Elena embraced me. “You must write to me about the parties I am missing.” She reached up, pulled a stray hair of mine off my shoulder, and grinned wickedly. “Look what I have found. Danilo will be able to see the color of your hair after all!” She tucked my hair in her handbag.
I fought the rising panic inside. Perhaps no harm would come of this. In fact, I prayed no harm would come of it.
Stana smiled. “Farewell, dear. We will certainly see each other again soon.”
As I watched their sleigh drive off down Millionaya Street, I grew worried. How would I be able to protect myself from the Montenegrins’ magic? I could not tell Maman everything I knew about the wicked princesses. I did not want her to grow hysterical once more.
I found my mother in her rose-scented boudoir, studying her deck of tarot cards. “Maman,” I said with a sigh. “You’ll get yourself worked up again.”
She waved a hand at me. “Don’t be silly. I think it was Madame Marina’s deck that caused me such discomfort. These are my own cards, from a gypsy woman in Biarritz. These have never lied to me.” She pulled one card after another, carefully laying them in a cross-shaped pattern on her quilt.
Maman’s cat Sasha glared at me from across the room. His scraggly gray tail twitched nervously. “What if Papa discovers your fortune-telling cards?” I asked.
It was Maman’s turn to sigh. “I know he thinks it’s nonsense, but I see problems for your father,” she said, “and many obstacles and delays in his projects. Sometimes I can help him forestall them. These cards have been a boon to our household. Here.” She laid down the Hanged Man.
It was best to humor her. “I thought the cards were telling you about me,” I said as Sasha began to purr. “Where is my knight in shining armor?”
Maman smiled at me. “I’ve already seen your future this morning. And my deck has told me that you’re going to meet your handsome knight very soon, if you haven’t already.” She gathered up her cards and put them back in their silver-plated box. “Have I ever told you the story of the bogatyr?”
I shook my head, trying in vain to remember. “Is this another fairy tale?” Our library was full of fairy tale collections, from many different countries. When I was little, I’d spent hours gazing at the beautiful illustrations.
“Yes, Katiya, but this one is very important. Long ago, the bogatyr was a very strong warrior-tsar who protected Russia from evil wizards. He also fought and killed a wicked dragon named Vladimir. The bogatyr lived for more than a hundred years, and it is said that he returns from time to time when Russia has need of him. But for him to return, the current tsar must pay a great price.”
“A great price?” I asked.
“A secret ritual must be performed in order to transform the current tsar into the bogatyr,” Maman explained. She took my hand in hers. “The reason I am telling you this is that I dreamed last night of the bogatyr’s return.”
“Why would Russia need him now?” I asked. “We’re relatively at peace with all of Europe. Even Germany. Even Turkey.”
“The bogatyr does not protect us only from our political enemies, but also from the forces of evil. The last time was in 1825, when my grandfather Tsar Nicholas defended us from the vampire uprising. Some kind of evil has returned, Katiya. I wish you could sense it as I do. There was a time, when you were younger, I truly believed …”
She looked away, out her window into the snow-filled garden below. “Anyway, even if you cannot feel it, there is a great evil presence growing in St. Petersburg. We need the bogatyr to return and protect us. I believe the dream I had last night was a sign that he will return.” Her eyes were bright, as if she was holding back tears. She squeezed my hand.
I didn’t want to believe my mother’s wild tale. “Vampires do not exist, Maman.”
“Certainly not,” Maman said. “Not since the uprising. The bogatyr banished them and their Dekebristi minions from St. Petersburg.”
I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I knew faeries and witches existed, as well as necromancers. What other monsters walked the streets of St. Petersburg? What if the bogatyr believed I was the evil presence in the city? Would Maman have seen that in her tarot cards?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Miechen’s Christmas Ball was an annual tradition for the younger set, who were allowed to dance polonaises and mazurkas and quadrilles but no waltzes. I was hoping this would be the last year Maman dragged me along, as I was now attending the grown-up balls, which were silly enough.
“Come along, Katiya!” Maman called up the stairs.
Anya was finishing my hair.
“Please be careful, Highness,” she whispered. “Even with the Montenegrins out of the city, there is always evil about. I overheard the footmen talking about recent grave robberies. Who would do such a wicked thing?”
I frowned at myself in the looking glass. I’d heard Papa discussing the same thing with my brother. The graves had belonged to two princes, both decorated war heroes. I couldn’t fathom what possible good could come from digging up someone’s grave.
Even more distressing, what possible evil could come of it? I shivered with disgust and then sighed. I could not contemplate such things now. I had a command performance to attend.
I stood up, twirling my skirts a little. “I’m sure it is quite safe to attend a ball at the Vladimir Palace,” I said.
The grand duchess Maria Pavlovna, wife of Grand Duke Vladimir, was known as Miechen to her family and friends. A fierce rival of the empress, the faerie was a German princess from the darkest Brothers Grimm story. No one threw a more spectacular party than Miechen. And the empress knew it.
Maman loved any excuse to see and be seen, and the Christmas Ball was no exception. Maman had long been friends with Miechen and the empress and had managed all those years to remain cordial with both. She tried to stay neutral, but her fondness for séances and the occult drew her to the Dark Court’s favor. Both faerie queens scared the skirts off me. I tried not to draw either one’s attention.
Maman’s deep red gown matched the ruby tiara sparkling in her dark hair. She looked paler than usual in the rich-colored velvet. Maman had her mother’s Romanov features: the piercing dark eyes and the long, narrow nose. I had my mother’s eyes but my father’s pudgy nose. My cousins had teased me mercilessly about it when I was younger, knowing it disturbed me. I wore a white velvet gown, similar to my Smolny dress. I looked forward to the day when I could wear any color in public other than white. White was innocent. My soul was not.
Miechen was dressed in a dark purple ball gown, with her famous Vladimir tiara, which dripped diamonds and pearls. She saw Maman as soon as we were announced, and came toward us.
“Yevgenia Maximilianovna, darling, I am so glad to see you.” She held out both of her slender gloved hands for Maman to take. “And your daughter, Katerina Alexandrovna,” she said, smiling down at me.
“Your Imperial Highness,” I said with a curtsy.
“Your daughter is growing up,” Miechen said, studying me with her dark violet eyes.
“She is, indeed,” Maman said with a dramatic sigh. “We have been so fortunate with both of our children.”
“And how is the younger Duke of Oldenburg?” Miechen asked.
I glanced across the crowded ballroom as the women chatted. The orchestra was playing Tchaikovsky. Some of the youngest Romanovs were dancing a quadrille with my cousin Dariya. She caught my eye and winked.
“And how are your children?” Maman was asking.
Miechen glanced across the ballroom. “Kyril is over there, talking with his uncles. And Boris and Andrei are torturing their poor sister.”
From the way my mother’s eyes lit up, I could guess she was wondering about a marriage between me and one of Grand Duchess Miechen’s sons. Never mind that the eldest, Kyril, was only thirteen. He wasn’t bad-looking, as far as thirteen-year-old distant cousins went. But I would not marry just to satisfy my mother’s social ambitions.
I envied
Petya that he did not have to be here with us. He was attending a dinner party with his fellow officers, having a much more amusing time, I was certain. Maman was still scheming, however, even as she perused the young guests. If my brother wasn’t careful, she might match him up with Miechen’s pasty seven-year-old daughter, Helena.
The grand duchess looked at me. “Katerina Alexandrovna, I am sure Kyril will be looking for an expert dance partner for the quadrille. I heard the empress was most impressed with the way you danced at the Smolny Ball. Would you be a dear and accept when he asks you?”
“I’d be honored, Your Imperial Highness,” I murmured with another curtsy. The empress had noticed me? Mon Dieu. I took a glass of punch from the silver tray a nearby servant offered. This would be a long night.
As I looked for my cousins, the imperial family was announced, and the empress appeared at the entrance to the brightly lit ballroom. The orchestra immediately began to play the empress’s favorite procession, the cortege from Rimsky-Korsakov’s The Snow Maiden. As everyone present curtsied and bowed, Miechen glided away from Maman toward the empress.
Both faerie queens were the perfect illusion of grace, pretending to forget their usual hostilities toward each other. Miechen’s son, Kyril Vladimirovich, followed his mother. I realized then that all five of the empress’s children were standing behind her.
Dressed in a white velvet gown embroidered with silver thread, Grand Duchess Xenia looked almost exactly like her mother. They shared the same dark eyes, but there was something mischievous in the daughter’s glance. She was only thirteen, yet already beautiful enough to break some poor prince’s heart.
Maman and I made our way to the empress so we could give our greetings. I noticed Xenia laughing at something her brother George was telling her.
I sensed the empress’s gaze on me as my mother and I curtsied. “Good evening, Your Imperial Majesty,” Maman said. “We hope you and your family are well this holiday season.”
I trembled a little under the empress’s piercing stare. She was using her faerie sight. I could feel it shimmering over me, illuminating even the darkest stains on my soul. I grew slightly dizzy. And a little sick.
The orchestra began to play a Christmas carol. Kyril Vladimirovich stepped up and asked the grand duchess Xenia to dance. I had been spared for now. “Of course,” she said, eyes twinkling as she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.
The empress turned and spoke a word to her three sons before moving on to greet the next noble family waiting to speak with her. The tsarevitch remained with his mother, greeting Miechen’s guests, while the younger two grand dukes strolled out to the floor, immediately choosing partners. George Alexandrovich’s eyes met mine, briefly, and then he took Dariya’s hand and swept her across the ballroom.
“Your Imperial Highness, will you do me the honor of this dance?” I turned to see Miechen’s twelve-year-old son, Boris Vladimirovich, looking at me solemnly.
“Of course,” I said with a polite curtsy. Angels and ministers of grace, defend me.
Many of my distant relatives, and even my closer cousins, whom I only saw on occasions like this, were present. I glanced around the room as Boris and I danced. Uncle George’s son Alexander Georgevich looked uncomfortable, unable to excuse himself from chatting with the elderly princess Cantacuzene.
“I hope we get to eat soon,” Boris murmured as he stepped on my foot a third time. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Katiya!” Dariya rushed up to me, out of breath, as the dance concluded. Boris bowed, thanking me graciously, then skipped off to find something sweet to eat. The servants had just laid out a tray of iced pastries and sugar-frosted fruits. Dariya was dressed in a white silk dress embroidered with tiny pearls. She wore large ostrich feathers in her hair and in the bustle of her skirt. My cousin was so much more beautiful than I was. Her long dark blond hair was a tumble of curls down the back of her head. All the young men flocked around her.
Dariya and I made our way out of the overheated ballroom and walked through one of Miechen’s elegant parlors. Here several small tables were heavy with canapés and caviar. We helped ourselves to cups of punch and sat on the damask-covered settee to catch up.
“I am so glad you did not have to go to Cetinje,” Dariya said. “I don’t see how Elena could possibly think the crown prince is the man of your dreams.”
I shrugged. “Please do not mention him again. Or Cetinje. It is all Maman talks of.”
“I’d rather go to Paris,” my cousin said. “I hear it is a beautiful city.”
We’d both been to visit our grandmother’s villa in Biarritz, a resort town on the Atlantic coast, but neither of us had seen the capital of France. Dariya and I used to play French Revolution when we were little. We’d take turns being Marie Antoinette. Our grandmamma caught us once and had us whipped for revolutionary sentiments. We were six years old at the time and had no idea even what revolutionary sentiments were.
I tried to avoid the imperial family during the ball, but Grand Duchess Xenia was getting punch in the grand rotunda and spotted us. She gave us a knowing smile. “If the two of you are together, there is mischief in progress,” she said. “Are Auntie Miechen’s dogs safe?”
During a children’s ball Maman had thrown many summers earlier, Dariya and I found a kitten that had wandered upstairs and we tried to get it to dance a mazurka with Maman’s French bulldog, Lola. The kitten wanted nothing to do with the mazurka or Lola and scampered up Maman’s silk curtains. Lola ran downstairs, in the opposite direction, then straight through the orchestra and under the violinist’s legs. Fortunately, Dariya and I did not get punished, but we were not allowed to play with Lola anymore. The curtains, alas, were never the same.
Xenia was still laughing at us when her brother walked over. “Georgi, do you remember when Katerina Alexandrovna and Dariya Yevgenievna brought the kitten to a ball?”
I hadn’t noticed the grand duke approaching. Dariya curtsied prettily. “Katiya’s mother wouldn’t let us play together anymore after that,” my cousin said.
“I thought your mother disallowed it,” I said, surprised.
“Both mothers were very wise,” George Alexandrovich said, his lips pressed tightly together, almost as if he was trying not to smile. “You two are an extremely dangerous duo.”
“Nonsense.” Dariya smiled. “Nothing bad has happened tonight.”
The grand duke was looking straight at me when he said, “But the night is young.”
I met his eyes evenly, expecting to see disdain, or even hatred. Instead, there was heat, an intense but strangely wonderful fire. It frightened me even more.
Xenia giggled and then squealed with delight. “Sandro is here!” she said, running off to dance with her older cousin.
Her brother frowned. “If you will excuse me.” He bowed slightly and followed his sister.
“How disagreeable he is!” Dariya murmured as we both watched him leave. “Though he does dance well.”
It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me. I shook my head, trying to get the grand duke out of my mind. “We should rescue Alexander Georgevich from Princess Cantacuzene,” I said. “She will talk him to death.”
The elderly princess sat on a velvet sofa in the rotunda outside the main ballroom. Alexander was grateful when we offered a cup of punch to her.
“Thank you, dears,” the ancient woman said. Still in mourning for her late husband, she was wearing a black high-necked ball gown. He had died long before I was born.
Princess Cantacuzene patted Alexander on the knee. “Young man, you must go and dance with one of your pretty cousins! Take Dariya Yevgenievna. Katerina Alexandrovna will be happy to sit with me.”
Dariya smiled as she and our cousin hurried away, glad to escape back to the dancing. I sat down next to the princess, cursing my luck. There would be no one to rescue me from the addled woman’s rambling stories. She was a frequent member of Maman’s séance parties.
“My d
ear, I fancy a turn in the gardens. Would you oblige me?” she asked.
“Of course, Your Highness.”
She rose regally and took my arm as we exited the ballroom. “You have drawn the attentions of the Montenegrins, I hear,” she said.
I let out a heavy sigh but remembered not to slump. “My mother has been gossiping.”
The princess cackled. “I heard it from others, my dear.” She grabbed my arm with an icy, bony hand. I could feel the cold even though she wore the softest black kidskin gloves. “You are in grave danger, Katerina Alexandrovna.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness?”
“The crown prince Danilo is in line to follow his ancestors, the Vladiki. They have ruled their kingdom for hundreds of years.”
“The Vladiki?”
She nodded. “They use the darkest magic to hold on to their throne. They are blood drinkers.”
Surely I had not heard her correctly. I looked at her in disbelief. The old princess had gone mad. “Vampires?” I whispered.
Princess Cantacuzene nodded. Her silvery white hair was pulled into a severe knot high atop her head, tied so tightly I wondered if it hurt her. “The females are the blackest of sorceresses,” she went on.
We stopped as we approached the orangery. The heavy scent of orange blossoms perfumed the humid air.
I had to sit down, feeling a little queasy. I never once had thought such repulsive creatures still walked the earth. Maman’s tale about Tsar Nicholas and his treaty with the vampires seemed so long ago. “Why would a vampire prince want to marry me?” I asked. “My family is not that important.”
The princess laughed as she joined me on the ornately carved garden bench. “Katerina Alexandrovna, who said anything about marriage? Still, I’m glad to see that you sense it is not your bloodline that makes you so valuable.” She took one of her rings off her finger and placed it in my hand. “This will protect you. You and your special talent are a threat to the Vladiki.”
Marble statues of griffins glared at us from under the potted palm trees. Only the grand duchess Miechen could have such a sinister-looking garden room.
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