The Gathering Storm (25 page)

My cousin shrugged nonchalantly as Lyudmila entered and started to fix Dariya’s hair. “I found a drawing in there of something called the Talisman of Isis,” Dariya said. “Don’t you think that would make a wonderful title for a romance novel?”

I rolled my eyes and flipped through the book again. Something had been written in the margin of one of the pages. I had no way of knowing if it was Princess Cantacuzene’s handwriting.

You must always, always return from the darkness. Always return to the light
.

M
y mother nodded off in our stuffy box at the Mariinsky Theatre, making it easy to slip away during the second act of Tchaikovsky’s
Eugene Onegin
. Dariya told the footman we were to pick up my brother at Vorontsov Palace, and the poor footman believed her.

I twisted the obsidian ring around my finger as our carriage made its way through the streets of St. Petersburg. The Vorontsov Palace, which housed the Corps des Pages, was one of the oldest buildings on Nevsky Prospekt and sat back on enormous gated grounds. Our carriage rolled through the imposing gates and up to the chapel entrance on the eastern side. Dariya held the
Companion
open on her lap. “Say
‘Sheult Anubis’
three times and you will be protected by your own shadow.” She looked up from the book. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? Your mother’s séances are diverting, but this might be dangerous if it works.”

“I believe it will work, Dariya. It has to. Think of my
brother and the other members of the Order. The ghost must be awakened to look after his knight-commanders.”

Dariya shrugged. “You don’t even know if there’s anything a dead tsar can do for the Order.”

“But there’s a chance. I have to try.” I whispered the spell three times. I felt the darkness begin to close in and fought a surge of panic rising inside. This was my first conscious experiment of my powers as a necromancer. I was a bundle of nerves—especially as I understood the importance of what I needed to accomplish. It was strange how I could feel the shadows enveloping me and yet I could still see everything.

“
Mon Dieu!
” Dariya said, crossing herself. “How frightening! You just vanished! It worked!”

“Now you try!” I said, wondering what would happen.

Dariya looked down at the book in her lap. “
Sheult Anubis
,” she whispered. She repeated the words rapidly twice, but nothing changed. She held out her hands and wiggled her fingers. “I’m still visible! Perhaps that’s best. What if your mother wakes up to find us both missing?”

I opened the carriage door and stepped out into the frigid February night. There must have been a new moon, for there were millions of stars in the inky-black sky.

“Good luck,” Dariya whispered. She was heading back to the theater, where she could keep an eye on Maman. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

I pulled my cloak closer around me, thankful to be shrouded in shadows, and stepped into the portico in front
of the chapel as the carriage pulled away. There had been no guards at the outside gate, and the pale young man on watch at the chapel entrance was hiding just inside the portico, snoring loudly. He never stirred as I tiptoed past him and hurried inside.

I knew the younger cadets were in the far western wing of the palace, sleeping, so I had to be very quiet. I hoped the tsar’s ghost would not speak loudly.

The chapel was very beautiful, added on to the palace at the tsar’s request by the same architect who had designed my parents’ Betskoi House. Gold icons depicting the twelve apostles decorated the walls, flanking the arched Gothic windows. The stained glass in the windows portrayed the Holy Family, guarded by several seraphim. I crossed myself before approaching the altar, then exited through the side door into the Great Hall. This was where the portrait of Tsar Pavel stood, watching over his cadets and the future knight-commanders of the Order.

The painting loomed at the end of the hall, the very romantic-looking tsar in the robes of the Grand Master of the Order. The Maltese cross on his insignia gleamed in the dim candlelight.

I sat down on a cold mahogany bench to wait. After what seemed like an eternity, a clock somewhere began to chime, announcing midnight. I held my breath, not sure that His Imperial Majesty, the rumored ghost, would even deign to speak with me. He would not be pleased to hear what I had to say. I discovered I was able to drop the shadows around me by repeating the Egyptian spell again.

The clock chimed a twelfth time and the Great Hall grew silent again. There was no sign of the tsar. No movement from the portrait at all.

Several long minutes passed. I heard nothing but the soft ticking of the clock. I had the growing feeling that the ghost story was nothing more than a legend. I had put Dariya and myself in danger for nothing.

I stared at the portrait, silently willing the tsar to come forth. Did I dare attempt to conjure the Grand Master on my own? I shuddered, with a sick, cold feeling in my stomach. No. I would never do such a thing.

Yet he alone could tell me how to save the members of the Order. My brother would be safe.

The sound of footsteps stopped my heart. I backed up against the wall, wishing I were still cloaked by the shadow spell. I tried to hold my breath, but gasped in surprise when I recognized Grand Duke George Alexandrovich approaching the portrait of Tsar Pavel.

He heard me and drew his saber immediately. “Show yourself!”

I took a step closer to him, my hands out. “Your Imperial Highness.”

“You!” he snarled in a low voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I would ask you the same question,” I hissed back. “Are you not here to speak with the ghost of the dead tsar?”

He put his weapon away but still frowned. “You have no right to be here! I insist you leave immediately.”

“But the members of the Order are in danger!” I said. “If the tsar’s ghost can offer any advice …”

The grand duke shook his head. “There is no need for you to taint the halls of Vorontsov Palace with your dark rituals. The ghost walks on his own.”

A chilled breeze swept through the hall. I saw wisps of spirit flowing from the portrait. “Look,” I whispered, taking several steps backward. Even the grand duke stepped back cautiously, managing to put me a little behind him. I was not sure if he was trying to protect me from the ghost or trying to protect the ghost from me.

The powerful tsar stepped outside his painting, all seven feet of him. His white-hot eyes stared down at both of us. “Who disturbs my vigil?” he bellowed.

The grand duke stood at attention. “I am George Alexandrovich Romanov, son of Tsar Alexander the Third.”

I bent my head. “I am Katerina Alexandrovna von Oldenburg, Your Imperial Majesty. We’ve come to tell you about the Knights of the Order. They are in great danger.”

The tsar roared, his spirit quickly forming flesh and bone. I took another small step backward as the grand duke glared at me.

“Tell me more of this danger to my knights,” the ghost tsar said.

“Three knights of the Maltese cross have died since the new year.” I did not think I needed to mention that one of them had been turned undead by me. “And there have been several grave robberies, all of them belonging to Knights of the Order.”

Grand Duke George spoke up. “We fear the vampires, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“The supreme enemy of the knights is the House of
Bessaraba, descendants of the Dragon,” the tsar bellowed. “Find the Dragon’s descendant, Koldun, and you will find their enemy.”

Koldun? That was a word Maman had used to describe ancient Russian wizards when she’d told me bedtime stories long before. But I had never heard of the House of Bessaraba.

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” the grand duke said.

The tsar turned toward me. “You are very brave, young lady, for seeking me out in the darkness of night. I can see that you are protected by the shadow. But you must be strong, and not give in to the shadow’s seduction.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” I said, frightened and bewildered by what he said. I remembered Maman’s tarot cards and her dream. “Can the bogatyr return to fight the House of Bessaraba?”

The seven-foot-tall ghost laughed. It was a terrible laugh. “Do you know what you ask of your living tsar?” he said. “To invoke the bogatyr means to accept an enormous physical burden. Though the bogatyr imparts supernatural strength, the tsar pays a great price. It is … debilitating.”

The grand duke simply bowed his head. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Tsar Pavel began to pace in front of us. “The living tsar has more problems than he realizes. Cursed members of the Order are rising from the dead, blood drinkers are stalking young girls, even the wolf-folk are running loose on the streets of St. Petersburg. The House of Bessaraba and its allies are growing too strong.” He spun around and looked at the grand duke. “Why is the Bear so soft on the Dark Ones?”

My head was swimming. Wolf-folk? Dark Ones?

The grand duke was silent, but I saw him stiffen.

“Koldun, we must not let the Dark Ones win.”

“I understand, Your Imperial Majesty.” The grand duke clicked his heels together and inclined his head slightly.

“In the meantime, you must pledge to me that you will protect this girl.” He nodded toward me. “Her powers place her in great danger from the House of Bessaraba.”

“Your Imperial Majesty,” I said hurriedly, “that is not really necess—” But I was silenced by the tsar’s frosty stare.

“I pledge to protect her with my life,” the grand duke said grimly. “I serve at the pleasure of the tsar.”

“As do you, young necromancer,” the ghost tsar said. “You must be prepared to summon the bogatyr if he is needed.”

“I do pledge this, Your Imperial Majesty,” I said with a curtsy, even though I had no idea what he meant.

“Good.” The tsar looked at us both. I saw the grand duke’s shoulders relax slightly, even though he still stood at attention.

It was time for the tsar to return to his resting place. He turned and walked back to his portrait, his boots sounding heavy beneath him. Just when I thought his corporeal body would bump into the wall, he disappeared into the painting.

I suddenly wished I’d asked the ghost about the Dekebristi. I asked the grand duke instead.

“It is not possible,” he said. “Those not executed were exiled to Siberia. The vampires and their minions are forbidden to return.”

“But what if they are behind the attacks on the Order? Who else would rob graves?”

“The tsar said to find the descendant of the Dragon.”

“How will we find him?”

He didn’t answer, and I knew that he wasn’t going to tell me. I knew too that he would honor his pledge to the tsar and protect me, even if he despised me.

“Let’s go,” the grand duke whispered. His black cloak swirled around him as he walked, surrounding him in his own waving shadow. “We must leave quickly.”

“My carriage will be outside.”

“In the middle of the night?” He rubbed his forehead, an action I’d seen his father do often when he was weary of his social obligations. “Your life is in danger,” the grand duke said. “You must stay at home, where it is safe. The House of Bessaraba will not be able to harm you there.”

He put his hand on my arm to drag me away. “Hurry, Duchess.”

I heard footsteps in the hallway behind us. The young guard I’d seen earlier must have woken up and resumed his duties. We did need to leave quickly.

My mother’s carriage was waiting for us outside the chapel gate.

“Hurry!” the grand duke shouted to the driver as he ushered me inside and climbed in after me. We sat across from my mother and my cousin.

Dariya had told Maman that I had received a message to meet Petya at Vorontsov Palace and had hurried ahead of them to find out if he was in danger.

“Katiya!” Maman cried. “You should not have done anything so foolish! You were fortunate the grand duke was there to look out for you. Where is Petya?”

“He received orders from the general and had to leave,” the grand duke said, catching on quickly.

Maman seemed surprised and a little nervous to have the tsar’s son in the carriage with her, and she spoke the whole ride home about our planned trip. “We will probably be in Biarritz for the rest of Lent, and most of spring,” she said, fanning herself with a paper fan made with pressed lilacs. “I hope we will see your mother at the ball tomorrow night so we may say our goodbyes.”

Grand Duke George nodded politely. “Of course, Your Highness. And what takes you away to France this early in the season?”

Maman looked at me. “Katerina has not told you? Our Katiya has argued with her fiancé and broken off the engagement. We must leave St. Petersburg to ignore the scandal.”

Dariya snorted in a most unladylike fashion.

I wanted to vanish like the ghostly tsar right then and there. The grand duke had no business knowing about my engagement—or ending of the engagement. But he seemed very interested.

“You shall not be marrying the crown prince,” the grand duke said thoughtfully. Our carriage was drawing nearer to Anichkov Palace. As the carriage slowed, he told the driver he wished to accompany us to Betskoi House, as he wanted to see us home safely. The carriage driver nodded and drove on.