“I—I have no special talent,” I stammered. The ring she offered was a shiny black obsidian in a gold setting.
The princess’s eyes flashed. “Do not be ashamed of it, Katerina Alexandrovna. You have the power to defeat the Vladiki. I have long suspected this, even when you were younger. You can stop their quest for dominance and save the lives of many innocents.”
“How can I save anyone?” I asked softly. I carried a curse and the princess had known all along. There was no salvation to be found in my horrible talent.
“You alone are the secret weapon against the blood drinkers. The heir of the Vladiki cannot drink blood until his ceremony of ascension, on his eighteenth birthday.” Her fingers were icy as she clutched my left hand and slid the ring onto my finger. “Kill Prince Danilo before his ascension and you will save many, many lives.”
I gasped. “I could never kill someone, Your Highness.” I was now certain Princess Cantacuzene was thoroughly and utterly mad. She was thin and ancient. The poor woman must be senile. I glanced around for members of her family who would be able to take her home. Married to a long deceased and forgotten Prince Cantacuzene, she had no children of her own, but spoiled all her nieces and nephews. Perhaps one of the latter had escorted her to the Christmas Ball.
We walked back toward the rotunda. “There is your dear mother,” the princess said. “She has recently been ill, has she not?”
“Yes, but she is much better.”
“You must be on guard, Duchess. I have attended many séances with your mother, and she has attracted the attentions of many unhappy spirits. The cold light of the dying surrounds her.”
Princess Cantacuzene gathered her black skirt as my mother approached us. “We will speak again soon, Katerina Alexandrovna,” she said. “I can tell you much more about the Montenegrins.”
“Your Highness, it is so good to see you.” My mother curtsied before the princess. “How are you?”
My mind was reeling. A cold light? The madwoman spoke as if she saw the same things I could see. I stole a glance at Princess Cantacuzene and searched her cold light. It shined brightly, much as any other elderly person’s would. I could see nothing unnatural about her. But then again, the empress and the grand duchess Miechen had cold lights that appeared ordinary to me as well. I was unable to distinguish human from fae, which put me at a disadvantage to the faeries in the ballroom.
While my mother and the princess chatted, my cousin Alexander Georgevich asked me to dance the cotillion with him. The Gypsy orchestra was playing a lively piece by Rimsky-Korsakov. My cousin was a perfectly elegant dancer, like his late mother, Aunt Therese, who had died when Alexander was only two. Aunt Therese had been one of my father’s sisters, so Alexander was my double cousin. He told me his father planned to announce his engagement to Princess Anastasia of Montenegro after Christmas.
“I hope she makes a kind stepmother,” I told him. I worried about the disturbing stories Princess Cantacuzene had told me. But I did not want to alarm my cousin. Surely the princess’s tales about the Montenegrins could not be true.
“Father intends for me to enter the Corps des Pages next year, so I will not be around the princess that often.” Alexander smiled. “When Father introduced me to her last month, she was very kind.”
“Give him my best wishes, then,” I said, smiling politely. He led me back to Maman after the dance ended. It had been the final dance of the night. I said goodbye to my cousin, then followed Maman to make our adieus to the grand duchess Miechen.
As I curtsied, the grand duchess spotted my ring. “What a beautiful trinket,” she said, seizing my hand. “A family heirloom?”
Maman did not notice, as she was speaking with the grand duke Vladimir.
“No, Your Imperial Highness. It was a gift from a family friend.” I knew Maman would insist I return it to Princess Cantacuzene if she saw it. The ring seemed to glow, reflecting the lights of the ballroom chandeliers.
“You must be careful with such a precious stone. Obsidian protects one from evil spirits and vampires.” There was a certain malice in the grand duchess’s smile. “It makes me curious. Why would your friend believe you need such protection, Katerina Alexandrovna?”
“An old woman’s superstitious nonsense, I’m sure,” I replied, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I was aware the grand duchess could see much more in my aura than I could see in hers. Still, I noted a strange thing when I saw her cold light. Two smaller, brighter lights were entwined with a larger, dimmer light, like a delicate, shimmering braid of light, coiling around her. It was beautiful, but frightening to look at.
I fretted over everything on the sleigh ride home. Princess Cantacuzene was the second person to refer to my curse as a gift. And she spoke as if she too possessed this terrible gift. No one else would see it that way. Certainly not my parents. And not the imperial family.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The holiday passed quickly. Our family broke the Christmas Eve fast in the usual fashion: as soon as the first stars could be seen in the cold night sky, we ate the traditional twelve-course feast, which included mushroom soup and baked fish. The table was loaded with plates of apricots, figs, sweet almond cakes, and rice pudding.
We would not be able to eat most of the Christmas treats, made with butter and cream, until the next day, after the Christmas Mass. But Papa had talked the cook into making his favorite blini with sour cream. The house was cozy, with a fire burning in every fireplace. The familiar scents of tea brewing in the samovar and Maman’s warmed cherry brandy smelled like love to me.
After the midnight Mass, my parents decorated the family Christmas tree. Petya and I acted like infants, squealing and giggling as we unwrapped our gifts beneath its heavily scented branches. Petya received a new saddle for his horse from our parents, since he was going into the cavalry, and I gave him a fashionable silk cravat for his favorite white shirt. Maman received a beautiful ruby necklace that Papa had commissioned by Fabergé to match her tiara. There were happy tears in her eyes as she kissed Papa on his whiskered cheek.
I received a number of books: the latest romance by Marie Corelli, a book of poems by Lermontov, and a book of medical drawings by Leonardo da Vinci. Maman enjoyed reading Corelli, which was much too light and ethereal for me. Maman had once told me A Romance of Two Worlds was Queen Victoria’s favorite book, and said the Romanian queen was also fond of Corelli’s work. I never felt quite as much admiration for either queen after that.
I preferred dull scientific tomes to romances and was eager to retire to my room and delve into the da Vinci book. There was secret knowledge to uncover in science. All romances ended exactly the same way: a girl realized the surly boy she had hated all along was the only person in the universe who could complete her soul. I did not believe for a minute that my soul could be completed by some surly boy.
And I would not wish my curse to harm anyone else. So how could I dare long for love?
Maman smiled as she handed me a package with a Montenegrin postmark. “This came for you earlier this week,” she said. “I thought you should wait until we opened the rest of the presents.”
I opened the brown wrapped package with dread. The card had the Montenegrin royal seal but was not signed, so I could not tell who had sent the gift. It could have been Elena or her sisters, or even the king and queen themselves.
“Hurry up so we can see!” Maman was so excited about my gift that I considered letting her open it. But something told me not to.
It was a beautiful onyx box, decorated with tiny pearls. Worth a small fortune.
“Mon Dieu, Katiya!” Maman said. “You must write a thank-you note immediately!”
I opened the lid and immediately shut it again, sick from what I’d seen. A single tarot card. The Queen of Swords.
“Is there a note inside? A picture of the crown prince, perhaps?”
“Nothing,” I lied. Did the Montenegrins know of my mother’s superstitions? Or was it just a coincidence?
We presented gifts to our small household staff after breakfast: the male servants received new shoes made of the finest Parisian leather, while the female servants received silver-handled hairbrushes. I had knitted a pair of mittens for Anya.
“Did you make these yourself?” Anya asked incredulously as she inspected the delicate needlework. A red rose adorned each mitten.
“Of course,” I said, more than a little proud of myself. A surgeon needed to be dexterous to execute fine stitches. When Maman taught me knitting and embroidery, I imagined I was sewing up sick and injured people.
Late that afternoon, I accompanied Maman as she delivered presents to distant cousins, and then we visited the Oldenburg Hospital with baskets of oranges for the patients. It made for a long day. I almost fell asleep in the sleigh on the ride home.
I opened the onyx box again before bedtime, staring at the tarot card. It looked much older than the one in my mother’s deck. This queen was dressed in a crimson robe and the lettering was in Italian. According to Pushkin’s short story “The Queen of Spades,” said queen, along with the Queen of Swords, signified secret ill will. I wasn’t sure if the card was meant to be a warning. Or a threat. Either way, it seemed like a bad omen, so I threw it into the burning logs in my fireplace.
The flames leapt up and turned a deep violet. I stepped back, dropping the box to the floor.
I heard a gasp from the doorway behind me. Anya.
“What strange, unholy fire is this?” she asked, making the sign of the cross hastily. “Are you practicing witchcraft, Duchess?”
I’d never felt more terrible in my life. She was frightened of me. “No, Anya. Of course not. I was getting rid of an old card. It must have been the chemicals in the ink.”
She stared at the fire, which once again appeared normal. “Perhaps your father should come and see. In case it’s dangerous.” She opened the window a tiny bit to freshen the air.
“No, I’m sure everything is fine. I don’t want to disturb him or Maman.” The last thing I wanted was my mother to become ill again. And though Anya didn’t care for the Montenegrins, I thought she would be safer if she didn’t know everything about them. I hoped I was protecting her by lying to her.
For the rest of school break, I went to bed every night curled up with my medical journal. After having argued with Papa once more about the stubborn minister of education, I had decided to write a letter of application to the University of Zurich. That was where Maria Bokova and Nadezhda Suslova, Madame Orbellani’s idols, had received their medical degrees.
Every night I fell asleep to articles about childhood diseases or advancements in cranial surgery. I’d like to say I dreamed about finding a cure for meningitis or scarlet fever, but I didn’t. Nor did I dream about surly boys. Less than two weeks after Christmas, the Black Mountain nightmares began.
CHAPTER NINE
I was standing in a temple, which appeared to be carved from deep within a mountain. The temple torches were lit all along the walls, with an especially large fire burning behind the altar. A priest in a black robe chanted something in an ancient language I could not understand. Was it ancient Greek? It did not sound familiar. I tried to move and realized my arms were pinned behind my back by someone I could not see. As I struggled to free myself, I found that I could not remember how I had gotten there.
As the chanting went on, it grew dark outside the bloodred stained glass windows. The wind howled through the temple, shrieking like a banshee battered by a summer storm. Three figures, which stood around the altar behind the priest, wore black hooded robes. The sight of their hoods frightened me more than anything. I knew that they were important people in my life, but I could not determine their identity.
The priest held his chalice up to the fire, seeking some sort of unholy blessing from whatever being they worshipped. The cup was beautiful: golden with colorful enamel in the pattern of a phoenix. As the priest turned to me, I stared at the chalice, trying to see what was inside it.
He smiled at me, his teeth small, white, and pointed. I felt a sudden wave of nausea. Instantly, I knew what he planned to do to me. The person behind me let go abruptly and the priest grabbed my arm, raking one of his sharp fingernails down my wrist. I gasped in pain and tried to fight down the panic welling up inside.
The wound was far too deep. I would bleed to death if it wasn’t stopped soon. I began to pray silently, for I was sure only God could save me while I was in this place. I thought about my parents, regretting that I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to them. I was terrified, but determined not to show it to my captors.
The priest held out the chalice as my blood fell in fat crimson drops into it. I smelled the copper taint of blood on the air. My very life essence was flowing from me; I knew it would not be long before I felt faint.
The priest took the chalice and turned back to the three hooded figures. I would have fallen if not for strong arms and hands that suddenly reached out to hold me up. I did not bother to struggle anymore. I could only look on as the three figures joined in the chanting with the priest. The figure in the middle pulled back his hood to reveal himself as a handsome dark-haired, dark-eyed young man. Stepping forward, he took the chalice from the priest and drank my blood. Suddenly, a thousand white-winged insects flew out from under the altar and ascended toward the temple vault. The moths flew above the flames and the smoke, swarming the darkness.
I woke up stifling a scream. I was shaking. Sweat dampened my white cotton nightclothes. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. Mon Dieu, what had just happened to me? Had it been merely a dream? Or a prophecy?
Anya was at the foot of my bed, staring at me in horror. “Duchess? Are you ill?” she asked anxiously.
I flinched as a single moth fluttered from under my bed and out the open window. Despite the cold air, my chest was burning. I was still shaking.
Anya poured me a glass of water from the bedside table. “Here, drink this.” She had to help me hold the glass so I didn’t spill anything.
The water made me feel a little bit better. “Thank you,” I said, sinking back down to my pillows.
“Do you want me to call for your mother?” Anya asked. “I’m worried about you, Duchess.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to trouble her. What time is it?”
“Half past eight.”
I groaned. I had to get up. It was Theophany, twelve days past Christmas. We were to attend the annual Blessing of the Waters, when the metropolitan bishop would cut a hole in the frozen waters of the Neva River and bless it. Slowly, I sat back up. The room was spinning slightly, but really, I couldn’t complain. A spinning room was certainly a better place to be than a cave where I would become a human sacrifice.
Thinking about the nightmare made me nauseated. I felt a terrible pressure in the back of my throat.
I jumped out of bed to retch in the washbasin. I held the sides, shaking still, as the spasms seized me.
“Duchess! Allow me to call your maman!” she begged. “You’re too sick to be going anywhere today!”
“No, Anya, please! I’ll be fine. I ate too much rich food last night—it’s nothing.”
“Duchess, I—”
“It was just the food, which caused another bad dream,” I insisted. “I’ll be fine.” I cleaned myself up and walked over to my wardrobe. Anya had already laid out my silver court gown trimmed in pearls and Venetian lace.
I splashed cool water on my face, and Anya helped me get dressed. When I looked at my reflection in the mirror, the bags under my eyes were a somber reminder of my miserable night. I could not see my own cold light, but I imagined it to be shimmering brightly, with Death looming close by. After such a dream, how could it not?
Anya ar
ranged the velvet kokoshnik on my head, watching me in the mirror carefully. She was still afraid of me, I realized sadly. My strange behavior that morning had done nothing to allay her fears.
“Katiya?” Maman’s voice floated down the hallway. “Are you finished getting ready? We have to leave soon for the Winter Palace! Anya, where are my gloves?”
Anya turned away from me and nearly ran from the room. She was grateful for the interruption.
I took a deep breath, preparing for the day ahead.
It was a short sleigh ride from our house to the palace, which was situated at the end of Millionnaya Street. The morning was sunny, but freezing. Crowds were already gathering along both banks of the frozen Neva River as we went inside to the palace’s Grand Chapel for the divine service.
The chapel was hot and crowded with all St. Petersburg’s aristocracy. They all wore their finest court attire. The heat from the candles and the packed bodies made the ceremony almost unbearable. I had to remember not to lock my knees so I would not faint.
After the prayers, I followed Maman in the long formal procession through the palace from the chapel to the Jordan Staircase, leading outside to the snow-covered riverbank. The procession was silent except for the quiet swishes of the women’s elaborate court dresses. The empress and the grand duchesses wore long heavy trains that had to be carried by their pages. My mother’s page looked as if he were no older than I was.
Hundreds of servants in smart crimson liveries stood at attention along the magnificent staircase. I lifted my skirts slightly, praying I would not trip as I descended the stairs.
When we reached the ground floor, many of the empress’s ladies-in-waiting remained inside the enfilade, along with the entire Diplomatic Corps, watching the ceremony from the grand windows. Maman and I followed the procession outside to see Papa and Petya. I was happy to breathe the frigid air, even though it hurt my lungs. After the closeness of the chapel, it was fresh and bracing.
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