The Gathering Storm kt-1

by Robin Bridges

  The metropolitan stood in front of the Imperial Pavilion, his silver-and-gold robes blazing in the pale sunlight. He prayed silently over a small hole that had been cut into the ice. The waters of the Neva, warmer than the ice above it, caused steam to rise out of the hole.

  We stood behind the pavilion, next to the beautiful young grand duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna and her husband, Grand Duke Serge Alexandrovich, one of the tsar’s uncles. The grand duchess turned to greet us. “Katerina Alexandrovna, you attend the Smolny Institute, do you not?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” I tried to curtsy, and wobbled slightly on the frozen, uneven ground.

  “And you have already been presented to court?” Her breath fogged in the crisp winter air.

  “Just this past summer, Your Highness,” Maman answered. “I believe you were in Darmstadt at the time.”

  The grand duchess ignored my mother and kept her unsettling eyes on me. Both of her eyes were grayish blue, but one had a circle of brown. “You must be the same age as my sister, Alix. She is coming to stay with me this winter. I hope you will get to meet her.”

  “I’d be honored.”

  Tall and slender, the grand duke Serge leaned over and whispered something to his wife. “Please excuse us,” she said, following him to the Imperial Pavilion, where the tsar and empress stood with their younger children. Their older sons sat astride their horses in full dress uniforms.

  All of the imperial family looked solemn. And, not surprisingly, cold. The tsarevitch and the grand duke George were dressed in the uniforms of the Preobrajensky Regiment. Even the young grand duchesses were wearing their own regimental insignia.

  “There is Petya!” Maman whispered, clapping her hands as my brother’s regiment marched past the Imperial Pavilion. The regiment stopped to salute the tsar, who saluted back, before they continued their march toward the river.

  We could see Dariya and her stepmother standing at the other side of the pavilion, close to Miechen and her family. I had not had a chance to talk with my cousin since Miechen’s ball. I wanted to tell her about Princess Cantacuzene and her warnings about the Montenegrins.

  When all the troops had marched or ridden across the frozen river to the opposite side, a hush fell on the crowd. As the priests chanted a hymn, a faint scent of frankincense and myrrh wafted through the pavilion. The tsar kissed the large golden cross in the metropolitan’s hand. The metropolitan then lowered the cross into the river, dipping it three times to bless the water that flowed through the streets of St. Petersburg. When the cross was raised the third time and held high above the metropolitan’s head, the troops would fire canons from the other side of the river in salute.

  Maman spoke in hushed tones with the elderly princess Orlova, standing next to her. They were discussing the Anichkov Ball, which would be held in a few weeks. It would be the first imperial ball of the year, which started off the St. Petersburg winter season. I watched the excited troops and their horses eagerly awaiting their signal to return across the river.

  At that moment, the golden cross was lifted, glittering in the pale winter sunlight.

  A canon shot fired and the horses charged across the ice in front of the crowd. A great cheer went up but was drowned out by the thundering of hooves. The cavalry raced to the near side of the river, pulling their horses up short before they reached the Imperial Pavilion. It was a dangerous maneuver. The onlookers held their breath as snow and chunks of ice flew up.

  Suddenly, there was a shout. The cavalry circled around one fallen horse. A man was down. Maman put her hands to her mouth, worried about Papa. After several minutes, two men rode back toward the Imperial Pavilion to update the tsar. The men wore grim looks on their faces.

  Maman and I both sighed with relief when we realized one of the men speaking to the tsar was Papa. After consulting for several minutes, Papa and another soldier rode back across the field. The Preobrajensky Regiment’s orchestra started playing their march as the hussars lined up to approach the tsar. In one long line they rode forward, then fanned out in a semicircle.

  I glanced back to the far end of the field and saw the fallen soldier being carried off in a sleigh, followed by my father and several officers on horseback. They were taking the injured man to the hospital. Papa’s interest in medicine had begun when he had served in the war against the Turks and he’d wanted to get the best medical care for his troops. That was how he had met Dr. Louis Pasteur.

  The crowd started to thin out after the ceremony ended. Maman remained in her seat, talking to Princess Orlova and Princess Cantacuzene. We were joined by Dariya and her stepmother. I searched across the ice, looking for Petya. He sat on his horse in front of the Imperial Pavilion with two fellow officers, speaking with the tsar. I made my way over so I could ask Petya what was happening.

  As I stepped out in front of the pavilion, my brother’s horse reared. I flung my arms up instinctively to protect my face as muddy snow flew everywhere. I was too scared to do anything else. I heard Maman’s scream behind me.

  Petya fell to the ground, his boot caught in the stirrup by the heel spur. He would have been dragged by the beast if his companion had not grabbed the reins quickly. It was the grand duke George Alexandrovich who saved my brother’s life with his quick action.

  Everything happened so fast I found myself rooted to the spot. I realized then that I had not been close enough to be in any real danger, but my brother had almost been killed. My heart pounded. And I was shaking with fear.

  Maman sobbed as she raced down the steps past me to see Petya.

  I tried to follow her, but the tsar’s men had him surrounded and were herding the crowd away as they placed him on an army stretcher.

  Maman pushed her way through the people, but I was only able to catch a glimpse of my brother as he slowly sat up on the stretcher. He was banged up pretty badly, with several bruises and scratches, but otherwise seemed uninjured. Awake and alert, he still looked dazed. He was searching the crowd for someone, and then I realized he was looking for his horse.

  I saw the stupid beast still acting skittishly on the other side of the pavilion. My poor brother. His cold light looked benign now, but there had been a brilliant flash as he’d fallen.

  I tried again to push through the soldiers, but they ignored me completely. No one would let me by. Maman was already at Petya’s side, hovering over him with her handkerchief.

  Frustrated, I found my brother’s horse, pawing the ground nervously. The animal snorted as I reached out to touch his neck. His large brown eye stared at me fearfully. Agitated, he was about to rear again.

  “Are you so determined to get yourself killed this morning, Duchess?” Grand Duke George Alexandrovich said as he held firm to the horse’s reins. The horse seemed finally to quiet down under his gentle command.

  Annoyed, I curtsied to the grand duke. “That was a very brave thing to do, Your Imperial Highness,” I said. “Thank you for saving my brother’s life.”

  His blue eyes swept over me. “I wonder what frightened your brother’s horse, Duchess. He seemed fine until you approached.”

  I blushed, horrified by and furious at his insinuation. I was too mad to think sensibly before I opened my mouth. “I did not know his horse was afraid of young girls, Your Highness.”

  He bent his head down so only I could hear him. “Not all young girls, Duchess,” he said softly, “but they can sense supernatural malice.” He jerked on the reins of his own animal and led Petya’s horse back to the imperial stables.

  His words stung. What kind of a monster did the grand duke believe me to be? I might be cursed with a tainted gift, but I bore malice toward no one. Fortunately, Maman was still fussing over Petya and had not heard a word of our conversation.

  But someone else had. “Pay him no mind,” Princess Cantacuzene whispered in my ear. She had been standing behind me all along. “The young Romanov thinks he sees everything with his faerie eyes, and yet he is blind. Do not let yourself be troubled.”
>
  That was easier said than done.

  Petya insisted that he was fine, and refused to go to the hospital. Then he learned that the soldier who had fallen was his friend Count Chermenensky, and he hurried to accompany Papa there.

  I rode home in the sleigh with my mother, worrying about Petya’s friend and wishing I’d never have to see the arrogant grand duke ever again. And praying that he would not tell the tsar the disasters that day were all my fault.

  That evening, Papa returned home from the hospital looking exhausted and grim. Count Chermenensky had never woken up. Papa said Dr. Kruglevski did not expect the count to live through the night. My brother had refused to leave his friend’s side.

  Papa was livid when Maman recounted Petya’s fall. “I told him to ride one of the other horses today,” he said, taking the vodka the servant handed him. Papa knocked the drink back in one gulp and placed the glass on the servant’s tray. “Another mount would have been much more suitable.”

  Reading the Corelli book she’d given me, Maman sat in her chair opposite Papa. I wanted to ask Papa more about the fallen soldier, but he looked tired. I sneaked a glance at the cold light surrounding Papa, then looked at Maman as well. They both appeared healthy, and the dying light that caressed each of them promised that death was far off. With a small sigh of relief, I curled up in the corner chair with my medical book and read.

  A while later, the footman announced a visitor. The officer asked Papa to come to the hospital quickly. I jumped out of my chair and begged him to let me go with him.

  My father only shook his head sadly as he took his coat and hat from the footman. “Do not wait up for us tonight, my dear,” he said to Maman.

  She stood up as well, placing her hands on my shoulder in comfort. I turned around and embraced her, saying a silent prayer for Count Chermenensky’s family. Twisting the obsidian ring around my finger nervously, I wished that he had not died so young.

  After Anya talked us into one more cup of tea, we all went to bed.

  And I dreamed.

  The nightmares I had after Theophany were nowhere near as lucid as the first one, the night before the Blessing of the Waters, but were far darker. The night before I went back to Smolny, I dreamed of being cold, as if I’d been buried deep in the winter earth. I awoke several times, still shivering, certain I could smell the damp dirt in my skin and hair.

  Was I going mad?

  I prayed for warmth and daylight.

  I prayed for my sanity.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I tried to forget about the terrible dreams when I returned to Smolny. Madame Tomilov greeted us all and provided a wonderful welcome-back feast.

  Elena was happy to be in St. Petersburg again. “I have a present for you,” she told me at dinner. “I’ll give it to you when we are alone.”

  I’d already written a thank-you note to her parents for the onyx box. But I still did not know who had sent the tarot card—whether Militza had added the card to the gift. Or perhaps the crown prince himself.

  My cousin, who seemed a little paler since I’d seen her at the Christmas Ball, rolled her eyes. “What superstitious trinkets are you trying to scare Katiya with now?” she asked.

  A shudder ran through me as I remembered that Elena had taken a strand of my hair back to Cetinje with her. What had she done with it?

  She ignored Dariya and laughed. Her eyes seemed so much brighter since her trip home. Suddenly, I remembered my nightmare, and I wondered what kind of dark magic Elena had been dabbling in over the holiday. What rituals did the Montenegrins practice in their kingdom? I took a nervous sip of my water.

  After dessert had been served, one of the Bavarian princesses leaned over and whispered, “We heard about the tragedy at the Blessing of the Waters. How sad!”

  I nodded. “It was Count Chermenensky, my brother’s friend.” I regretted my unkind words to him when we’d met in the park. I wanted to cry all over again. My poor brother was still grief-stricken.

  The girls were horrified to hear this. “We spoke with him in the gardens!” Augusta said. “How terrible!”

  Elena shrugged, finishing her lemon tart. Erzsebet gazed longingly at my plate. Glancing at the mistresses’ table and seeing them deep in conversation, I slid my tart onto Erzsebet’s plate.

  “Merci, Katerina,” she said happily.

  After dinner, we returned to our rooms to get ready for bed. Elena pulled a small silver box out of her trunk. “Happy Christmas, Katerina!” She opened the box as she held it out to me. Inside was a lock of black hair. “Go on, take it!” she said, nudging me.

  I stared at the black curl, tied with a leather cord. “What is that?” I had an ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Danilo’s, of course! It’s yours now.”

  “It would not be proper to accept such a thing.” I pulled back my covers and climbed into my bed.

  She closed the box and set it on her bedside stand. “You are no fun, Katerina. You sound just like your cousin, suspicious of everything.”

  “She’s not suspicious of everything,” I protested.

  “Just Montenegrin witches,” Dariya said as she entered our room and crawled into her bed. “You’d best leave Katiya alone. And keep that blasted window closed tonight.”

  I saw a flash of pure hatred in Elena’s eyes, but it was gone quickly and she smiled sweetly and ignored my cousin. “Katerina, my brother has come to St. Petersburg with us,” she announced. “You will be able to meet him soon.”

  “Lovely,” Dariya grumbled. “There are too many of your meddlesome family members in Russia already.”

  “I would watch what I said if I were you.” Elena’s voice was still sweet but carried a threat. “We come from a family of old romantics, my brother and I. He wishes for my happiness, as I wish for his. I would hate for anyone to stand in the way of true love. Including you, Dariya Yevgenievna.”

  Dariya snorted and rolled over. “And what could you do about it?” she mumbled sleepily. “Turn me into a toad?”

  “My father would be very unhappy to hear that some stupid girl at Smolny was accusing his daughter of witchcraft,” Elena said, not missing the chance to remind us she was the daughter of a king.

  Then I heard her mumble something in what must have been Montenegrin.

  But Dariya was already asleep, her breathing even and easy, with the faintest carefree snore.

  Elena yawned dramatically. “Good night, Katerina. May you have wonderful dreams about a handsome, dark-eyed prince. I am certain he is dreaming about you.”

  I pretended to be asleep and said nothing. But my heart was pounding. I wondered what sorcery Elena was trying to work with her brother’s lock of hair. I remembered everything the princess Cantacuzene had told me. If I was truly a threat to the blood drinkers of Montenegro, why would Elena and her sisters want me to grow closer to their brother?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dariya could not get out of bed the next morning. She looked pale and her limbs trembled when she tried to sit up. “Katiya, I am so cold!” she said.

  The window was still closed. A pale moth flapped against the inside glass frantically.

  Elena rolled her eyes as she cracked the window to let the insect fly away. “Must you always complain?” she asked as she quickly finished getting dressed. “Hurry, Katerina! I’m famished!”

  “Go to breakfast without me,” I said, sitting on the bed and taking my cousin’s hand. “Can you ask Madame Orbellani to come and see Dariya? She is ill.”

  “What a shame,” Elena said. “Of course. I will send her right away.”

  When she had left, I looked more closely at my cousin. Dariya’s pupils were large, and her breathing seemed labored.

  “What is wrong with me? My stomach—oh, the cramps!” she whispered. “I feel as if I’m dying!”

  “Hush, Madame Orbellani is coming,” I said, rubbing her cold hand between my warm ones. Her right arm was floppy, like a rag doll’s. I saw a cold light
wrapping around her. It was growing steadily brighter and stronger. I was terrified for her. “The headmistress will send for a doctor.”

  My cousin’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

  “Dariya!” I shouted, shaking her. Her eyes opened briefly. With a moan, she passed out again. “Dariya!”

  “What is this nonsense?” Madame Metcherskey asked severely. “Girls, get down to the dining room at once, or you will be punished.”

  “Madame, Dariya is ill!” I stood up so she could see for herself. “You must call the doctor!”

  Madame Metcherskey’s eyes narrowed. “Katerina Alexandrovna, go downstairs immediately. I will deal with her. It is not your concern.”

  I didn’t think I’d ever hated anyone more than I hated Madame Metcherskey at that moment. Her words stung, but I did not dare argue with her. I swallowed hard and squeezed my cousin’s pale, limp hand. “I promise I will be back, Dariya.”

  I ran downstairs and found Madame Orbellani, who sat at the teachers’ table, eating breakfast with Madame Tomilov. “Did Elena tell you about Dariya Yevgenievna?” I asked.

  I saw confusion in their eyes. “Dariya?”

  I gripped the chair in front of me. Of course Elena had not told them. “She passed out!” I explained. “She’s extremely cold and complaining of stomach pains. Madame Metcherskey would not allow me to stay with her. I fear something terrible will happen to her!”

  Madame Tomilov stood up immediately. “Madame Orbellani, send for the doctor. Katerina Alexandrovna, take me to your cousin.”

  The headmistress took one look at Dariya, still lying unconscious in her bed, and had her moved to a separate room, quarantined from the rest of us. Dr. Gallitzin arrived and I was shooed into the hall. “She could be contagious,” the doctor said. “Keep all the other students away from her.”

  I tried to argue that both Elena and I had breathed the same air as she had all night long, but Madame Tomilov would not listen. She sent me to class after assuring me that Dariya was in good hands.