The Gathering Storm
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 spil 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 arranged 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 all ay 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.
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 fall en 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 fall en 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 fell ow 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 fall en.
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 fall en 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 Corel i book she'd given me, Maman sat in her chair opposite Papa. I wanted to ask Papa more about the fall en 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.