Robin Bridges - The Gathering Storm

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?

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.