The Morning Star kt-3

by Robin Bridges

  George’s cold light had been almost completely severed from his body by Konstantin’s spell. But he’d managed a spell that had kept him hidden, even if barely alive, while he healed. He was still too weak, however, to call upon the Grigori to make a portal of his own.

  “I can tell you the words to say, but I have no control over the cold light,” George said. “A necromancer can touch this light and manipulate it to overcome death. That is why you are able to walk between the two worlds so easily.”

  I waved my hand in front of the mirror, scattering the mist, and focused on the place we needed to go: Gatchina. His parents would still be there.

  The trip back to the land of the living did not hurt quite so much this time. Maybe it was because I was too giddy to pay attention. I was worried about George, though, and focused my cold light energy on making sure he did not drag behind. The ritual took its toll on him anyway. Pale and coughing, George emerged with me in the cold snowy gardens outside the palace. I grabbed him by the arms to support him. He felt warm and solid, but I still couldn’t believe he was back home with me.

  “You’re shaking!” I realized. “Let’s get you inside.”

  The members of the Order of St. John who stood guard at the front of the palace could not believe their eyes when I shouted for them to open the gates quickly.

  “Do as she says,” George muttered.

  I was not sure if they did not want to follow my orders or were just in shock at seeing him.

  The doors opened, and one of the footmen sent for the tsar immediately. I helped them carry George inside and up to the bedroom he shared with Nicholas. The empress and the tsar arrived soon after, followed by Nicholas and Xenia.

  “Georgi!” The empress rushed to his bedside and grabbed his hand. “Oh, my son!” she sobbed. “My prayers have been answered!”

  The tsar took my hand. “I owe you everything, Katerina.” He pulled me into his enormous arms and kissed me on the forehead. “I would be honored to call you daughter.”

  “That’s a very good thing,” George said happily from the bed. He was already starting to get his color back. “Because we were married in Egypt.”

  “What is this?” The empress turned around sharply to look at me. I heard Xenia giggle from the doorway. Little Mikhail and Olga were peeking around from behind her skirts.

  The tsar released me from his fatherly embrace, as if to distance himself from me. He did not wish to incur the empress’s wrath, it seemed.

  George tried to push himself up onto his elbow. “Maman, you know I’ve wanted to marry Katiya for a long time. I did not want to risk losing her again.”

  Everyone was staring at me. “It was an Orthodox ceremony,” I said, as if that would make everything better.

  The empress glared at me, her eyes flashing silvery white. I suddenly worried that I was about to feel the full force of her Light Court powers.

  I turned back to the tsar, finally willing to say what he wanted to hear. “And I have decided not to attend medical school. There are other things more important to me right now.”

  The tsar beamed at me as the empress said, “Well, I should certainly hope so! When I think of those poor girls slaving away over textbooks in the European universities, I feel so sorry for them. And for the families who must miss them.”

  But I still had hopes that the tsar would change his mind one day and the universities of Russia would be open to all women who sought an education.

  “No, Katiya,” George said, struggling to sit up. “You are not giving up on your dream. We will move wherever we have to so you can become a doctor.”

  I did not want to agitate the empress any further. I did not want her keeping me away from George while he recuperated. We could decide where we were going to live much later.

  Nicholas and Xenia came into the room to offer their congratulations and hug their brother. Nicholas winked at me, certain I would never betray his part in our wedding. I smiled back at him.

  “Katiya, your family will probably like to know you are safe,” the tsar said. It brought tears to my eyes when I realized he’d called me by my nickname. He had already accepted me. “Shall we send for them?”

  “Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. I would be most happy to see my parents.” I was glad they would be coming to Gatchina, for I feared if I were to leave, the empress might tell the palace guards not to let me back inside.

  “Katerina, we must find you and George a suite of rooms while he is healing,” the empress said. She was trying to maintain control over her son’s life for as long as possible. “When he is healthier, we can discuss purchasing a suitable palace for the two of you.”

  George grinned. “Thank you, Maman. I am certain Katiya does not wish to spend the night here with me and Nicky.”

  Xenia and Nicholas laughed, but they knew the empress was not amused. She stood up and planted a kiss on George’s forehead. Gathering her skirts, she looked at me, her faerie eyes still flashing silver with anger. “Come along, Katerina.”

  I moved first to George’s bed to kiss him as well. I felt shy suddenly in front of all of his family, but I did not want to leave him for a moment. He smiled at me tiredly. “You need your rest as well, Katiya. I’ll see you later.”

  The empress chose an elegant suite for George and me, far from the children’s rooms, furnished tastefully in the English style that she preferred. The rooms were cozy and full of trinkets and knickknacks she’d accumulated on her travels. “When I get a chance, we shall sit down and go through my jewelry to see if we can find a suitable wedding gift for you.”

  “I’d be honored, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  She sighed. “Thank you, Katerina, for saving my son’s life. And thank you for saving us all from that odious vampire couple. Your marriage will take some getting used to, but”—she picked up my hand and patted it somewhat awkwardly—“I think you and Georgi will suit each other very well.”

  I finally let go of the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. She wasn’t banishing me. “Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “Please, call me Mother Dear. It’s what the children call me.”

  “Thank you, Mother Dear,” I said. The term of affection felt strange on my tongue, but I was relieved that I was not going to be an enemy after all.

  39

  It did not take long for me to settle in. The only belongings I had with me were the sword and the Talisman of Isis. I kept both of them close. I was given a new scabbard to replace the one I’d lost on the battlefield. The sword remained at my side and the talisman remained around my neck. I was making a list of the dresses for Maman to send over when she and Papa arrived.

  “Katiya!” Maman’s face was covered in tears as she flung her arms around me. “We’ve been worried sick about you! Your father told me you were safe, but I know he was worried too!”

  I put my arms around my father. “Everything will be fine now, Papa.”

  “Are you certain?” he said, his eyes twinkling. He seemed thinner than when I’d seen him last. And was there more gray in his hair? “Your mother just found out she’s been denied a wedding.” He was teasing me, but I could tell by the lines in his face I’d given them both a terrible fright by disappearing. Or perhaps it had just been the strain from the battle. It had taken its toll on all of us.

  “I’m sorry, Maman. You will have to be satisfied with Petya’s wedding one day.”

  “But that’s not the same. My only daughter!” She pulled her handkerchief out and dabbed at her eyes. “We must plan a ball for you! As a belated wedding reception!” Her eyes took on a new animation.

  I put my hands on hers. “Let’s wait until George gets better, Maman. He is very ill right now.”

  Papa looked troubled. “Anything we can do for him at the Institute?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think this is something modern medicine can cure.”

  “Does Dr. Badmaev know?” he asked.

  “The empress will no
t let the Dark Court doctor attend him.”

  “It seems to me that the grand duke’s wife may have something to say about that,” Papa murmured.

  I squeezed his hand. “If there’s any way, you know I will send for him.”

  Maman touched my cheek gently, her eyes now brimming with tears. “Katiya, do you know how proud we are of you? You have fierce Romanov blood in your veins. You were so brave to stand up to Konstantin.”

  I had to blink back my own tears as I glanced from her to Papa. “As were both of you,” I said. “I saw how each of you defended the tsar.” I had not seen much of the battlefield upon my return with George, but the grounds around the palace looked wrecked. It had only been a day since the fighting, and they were still removing bodies. “Is Petya safe?” I asked, suddenly ashamed that I hadn’t asked sooner.

  “He’s fine,” Papa said. “He and his friend Prince Kotchoubey are back at Vorontsov Palace guarding the wounded.”

  “Did we lose many on our side?” I asked. There had been so much blood.

  My father shook his head. “Most of the casualties were the blood drinkers who followed Konstantin. Your little aunt is a vicious fighter.”

  He meant Militza. I was happy she had fought with us. But one day, I feared, she would come after my mother. “Maman was rather magnificent as well,” I said, squeezing her hands.

  Papa’s face paled. “Your mother almost gave me a heart attack with her antics. Let’s hope the striga’s services are not required again anytime soon.”

  As I laughed, Maman made a face. “Oh, I hope not too. That boy’s blood tasted horrible.”

  Before the night was over, I had more visitors at the palace: the two members of the Grigori who had accompanied me and Danilo to Egypt. “Your Imperial Highness,” the elder one said, bowing. “The Grigori await your next orders.”

  I wanted to get rid of the Morning Star, and I wanted the Watchers to be free of its curse. But the Grigori were not permitted to carry the sword. “Your husband can pass beyond the seven gates,” the elder Grigori said. “And he knows the names of the angels who rule the planets. Perhaps he can invoke one of our brothers from the highest realms. The sword should be returned to its original home.”

  “You mean heaven,” I said, and the elder Grigori nodded.

  It was true. The stars had always been George’s favorite subject when he was in Paris studying with the mages. But he was not strong enough to complete such a ritual. I could not allow him to risk his health for this. “We’ll have to find another way,” I said, my hand going protectively to the sword at my side.

  “Of course.” The two Grigori bowed and took their leave. “We will speak again soon, Duchess. In the meantime, we will guard you and your family.”

  I wished I could simply turn the Morning Star over to the elder Grigori and be done with it. Miechen and Grand Duke Vladimir were both horrified that I should even consider letting such a valuable weapon go. But the tsar agreed with me; we both knew it did not belong in this world. The Grigori could not be freed from their curse, but I could ensure they would never again become the servants of a tyrant like Konstantin Pavlovich. For the present, the Morning Star would remain with me for safekeeping.

  40

  In the end, George did not get better. The wedding ball did not happen. Winter melted into spring, and the empress finally allowed me to send for the Tibetan doctor. I’d been continuing my studies with him and was certain he would be able to discover the source of George’s illness when I had not. Nor had any of the tsar’s physicians. Or perhaps they had and were too frightened to tell the tsar and the empress the truth. Because none of their suggested cures seemed to work.

  Dr. Badmaev smiled at us both kindly after he examined George. “I am afraid the air in St. Petersburg is too cold and damp for you, Your Imperial Highness. A drier, warmer climate would be much more suitable.”

  “Such as the Crimea?” I asked.

  “Perhaps even farther south,” the Tibetan said as he began to pack his instruments back into his black bag. “I would suggest the Caucasus or even northern Africa. Algiers is nice this time of year.”

  George took my hand in his. “Wherever you wish, Katiya,” he said quietly.

  “Can you tell us exactly what is wrong with him, Doctor?” I asked. All along I’d had my own suspicions, but I prayed I wasn’t right.

  “Oh, definitely. The wound the grand duke received from his duel with the crown prince of Montenegro continues to heal slowly. You yourself saw that his cold light seems to gather around his chest. But that should improve with time. The lung fever has me more concerned. I fear it may be consumption.”

  Dr. Badmaev could not have given a more depressing diagnosis. I knew doctors in Germany and France were studying the mycobacteria that caused tuberculosis and were rushing to find a cure. Papa had asked Dr. Pavlov at the Institute in St. Petersburg to consider the disease a priority as well. But there was still so much modern medicine did not understand. Dr. Badmaev had given my husband a death sentence. I pulled George’s hand to my lips and kissed it.

  “I suppose we should tell my parents,” he said gloomily.

  “I’ll go and send for them,” I said, getting up in a daze.

  Dr. Badmaev patted me on the shoulder as I walked past him. “Do keep me informed of your arrangements, Your Imperial Highness. We will find a way of continuing your lessons. There are Tibetan herbs your husband can take that will ease his symptoms, but we cannot completely cure the disease.”

  The tsar and the empress refused to believe Dr. Badmaev’s diagnosis, but they were willing to send us south to the Caucasus for the dry air. “There is a Romanov villa in the mountains where you can stay,” the empress said. “It’s very peaceful there. Perhaps you’ll be able to return in a few months.”

  Each grand duke and duchess had an opinion on the best warm climate for George. The Mikhailovichi branch had grown up in Tbilisi, where Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolayevich had been viceroy for many years. Militza thought we should return to Cairo, of course. Miechen and Grand Duke Vladimir, who were fond of gambling, praised the merits of the French Riviera.

  “There is a school of medicine in Nice,” George said, his chin on my shoulder and his arms around my waist as we looked at the globe in his father’s study.

  “Dr. Bokova mentioned the university in Marseille as well,” I said, turning around in his arms. One of the very first Russian women to become a doctor as well as a dear friend, she had agreed with the Tibetan’s diagnosis and recommended that we travel to a city where we’d be close to the leading doctors and researchers. But I knew George needed someplace quiet.

  Dr. Bokova also told me I should take care of my own health. “Tuberculosis is extremely contagious,” she had warned me. “If you remain with your young husband, you will eventually contract the disease as well.”

  I said nothing to George of this conversation as we mulled over our choices. Together we would defeat the disease, or die.

  41

  October 1891, Marseille, France

  “Honestly, Katiya, must you argue with your professors every week?” George asked me. “This is the third time this month.”

  I sighed as I threw my books down onto my desk in our shared study. Our small but fashionable villa sat high on a rocky cliff outside of Marseille, looking down at the sapphire-blue waters of the Mediterranean. We were close enough to the city that the university was only a short carriage ride away and visitors could reach us easily. In the few short months since we’d moved to France, most of our family in Russia had come. My parents, George’s parents, George’s brother Nicholas, his aunt Miechen and uncle Vladimir. My step-aunt Zina and cousin Dariya. Even the expatriates of the family, my Leuchtenberg uncles, had dropped in on us for dinner several times.

  I still could not believe we were really here. I was officially a university student. My dreams of becoming a doctor were finally about to come true. My first day of attending lectures I’d sat in awe of the prof
essor, too overwhelmed with emotion to even take notes. The sound of the renowned instructor’s voice faded to the background as I inhaled the scents of the dusty books and chalk and felt the smooth aged wooden desk beneath my fingertips. I was in a large semicircular room, surrounded by mostly young men, all solemnly scribbling notes as the gray-haired man in front of us droned on about scientific theory. Only one other female joined me in this class; she was an older woman who I later discovered was a midwife and was auditing the lectures.

  I quickly caught up to my fellow students over the next few weeks, saying a silent prayer of thanks to my father and his enormous medical library at home. I had been more than adequately prepared for my studies at the university. But the practical knowledge I’d learned from Dr. Badmaev, as well as some of the more spiritual aspects of Eastern medicine, seemed to be at odds with what the European scientists were teaching.

  George was right; it seemed as if I were constantly antagonizing my professors with something Badmaev had taught me: a technique or a medical preparation that worked just as well as, if not better than, traditional Western medicine. And then there were the stubborn old men who still did not approve of higher education for women. Most of the younger professors were supportive; some were even married to female mathematicians and chemists. But members of the faculty who’d been there the longest shared the mind-set of my father-in-law: women belonged at home in the nursery and in the kitchen, not in a classroom.

  George rubbed his forehead with a sigh, but he still managed a smile for me. He looked more tired this afternoon, I thought worriedly. “What was it this time?” he asked.

  I made tea for both of us. The elegant silver samovar that sat in the corner of the sunshine-filled study had been a wedding present from my parents. This was our favorite room in the house. I would study my lecture notes from the university while George concentrated on his plans for an observatory. “My anatomy professor insists that I not be allowed to dissect the male cadavers,” I said. “He thinks it would be most improper!”