The Morning Star
Chapter Thirty-nine

It did not take long for me to settle in. The only belongings I had with me were the sword and the Talisman of Isis. I kept both of them close. I was given a new scabbard to replace the one I'd lost on the battlefield. The sword remained at my side and the talisman remained around my neck. I was making a list of the dresses for Maman to send over when she and Papa arrived.
"Katiya!" Maman's face was covered in tears as she flung her arms around me. "We've been worried sick about you! Your father told me you were safe, but I know he was worried too!"
I put my arms around my father. "Everything will be fine now, Papa."
"Are you certain?" he said, his eyes twinkling. He seemed thinner than when I'd seen him last. And was there more gray in his hair? "Your mother just found out she's been denied a wedding." He was teasing me, but I could tell by the lines in his face I'd given them both a terrible fright by disappearing. Or perhaps it had just been the strain from the battle. It had taken its toll on all of us.
"I'm sorry, Maman. You will have to be satisfied with Petya's wedding one day."
"But that's not the same. My only daughter!" She pulled her handkerchief out and dabbed at her eyes. "We must plan a ball for you! As a belated wedding reception!" Her eyes took on a new animation.
I put my hands on hers. "Let's wait until George gets better, Maman. He is very ill right now."
Papa looked troubled. "Anything we can do for him at the Institute?"
I shook my head. "I don't think this is something modern medicine can cure."
"Does Dr. Badmaev know?" he asked.
"The empress will not let the Dark Court doctor attend him."
"It seems to me that the grand duke's wife may have something to say about that," Papa murmured.
I squeezed his hand. "If there's any way, you know I will send for him."
Maman touched my cheek gently, her eyes now brimming with tears. "Katiya, do you know how proud we are of you? You have fierce Romanov blood in your veins. You were so brave to stand up to Konstantin."
I had to blink back my own tears as I glanced from her to Papa. "As were both of you," I said. "I saw how each of you defended the tsar." I had not seen much of the battlefield upon my return with George, but the grounds around the palace looked wrecked. It had only been a day since the fighting, and they were still removing bodies. "Is Petya safe?" I asked, suddenly ashamed that I hadn't asked sooner.
"He's fine," Papa said. "He and his friend Prince Kotchoubey are back at Vorontsov Palace guarding the wounded."
"Did we lose many on our side?" I asked. There had been so much blood.
My father shook his head. "Most of the casualties were the blood drinkers who followed Konstantin. Your little aunt is a vicious fighter."
He meant Militza. I was happy she had fought with us. But one day, I feared, she would come after my mother. "Maman was rather magnificent as well," I said, squeezing her hands.
Papa's face paled. "Your mother almost gave me a heart attack with her antics. Let's hope the striga's services are not required again anytime soon."
As I laughed, Maman made a face. "Oh, I hope not too. That boy's blood tasted horrible."
Before the night was over, I had more visitors at the palace: the two members of the Grigori who had accompanied me and Danilo to Egypt. "Your Imperial Highness," the elder one said, bowing. "The Grigori await your next orders."
I wanted to get rid of the Morning Star, and I wanted the Watchers to be free of its curse. But the Grigori were not permitted to carry the sword. "Your husband can pass beyond the seven gates," the elder Grigori said. "And he knows the names of the angels who rule the planets. Perhaps he can invoke one of our brothers from the highest realms. The sword should be returned to its original home."
"You mean heaven," I said, and the elder Grigori nodded.
It was true. The stars had always been George's favorite subject when he was in Paris studying with the mages. But he was not strong enough to complete such a ritual. I could not allow him to risk his health for this. "We'll have to find another way," I said, my hand going protectively to the sword at my side.
"Of course." The two Grigori bowed and took their leave. "We will speak again soon, Duchess. In the meantime, we will guard you and your family."
I wished I could simply turn the Morning Star over to the elder Grigori and be done with it. Miechen and Grand Duke Vladimir were both horrified that I should even consider letting such a valuable weapon go. But the tsar agreed with me; we both knew it did not belong in this world. The Grigori could not be freed from their curse, but I could ensure they would never again become the servants of a tyrant like Konstantin Pavlovich. For the present, the Morning Star would remain with me for safekeeping.
In the end, George did not get better. The wedding ball did not happen. Winter melted into spring, and the empress finally allowed me to send for the Tibetan doctor. I'd been continuing my studies with him and was certain he would be able to discover the source of George's illness when I had not. Nor had any of the tsar's physicians. Or perhaps they had and were too frightened to tell the tsar and the empress the truth. Because none of their suggested cures seemed to work.
Dr. Badmaev smiled at us both kindly after he examined George. "I am afraid the air in St. Petersburg is too cold and damp for you, Your Imperial Highness. A drier, warmer climate would be much more suitable."
"Such as the Crimea?" I asked.
"Perhaps even farther south," the Tibetan said as he began to pack his instruments back into his black bag. "I would suggest the Caucasus or even northern Africa. Algiers is nice this time of year."
George took my hand in his. "Wherever you wish, Katiya," he said quietly.
"Can you tell us exactly what is wrong with him, Doctor?" I asked. All along I'd had my own suspicions, but I prayed I wasn't right.
"Oh, definitely. The wound the grand duke received from his duel with the crown prince of Montenegro continues to heal slowly. You yourself saw that his cold light seems to gather around his chest. But that should improve with time. The lung fever has me more concerned. I fear it may be consumption."
Dr. Badmaev could not have given a more depressing diagnosis. I knew doctors in Germany and France were studying the mycobacteria that caused tuberculosis and were rushing to find a cure. Papa had asked Dr. Pavlov at the Institute in St. Petersburg to consider the disease a priority as well. But there was still so much modern medicine did not understand. Dr. Badmaev had given my husband a death sentence. I pulled George's hand to my lips and kissed it.
"I suppose we should tell my parents," he said gloomily.
"I'll go and send for them," I said, getting up in a daze.
Dr. Badmaev patted me on the shoulder as I walked past him. "Do keep me informed of your arrangements, Your Imperial Highness. We will find a way of continuing your lessons. There are Tibetan herbs your husband can take that will ease his symptoms, but we cannot completely cure the disease."
The tsar and the empress refused to believe Dr. Badmaev's diagnosis, but they were willing to send us south to the Caucasus for the dry air. "There is a Romanov villa in the mountains where you can stay," the empress said. "It's very peaceful there. Perhaps you'll be able to return in a few months."
Each grand duke and duchess had an opinion on the best warm climate for George. The Mikhailovichi branch had grown up in Tbilisi, where Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolayevich had been viceroy for many years. Militza thought we should return to Cairo, of course. Miechen and Grand Duke Vladimir, who were fond of gambling, praised the merits of the French Riviera.
"There is a school of medicine in Nice," George said, his chin on my shoulder and his arms around my waist as we looked at the globe in his father's study.
"Dr. Bokova mentioned the university in Marseille as well," I said, turning around in his arms. One of the very first Russian women to become a doctor as well as a dear friend, she had agreed with the Tibetan's diagnosis and recommended that we travel to a city where we'd be close to the leading doctors and researchers. But I knew George needed someplace quiet.
Dr. Bokova also told me I should take care of my own health. "Tuberculosis is extremely contagious," she had warned me. "If you remain with your young husband, you will eventually contract the disease as well."
I said nothing to George of this conversation as we mulled over our choices. Together we would defeat the disease, or die.