Danielle Steel: Zoya

“We all wish that sometimes, little one.” The fiery old eyes looked deep into her own. “Life is not always fair. There are many, many people who will never have what we take for granted every day … warm clothes, comfortable beds, an abundance of food … not to mention the frivolities like holidays and parties and pretty dresses.”

“Is all of that wrong?” The very idea seemed to startle Zoya.

“Certainly not. But it is a privilege, and we must never forget that.”

“Mama says they're common people and wouldn't enjoy what we have anyway. Do you suppose that's true?”

Evgenia looked at her with irritated irony, amazed that her daughter-in-law was still so blind and so foolish. “Don't be ridiculous, Zoya. Do you suppose anyone would object to a warm bed and a full stomach, or a pretty dress, or a wonderful troika? They would have to be awfully stupid.” Zoya didn't add that her mother said they were that too, because Zoya understood that they weren't.

“You know, it's sad, Grandmama, that they don't know Uncle Nicky and Aunt Alix and Baby and the girls. They're such good people, no one could be angry at them if they knew them.” It was a sensible thing to say, and yet so incredibly simplistic.

“It isn't them, my love … it is only the things they stand for. It's incredibly hard for people outside palace windows to remember that the people inside them have heartbreaks and problems. No one will ever know how much Nicholas cares about all of them, how much he grieves for their ills, and how his heart has been broken by Alexis's illness. They will never know, and never see … it makes me sad too. The poor man carries so many terrible burdens. And now he's back at the front again. It must be difficult for Alix. I do wish the children would get well so I could go to see them.”

“I want to go too. But Papa won't even let me step outside the house. It's going to take me months to catch up with Madame Nastova.”

“Of course it won't.” Evgenia was watching her, it seemed as though she grew more beautiful each day as she approached her eighteenth birthday. She was graceful and delicate with her flaming red hair and her huge green eyes, her long, lovely legs and the tiny waist one could have circled with both hands. She took one's breath away as one watched her.

“Grandmama, this is so boring.” She twirled on one foot as Evgenia laughed at her.

“You certainly don't flatter me, my dear. A great many people have found me boring for a very long time, but no one has ever said so quite so bluntly.”

“I'm sorry.” She laughed. “I didn't mean you. I meant being cooped up here. And even stupid Nico-lai didn't come to visit today.” But later that afternoon, they knew why. General Khabalov had had huge posters put up all around the city, warning everyone that assemblies and public meetings were forbidden now, and all strikers were to return to their jobs the following day. Failure to comply would mean being drafted immediately and being sent to the front, but no one paid any attention whatsoever to the posters. Huge crowds of protesters swarmed from the Vyborg quarter across the Neva bridges and into the city, and by four-thirty that afternoon, the soldiers had appeared and there was shooting on the Nevsky Prospekt opposite the Anitchkov Palace. Fifty people were killed, and within hours, two hundred more died, and suddenly there was dissent among the soldiers. A company of the Pavlovsky Life Guards refused to fire, and instead turned and shot the officer in charge, and suddenly pandemonium reigned, and the Preobrajensky Guard had to be called in to disarm them.

Konstantin got word of it that night, and disappeared for hours, attempting to find out what was happening elsewhere and secretly wanting to reassure himself that Nicolai was all right. Suddenly, he felt panic sweep him knowing that his son was in danger. But all he could find out was that the Pavlov-sky Guards had been disarmed with very little loss of life. “Very little” seemed suddenly too much, and he returned home to wait for news. On his way back, he saw the lights at the Radziwills and wondered at the madness of a city that went on dancing while people were being murdered. Suddenly, he wondered if Nicolai had been right all along to be so worried about what might be coming. Konstantin was anxious to talk to Paléologue himself now, and decided to call on him the next morning. But it was only when he turned into Fontanka and saw the horses outside his own home that his heart froze and he wanted to stop and run away. He suddenly felt terror seize his heart and pressed his own horses forward. There were at least a dozen of the Preobrajensky Guard outside, there was running and shouting and they were carrying something as he heard a shout fly from his own mouth and he abandoned Feodor and his troika almost before it stopped, shouting to himself, “Oh my God … oh my God …” and then he saw him. He was being carried by two men and there was blood everywhere on the snow. It was Nicolai. “Oh my God …” There were tears streaming down Konstantin's cheeks as he stared at them and rushed forward. “Is he alive?”

One of the men looked at him and nodded, speaking softly to Konstantin. “Barely.” He had been shot seven times by one of the Pavlovsky Life Guards, one of their own … one of the Tsar's men … but he had been fearless and he had felled the other man. “Bring him inside … quickly …” He shouted for Feodor, who appeared at his side. “Get my wife's doctor nowl” he roared as the young Guards looked at him helplessly. They knew that nothing could be done, it was why they had brought him home, and Nicolai looked up at his father with glassy eyes, but he recognized him and he smiled, looking like a child again as Konstantin took him in his own powerful arms, and carried him inside. He set him down on the tapestry-covered couch in the main hall, and all of the servants came running. “Bring bandages … sheets … quickly, get me warm water.” He had no idea what he was going to do with all of it, but something had to be done. Something … anything … they had to save him. It was his little boy, they had brought him home to die, and he wasn't going to let him slip away. He had to stop him before it was too late, and suddenly he felt a firm hand push him aside, and he saw his own mother cradle the boy's head in her hands and gently kiss his forehead as she crooned to him.

“It's all right, Nicolai, Grandmama is here … and your mama and papa. …” The three women had gone ahead with dinner without waiting for Konstantin, and Evgenia had instantly sensed what had happened as she heard the men come in. The rest of the Guards were standing awkwardly in the main hallway, and there was a terrifying scream as Natalya saw her son and fainted in the doorway. “Zoya!” Evgenia called out, and the young girl ran to her as Konstantin stood helplessly by watching his son's blood ooze across the marble floor and seep slowly into the rug. He could see Zoya tremble as she ran to her grandmother and knelt at her brother's side. Her face was white as chalk, and she gently took his hand.

“Nicolai …” she whispered. “I love you … it's Zoya “

“What are you doing here?” His voice was barely a whisper now and Evgenia could tell from looking at him that he no longer saw them.

“Zoya,” she commanded, a general in charge of her men, “tear my petticoat in strips … quickly … hurry….” With gentle hands at first Zoya began to tug beneath her grandmother's skirts, but at the sound of her grandmother's commands, she gave a fierce tug as her grandmother stepped out of her petticoat and Zoya tore it into strips and watched her grandmother tie them about his wounds. She was trying to stop the bleeding but it was almost too late as Konstantin wept and knelt to kiss him.