The Morning Star
Chapter Eight

Masha, the poor old thing, did not know how to comfort me. I went to the washstand and dried my face. There was nothing left for me to do but dig back into my research. I spent the rest of the day finishing my studies of the respiratory system. Badmaev was pleased with my progress. He assigned me readings on the endocrine system.
I rode the tram home, not bothering to get off at the stop before the Field of Mars. Let my parents see me mingling with the commoners. Let them learn why I threw away the chance to become a grand duchess. I did not care anymore. It would not be long before the whole of St. Petersburg's aristocracy knew what a fool I was.
Maman met me on the stairs. "Katiya, where on earth have you been? Don't try to tell me you've been with Dariya, because I refuse to believe it!"
There was no point in deceiving her any longer. I took off my hat and gloves as I climbed the stairs to my room. "I've been at the Tibetan doctor's clinic."
"A doctor? Are you sick?" She followed me into my room.
"Does it matter?" My heart was broken. I felt wretched.
"Of course it does. We're to attend the ballet this evening. And you still have not told me what the tsar wanted to speak to you about last night."
I sank down onto my bed and realized right then I wanted nothing more than my mother to comfort me. "George asked me to marry him, and the tsar has given us permission," I told her, "but he said I will have to abandon my dreams of becoming a doctor. So I had to turn the grand duke down."
Maman stared at me, speechless for several seconds. There. My last secret was out.
"George?" she whispered. "George Alexandrovich?"
Had she truly not noticed the way we gravitated toward each other? Whenever I was in trouble, it seemed the tsar's son was always there to scowl at me. Or to rescue me. I began to tear up again. I was so sick of crying over him. And I missed him so much it hurt.
Maman moved toward me and wrapped me in her arms. "My sweet Katiya. My dearest. I don't pretend to understand why you have made such a decision, but if it's making you unhappy, why not change it? I'm sure the young grand duke is not happy right now either."
"I know you can't understand, Maman," I said, closing my eyes until the tears were all squeezed out.
She smoothed my hair and rocked me as if I were a baby. "Perhaps this is a spiritual test of some sort. Should we consult the tarot cards?"
"No, Maman. I think I've already failed this test. But I am not going to give up my studies now. It's too late to change my decision."
"Did you and George argue?"
I laughed bitterly. "A terrible argument."
"He will forgive you, I'm sure of it," she said, patting my hand kindly. "The ballet will cheer you up."
"Please, no, Maman," I begged. "I can't face anyone tonight. Especially if he is there."
"Nonsense," Maman said. "The tsar's sons never attend the ballet."
Which was untrue. "I'm sure they'll be there if Mathilde Kschessinska is dancing," I grumbled.
"Oh, she's not scheduled to perform, dear," Maman said. "Though I can see why every young man is fascinated with her. Such a bewitching little beauty! And the way she danced that pas de deux at her graduation! I hear she wants Petipa to revive The Pharoah's Daughter."
"Maman!"
"You have nothing to worry about, dearest." She peered into my face critically. "Wear your pale blue silk gown; it will bring out the blue in your eyes. Rest now for a few hours and the puffiness will go away. I'll have Anya bring up a cucumber compress."
I sighed. Maman was sure that as long as I looked presentable, everything would be back to rights. "Yes, Maman." Perhaps a nap was what I needed. And perhaps I could still convince her to let me stay home.