The Unfailing Light (5 page)

He moved a little closer to me, although I cannot say he actually walked. “YOU!” With a sudden roar, he recognized me from the battle at Peterhof.

He lunged forward and I jumped back and hid behind the throne, escaping his touch by inches. The thick cold-light strands seemed to hold him back. For now.

“Witch! You will pay for everything you’ve done!”

I backed away even farther from him. Even if I didn’t know where I was going. “I will never let you return,” I said. “I won’t let you harm the tsar, or anyone else.”

“I
AM
THE TSAR!”

“No!” With my heart beating in my throat, I was too terrified and nowhere near foolish enough to try to attack the lich tsar on my own. The only thing I knew how to do was run.

And hide.

“Sheult Anubis,”
I whispered, calling upon the one Egyptian incantation I knew, the one that I’d found in the book Johanna had given me. Instantly I was engulfed in protective shadows. Konstantin Pavlovich roared again, almost like a wounded animal, but his bindings held him fast. He was a prisoner in this place unless he could find a necromancer to help him. And that necromancer would not be me.

It seemed as if I ran forever. There were no walls, no borders
or edges that I could find. I was hopelessly lost. I fought down the panic rising up inside.

Completely wrapped in my cloak of shadows, I sank down to the floor, close to panic. My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. How would I get out of here?

I’d seen no other person in this cold-light realm besides Konstantin Pavlovich. Why was the lich tsar here? Was this place physically in the Crimea? Or somewhere not quite connected to regular time and space? The more I thought about it, I realized that I had arrived here after touching the throne in the cave chamber.

Only minutes ago, I’d been laughing and behaving in a silly fashion with my cousin in the caves. Would I ever see her and the others again?

I let the shadowy cloak fade away as I began to search for a way out.

“What in the name of the Holy Ones are you doing here?” A man’s voice startled me.

I jumped up and gasped, not having realized someone else was present. “Who are you?”

A dark robed figure stepped closer to me, holding out his hand. “I can take you back to the cave, but you must come with me now.” It was a young man, dark-haired, with piercing dark eyes. He had a heavy French accent.

“Do you know me? How did you know I was in the cave?”

He sighed impatiently. “Mademoiselle, you have been poking into things which are not your business. Do you want to get back to your family or not?”

I nodded.

“Then come with me, quickly.” Immediately, he began to mumble something in another language, definitely not French
or Russian. His words caused the cold light to dissolve into a faint silvery mist.

I held my breath and watched as everything faded away slowly. I felt cold and nauseous. When the mist had completely cleared, we were back in the cave, standing next to the throne.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He bowed curtly. “You are most welcome, Mademoiselle.” He turned around and hurried off silently, back toward the cave entrance.

“Please wait!” I started after him, and heard Maman’s voice.

“Katiya?” Maman asked, approaching me from the same corridor the stranger had taken. “What is it?”

I looked past her, but the man had already vanished. “Did you see anyone else in the caves with us?” I asked.

“Of course not. We’ve been looking all over for you. It’s time for luncheon.” Maman held her lantern up to get a closer look at me. There was concern in her eyes. “Heavens, you’re as pale as a ghost! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Maman. Just hungry.” I had to find out who the stranger was, and what he was doing in that horrible place with Konstantin Pavlovich. Surely Tsar Alexander was not aware of the throne, or visitors would not be allowed to visit the cave. Did I need to tell George?

I forced a smile as I looked up at my mother. “I cannot wait to eat. Did Dariya leave us any meat pies?”

Maman followed me back through the twisting cave chambers until we arrived at the entrance. Dariya and Aunt Zina stood there, holding the picnic baskets. They were more than ready to leave the chilly caves as well.

We followed the shade-covered path until we returned to
the tiny stream where we’d seen their imperial highnesses that morning. “This looks like a perfect spot for lunch!” Maman said. She pulled a blanket out of the first picnic basket, spreading it out on the grass by the sunny bank.

We had cold deviled eggs and meat pies, and drank the cool lemonade our cook had prepared. I stared at the babbling stream and wished I could speak with George about the stranger. Perhaps the man had passed the imperial family as he left the caves to go to wherever he’d come from. I didn’t know if I wanted to tell the grand duke about Konstantin Pavlovich, however. What could he do? And he would only worry about my safety even more. No, I would have to find out about the strange man on my own.

CHAPTER FIVE
 

I
t was Aunt Zina who insisted we put on our Greek play at the dacha. We decided to perform in the garden room on a hot August afternoon. Maman and Aunt Zina had topiary columns and large potted palms moved to create a stage for us. Maman would not let us use the good sheets as togas, but she did give us an old length of gauze to cut up. Dariya made wreaths of ivy and laurel for our heads. We thought we looked like nymphs.

Dariya’s father, Uncle Evgene, said we resembled patients who had escaped the lunatic asylum. He wisely decided to forgo the afternoon’s entertainment and went riding with his friends.

We planned to perform one scene: Iphigenia’s nightmare, the dream that leads her to believe that her brother Orestes is dead. I stood on a footstool in the middle of the garden, rehearsing my lines.

Dariya, in her gauze toga, practiced her pity-filled gaze in the role of the chorus.

Turning pale, Anya whispered, “I think it is bad luck to speak of your brother’s death, Duchess.”

“It’s not my own brother, but Orestes,” I told her. “Iphigenia’s brother. And he doesn’t really die.”

“Still,” Anya said. “You shouldn’t be speaking of such things.”

Dariya shrugged. “The play really has a happy ending, despite the bloodstained altar and ghastly sacrifices.”

I could not help shuddering. Perhaps this was not the best piece of Greek drama for two young ladies to perform. But before I could say anything, Maman called to us. Her guests had filled the garden room, taking their seats on the sofa and chairs in front of our stage.

Anya jumped up and darted off, too shy to be in front of so many people. I noticed Grand Duchess Miechen and Maman sitting down beside Aunt Zina. An older woman with white hair and enormous green eyes leaned forward to whisper in Maman’s ear. She looked up at me and nodded. Surely they couldn’t have been talking about me. I had never seen the woman before in my life.

“Katiya!” my cousin whispered. “Are you ready?” She held her harp out, eager to begin.

“Of course,” I said, tearing my gaze away from my mother and the stranger. As Dariya plucked her harp, I began to recite my lines. Iphigenia was a Greek princess whose father, Agamemnon, had been told to sacrifice her in order for the Greeks to win the Trojan War. But the goddess Artemis rescued Iphigenia at the very last moment and hid her away in Tauris, the land now called the Crimea.

Iphigenia became the priestess in charge of ritually sacrificing to the bloodthirsty Artemis any foreigners who landed on the shores of Tauris. Then fate caused her brother Orestes to shipwreck at Tauris. Iphigenia was unknowingly about to sacrifice her last remaining sibling on the bloody altar. The Greeks loved irony in their plays.

The garden room was crowded and there was little breeze. I soon felt myself growing warm and faint. I heard a soft buzzing in my ears, but I couldn’t let it distract me from my lines.

I cast a quick glance at the small audience and saw them bathed in a faint light, but it wasn’t cold, as it should have been. It seemed to be radiating white-hot. I tried to take a deep breath, praying for a soothing breeze. I felt a tightness in my chest. What had happened to everyone’s cold light?

With relief, I finished the scene of Iphigenia’s gloomy dream
and curtsied to the crowd. Dariya ended her song on the harp with a flourish and joined me. Everyone stood up and clapped, but I only wanted to get out of the room. No one seemed to be in distress besides me. Grand Duchess Miechen fanned herself lazily with a delicate ivory fan, but did not seem to notice anything unusual happening. I half suspected her of being the cause.

“Katiya, what’s wrong with you?” Dariya hissed in my ear. “You’ve gone completely pale.”

“I need some fresh air,” I said. After one last curtsy, I grabbed my cousin’s hand and led her away from our makeshift stage and through the glass doors into the courtyard.

It was still hot under the late August sun, but at least there was a sea breeze outside. I closed my eyes and began to feel better immediately.

“What is it?” Dariya asked. “What’s happening? Did the grand duchess do something?”

“And just what do you think I would be doing?” Miechen’s voice startled both of us. The dark faerie had slipped out onto the terrace behind us without making a sound. Dariya sank into a brief but perfectly executed curtsy before escaping back inside. The coward.

My heart was pounding in my throat. “Your Imperial Highness, did you not feel the change in the air in the garden room?”

The grand duchess shrugged elegantly. “Such things happen when you invite a striga to your villa. Her name is Madame Elektra. She is a local witch, of sorts.”

“A striga? And Maman invited her here?” I asked.

“Your mother and Madame Elektra have been friends
for many years, Katiya. It is strange that you two have never met.”

“I think I would remember meeting her,” I said, frowning. “She seems to suck the cold out of the room.”

“Strigas are blood drinkers. More powerful than any veshtiza or upyr. But no danger to you.”

“Does Maman know?” I asked, growing indignant. “She has told me repeatedly that vampires no longer exist!”

Miechen shook her head, smiling. “Elektra is not a vampire. She is much older and more powerful than Princess Cantacuzene ever was. If she truly wanted it, she could take the vampire seat of power away from Militza of Montenegro.” The grand duchess flashed her fan and sighed. “It is a pity Elektra hates St. Petersburg.”

“But what she did in that room,” I said. “Surely she’s causing harm to everyone in there.”

“The heat was caused by the reaction of the cold light itself with her own powers. She does not steal cold light. It shrinks away from her.”

“Where does it go?” I asked.

“It will come back, when she is gone. Most of the people in your mother’s garden room did not even notice the change. They only felt a slight discomfort. And perhaps they will blame that on your cousin’s atrocious harp playing.”

I ignored the dark faerie’s catty remark. “Does the empress know about the striga?”

“It’s one of the reasons your mother and the empress are no longer as close as they used to be. Marie Feodorovna can be terribly narrow-minded sometimes.”

I shuddered. “Why is my mother friends with such a creature?”

“Madame Elektra saved your mother’s life many years ago. But perhaps this is a discussion you should have with your mother.” Miechen continued fanning herself and turned to go back inside. “I can tell you this, Katerina Alexandrovna. You have nothing to fear from Madame Elektra.”

CHAPTER SIX