovka and I set the table with sochiva, a special Christmas Eve meal of wheat grains, nuts, and honeyed dried fruit bits. It was one of my favorite things to eat – and my stomach knew a good meal. We also had medovukah and vodka.

The sochiva simmered on the stove, and Azovka stirred it while she was deep in thought, her black braid and copper-white skin dressed in a beautiful chrysolite gown. She had a green kokoshnik with pearls and emeralds earrings on, and exotic birds I had embroidered in navy and gold thread puffed, life-like, on her shoulders.

The boys were out chortling in the living room, telling stories of the Copper Guard’s latest mission. They had gone as far as Lake Baikal with Bailiff Flogger’s mining crew. They had put on a grand show for the Romanov barons as Alexei summoned a grand stone of granite in the midst of the frozen lake. It had pierced the sky, toppling the tsar’s double headed eagle from the starry firmament. Danilo had gone with them, putting his malachite carving skills to work.

“How are the pies, Azovka?” I asked, my best friend opening the woodstove and checking the roasting meat pies.

“Can you add some more pine to the tinder?” Azovka smiled, like a bird. “It is nice, just the two of us this past December – no men to bully, brag, or boast with their cockles all agape. I could get used to just the two of us.”

I smiled dreamily. “Still thinking of running away when we turn eighteen?” I ribbed her, tickling her green scaled neck.

Azovka’s pinprick pupils dilated like a lizard’s – slitted and green-yellow. There was hunger in her, an ancient ache of Mount Azov. “Katya, my best guess is we live on Mount Azov, all alone. At the peak like Saint Clementina. Then, we get a wagon and donkey and travel all of Russia. I’ve never seen the world, always locked away in Podentsky like royal chattel.” She gazed out the window at the holly hedge covered in frost and snow. “What do you think it is like, outside the Malachite Walls? The menfolk always go, but dedushka says a princess’ place is safe within the walls of Podentsky, the Emerald Forest, and Copper Mountain… I want to see the world!”

I embraced her, and we danced. “Azovkalisha, I’ll take you the world over once you are Mistress of Copper Mountain and I am your Copper Guardian! We are simply not ready – the world is dangerous for young women.”

“I can turn into a lizard and bite a man with poison. I can summon copperfire and burn any miscreant. I can keep us safe. And you, Katinka, why, you are the strongest, bravest woman I know! I know dedushka just wants to keep me safe. Not like Aunt Cecilia. Us Copper Women, we have jealous hearts, like how our stone enchants a miner, and demands Prokovitch and Danilo carve us with such dedication that they get cancer and lung cough from moldavite dust. I cannot keep you all to myself, Katya. But I want too.”

“Maybe we can do a girl’s trip before we get engaged?” I asked. The room smelled heavenly, of Christmas Eve tidings and a babe born in Bethlehem. “Saint Clementina was a wild woman, after all, and played P’yanitsa with Baba Yaga, feasted in Koschei’s halls, rode brooms with Morena. I think, even if we met Lady Midday in the fields and she tried to carve us up with her sickle, with your magick and wits, and my strength and spear, we would put up quite a good fight!”

“Oh, the tea kettle is whistling! And the mulled wine smells delicious! I am glad for our friendship, Katya,” Azovka smiled, drinking in my gown with hungry eyes.

I blushed as she looked at my bosom. It was growing larger by the day, the more baked potatoes I ate.

Azovka caught my eye, blushed green, then we set the table with Christmas Eve food. The men did not notice, out back throwing axes on the barn, and Danilo was carving slag into berry gems and setting them with claret stones, the latest fashion of the gentry. What a strange, daydream of a man! I fancied him like I fancied Azovka.. but I would have Misha, wouldn’t I? Father had been making Misha and I meet for weekly tea. Misha went on about how unwomanly I was. Didn’t like the look of my muscles. He was a lard himself. Ugh!

I poured the tea kettle, then extra water from a Moscow samovar dedushka gave mother as bride price. That was the way of the Tatars. We were old-fashioned, to say the least.

The table was set with Minton China, silver and crystal cut dishes, all gifts from dedushka’s Copper Guard travels, and we spread out a feast for the ages – all in the name of our Lord. Saint Elijah the Thunderer rode his cart of goats across the sky, and thunder roiled as he hammered Saint Nicholas down towards Podentsky, to deliver a snowstorm of gifts. Funny, the tsar was named after the saint. They were both kind in their ways, just like Ded Moroz – but they could also freeze you out of hearth and home.

“Look at all this food, Katya! We are amazing cooks!”

Rubenya clucked, playing with Igor as she knitted by the fire. “I’ve taught you two well, my little dumplings,” she smiled, her creaking patinated skin wrinkled with old age. The boys were all still outside, drunk.

“Oh Nanny Rubenya, I love you so,” Azovka decreed, embracing her. She helped Rubenya into her walker and helped set her auntie at the head of the table.

Rubenya looked at Azovka with pride in her eyes. “You are nothing like your wicked aunt Cecilia. No, Azovka, you have your mother Elisa’s heart. If only you had known her. She was a jewel among women. And you have King Alexei’s head. With Katya by your side, and Podentsky ever faithful, we will prosper under your reign, my Aztinka – long after Alexei and I are gone. Funny, how Christmas makes an old woman remember. Let us eat before it gets cold. Call the silly boys in, clucking away like hens they are, drunkards all!”

“Oh Rubenya, we love you!” Azovka and I burst, crying.

“I will never be like Cecilia Popova…” Azovka whispered, looking out with strange longing at Stepan Patinko massaging Danilo Nedokormysh’s shoulder as he paused from carving the slag. She must be remembering ghosts of the past, I thought. I saw her look with that same hunger at Danilo as she did me.

Copper Women, they devoured stonemasons and miners, gave malachite caskets and gems, and cried copper emeralds that turned to dust on miner’s death days. It was a cursed gift, their love, the miners said. Maybe that’s why the girls all hated Azovka – jealous of her beauty and power, how she made all the townsmen swoon – but none were bold enough to chase her, only stare at her longingly, fawning, and whisper, giving her the finest offerings at the Snake Festival, when the Stone Flowers bloomed for the Copper Guard to witness, and renew the Popova’s powers, and all of Copper Mountain’s magick.

I didn’t care. I wanted Azovka. I wanted to eat her up too, taste her filigree, eat the copper of her heart, like a Ural Eucharist. They said this land was made when Homay, the Swan Maiden, cried over our forefather Ural. Carved of the bones of wicked dev Azraka, the Urals were King Ural’s creation. Homay had been a wounded swan in King Ural’s arms. I felt enchanted like the Daughter of the Sun, whom all Bashkirs on my mother’s proud side said they were from. A holy, sacred thing. If Azovka was stone, I was a bird… all light and airy-brained, but able to break limbs like those of the whitest flocks.

Rubenya drank mulled wine and black tea as she clucked at my mush dog Igor, playing with him fondly. Azovka chattered on with her nanny, dancing because she was so happy. Save the Snake Festival, Christmas Eve was Azovka’s favorite day. Mine was always Easter – I liked to pretend I had a Faberge egg. Or maybe Marzanna when we drowned the straw maid. I had never found a fern flower on Ivan Kupalo, no treasure for me, so I did not care for that holiday much.

Finally, after my mind had wandered, we were done setting the places. And what a feast it was! Gherkins, pickled mushrooms, sauerkraut. Meat pies, pickled apples, expensive mutton. Oh, and my favorite – the festive drink zbeetyn’ of spices and honey that Priest Trepinko’s wife always gave to congregants after Christmas Eve service. We had bought a jugful back, she had brewed so much.

“Boys, come in!” I called, hustling the menfolk inside.

Danilo crossed himself. “Is it alright for such a plain man as I to be treated to such royal food? Feels like I stumbled into Heaven, my Katya and Azovka.”

Petrovich smiled fondly. “You pay the quit-rent, boy, with your wonderful creations. You deserve thricefold.”

“And our daughters, they take after their mothers!” dedushka bellowed.

Alexei smiled, a tear in his eye: “Azovka is just like my Elisa. Oh, we are blessed men indeed, my brother Stefan.”

We ate, and feasted, and it was a meal for the ages, full of drinks, mirth, and blini with apple butter for dessert.

Azovka and I cleaned up the meal after the boys went upstairs to sleep piled up in two beds. Rubenya got the spot for the elderly atop the brick fireplace, bundled up with Petrovich. They slept soundly, snoring.

Azovka looked at me in secret bliss. “Katya, you know what time it is?” she whispered.

My eyes gleamed, their blue depths brimming with excitement. “Spells. We will do fortune telling! Oh, Azovka, I love this time of year! Maybe I will not have to wed blasted Misha! He called me a heifer the other day at our forced teas, told me he would fatten me up even more with twelve children – all boys! I want at least one girl, Azovka!” I said. I blushed, thinking of how Danilo had promised me six boys and one precious daughter last month.

I did not need to tell Azovka that.