Jasper Kent - Thirteen Years Later

In all of those circumstances – had he succeeded – he would have got away with it not only in terms of there being no legal retribution, but in that Marfa would have had no idea it was her husband who had killed her lover. Even if she heard the story that Aleksei had stabbed Richard L. Cain in Taganrog, the name would mean nothing to her – at least, Aleksei presumed Iuda had not told her any of his various other noms de guerre. But after their encounter that evening, even if Aleksei were to commit the otherwise perfect murder, Marfa would instantly connect the disappearance of her lover with the actions of her husband. Even so, it would be better than letting him live. If Marfa never spoke to him again, he would at least have saved her. But ideally, Iuda would not simply disappear. He would have to die obviously, either in an accident or at the hands of some other – but who could Aleksei find to put in the frame for that? It would not be easy to kill any man that way – with Iuda, it might prove impossible.

He looked up. Ahead of him were the yellow walls of the Admiralty and, beyond them, the frozen Neva. He felt a hand on his arm. For a moment, he thought Marfa had pursued him, but the grip was much firmer, pulling him round.

It was Iuda.

‘Aleksei,’ he said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘I appreciate we have our domestic disagreements, but we have other matters to discuss of more national significance.’

‘What?’ spat Aleksei, knocking Iuda’s hand from his arm.

‘Concerning the tsar.’

Aleksei felt the sudden urge to smile victoriously and, beyond that, to tell all, to explain to Iuda how they had all fooled him, that the tsar – Aleksandr – was alive and well and free of his machinations, able to live in peace without ever hearing of Zmyeevich or Iuda again. It would be delicious to reveal it all, and might almost compensate for much of what Aleksei had felt that evening, but in the very telling, the victory would evaporate. Iuda would tell Zmyeevich and the pursuit of Aleksandr’s soul would begin again. It was a tragedy, but Aleksei knew he could not speak. That was where Iuda’s intrigues outdid his – Iuda could trick him, and had done so many times, even with all the facts out in the open.

Of course, there was one variation that would fit in very well with Aleksei’s other problem. It would be safe to let Iuda know he had been duped – taken for a prostak – if he did not subsequently have the chance to tell Zmyeevich; if, for example, he learned the fact just moments before his death. That would make the revenge complete. It added one further layer of complexity to what Aleksei had to achieve when devising Iuda’s obliteration. But it would be a pleasure to rise to the challenge.

Meanwhile, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by what Iuda had said.

‘The tsar?’ he replied.

‘Who do you think is the tsar, Lyosha?’

Aleksei felt his stomach tighten. So it seemed Iuda already knew of the deception foisted upon him. It was like him to allow Aleksei to feel that sense of victory, before deflating it utterly. Even so, it was best that Aleksei maintained his bluff until all was lost for sure.

‘Konstantin Pavlovich, of course,’ he said.

Iuda shook his head with a smirk. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s Nikolai Pavlovich.’

So it seemed that Iuda had heard the same rumours that had reached the Northern Society. He had a simple answer for it. ‘Nikolai might like to be tsar, but that doesn’t make it so.’

‘It’s not what Nikolai likes; it’s what Konstantin doesn’t,’ said Iuda. ‘He’s refused to accept the crown – or abdicated within moments of taking it. It amounts to the same thing.’

‘What?’

‘It’s true. Believe me, Aleksei, it is.’ Iuda paused briefly. ‘I concede that’s not something you’re very likely to do, but check it out for yourself. Nikolai is the emperor.’

Aleksei considered. He would check, though he doubted Iuda would lie about something that could so easily be verified. Even so, Iuda would have needed a better reason for telling him the information than the simple fact that it was true.

‘Why should you care?’ he asked.

‘Because if people believe that Nikolai is usurping the throne, they’ll rise against him. It could mean the end of the Romanov monarchy.’

‘Zmyeevich may care about that, but why do you?’

Iuda smiled to himself. ‘I have more reason than ever to see that Zmyeevich gets what he desires,’ he said. ‘But for now, my goals concur with yours. You helped to kill one tsar in order to save his dynasty.’ Aleksei’s expression remained sceptical. Iuda pressed the point. ‘Look, Lyosha, I’ll be honest. The reason I came up here, apart from the desire to visit your lovely wife’ – he couldn’t resist, even when trying to cajole Aleksei – ‘was to try to ensure that the crown skipped through the generations as quickly as possible. It turns out that Konstantin has helped do that for me. I’m happy to settle at that – Aleksandr Nikolayevich would have a regent if he became tsar now; that wouldn’t help our cause.’

Aleksei considered. Iuda’s reasoning was sound. Nikolai becoming tsar would force him and Zmyeevich to pause for at least a decade, if not more, until young Aleksandr came of age. And even then, they would first have to kill Nikolai, which would be no easy thing given the protection he would enjoy as tsar. Unless, of course, the revolutionaries got their way. If they were to succeed in killing Nikolai, then there were two possible consequences: a republic, or a quick accession of Aleksandr II. Was Iuda instead choosing the safer option of letting Nikolai live, or was this just another bluff?

‘Think about it,’ Iuda said, and then vanished into the billowing snow.

Aleksei slept that night in a tiny, cramped room underneath the rafters of a run-down tavern. It was the first time in two decades he had spent a night in Petersburg other than in his own home. On waking, he had at first felt confused by his surroundings, but that had only lasted a moment. Then he had been aware that there was some problem in his life that he had to resolve – a serious problem, but one he could not quite discern; perhaps that implied it was not significant. Then he remembered Marfa.

There was little else in his whole life – since the death of his parents – that had so unnerved him. It seemed a ridiculous thought, given that he had in his time fought battles against men, stalked voordalaki by night, and conspired to convince the whole world that the leader of a nation was dead. And yet in all those things, he had known that it was he who must take charge of things, organize them, survive. Even in the thankfully occasional tribulations in his relationship with Domnikiia, he had always felt in charge of his own destiny. And why? Because throughout all that, he had been aware of Marfa Mihailovna sitting in Petersburg, always waiting for him, always loving him. She was his foundation, and now she was gone. And yet there was still hope. Iuda had to die for that hope to flourish, but that very thought gave him the energy to face the day.

But there was another matter to occupy him today, of higher precedence: the crown of Russia. He suspected that what Iuda had told him about Konstantin and Nikolai was true, but it had to be verified, and he could think of only one man in Petersburg whose word he would trust on the subject – and that man would be difficult to reach. He headed over to the Winter Palace.

Yevgeniy Styepanovich was surprisingly easy to get hold of. The Lieutenant General emerged from the Winter Palace almost as soon as Aleksei asked after him. His mood was curt.

‘What is it, Danilov? This is not a good time.’

‘I need an audience with the grand duke,’ said Aleksei.