The Gathering Storm (32 page)

And it frightened me that I had mastered the spell easily when Dariya could not.

Tired of my cousin’s relentless prodding, I once again reread
A Necromancer’s Companion
and found a passage about Ankh-al-Sekhem. Well-known for his ability to raise an army of undead soldiers for his country’s protection during the thirteenth dynasty, he fell out of favor with the Egyptian court. He had attempted to bring a powerful but long-dead pharaoh back to life with an artifact called the Talisman of Isis. But when he released the dead pharaoh’s soul trapped within the talisman, the necromancer was killed.

It took twelve of the kingdom’s most powerful magicians to return the lich pharaoh to the land of the dead. There was a picture of the talisman, shaped like the goddess Isis holding a large black stone above her head, her wings stretched out on either side of her. I shuddered, thankful we’d not gone through with the séance.

There had to be another way to find the answers we needed.
Once the Lenten fast and Easter were over, we had a visitor at Betskoi House: Anya’s brother Rudolf. He had completed his medical school training in Kiev and was about to begin his internship in St. Petersburg. He and Lyudmila were to be married that weekend. Maman and I helped Anya and Lyudmila with the wedding preparations. Papa kept Rudolf in his study for hours discussing the latest in medical breakthroughs.

Papa and Rudolf argued over the cause of infections in wounded soldiers. Papa believed it due to physicians not washing their hands between patients. Rudolf said it was caused by flies and other insects that crawled over the soldiers. I had to admit both scenarios seemed likely. I asked Rudolf if he had ever met Louis Pasteur, and he nodded.

“I heard the doctor deliver a lecture in Paris last year about bacteria in the blood. It was fascinating.”

I wanted to ask him if he’d ever seen corpses reanimate, but decided it was not proper dinner table conversation. It would have to wait, I thought sadly. Besides, Papa kept plying poor Rudolf with a million questions, inviting him to use his medical library anytime. He also issued Rudolf an invitation to join his institute for experimental medicine.

“I would be honored, Your Highness,” Rudolf said.

On the morning of the wedding, Lyudmila’s mother came to the house with a basket of fresh-baked wedding bread and other treats from their family bakery in Kiev. The quiet
ceremony took place in the small St. Katerina Cathedral, with the young bride wearing a simple white gown with a lace collar and a lace veil that had belonged to her grandmother. Maman lent her a pair of diamond-and-pearl earrings, and I gave her my best pair of gloves.

Lyudmila’s little sisters looked sweet as pink-clad attendants strewing rose petals everywhere, and Anya was her maid of honor, crowned with a wreath of daisies in her hair. Anya cried harder than Lyudmila’s own mother during the ceremony.

A small party was held afterward in our garden. Lyudmila’s family had hired a Gypsy band to play, and we danced several folk dances, such as the matryoshka, in addition to a more formal polonaise and mazurka.

The food was simple as well: fresh-baked breads and cold meats, fresh fruits and sorbets. Maman served a sweet spiced punch made with wine from her own family’s French vineyards.

Spring was coming to life in St. Petersburg. Everything was starting to awaken out of the cold, sleeping earth. Including things that should have remained deep asleep.

Princess Cantacuzene had told me of the folk tales that said vampires rose out of the earth in the spring and stalked the living between those two holy days: St. Yuri’s Day in April and St. Andrew’s Day in November. But I knew now that this was just a silly superstition. They stalked us all year round.

T
he days in May were growing longer. The school year would be over soon, and plans were being made for me and Maman to travel to Montenegro for Prince Danilo’s eighteenth birthday. I dreaded the summer. Elena was ecstatic. “You will love it in Cetinje,” she promised me. “It is a very beautiful city, in the shadow of Black Mountain. And the people of Montenegro will adore you.”

I found that difficult to believe. Did the people know the truth about the Vladiki? Perhaps they lived in constant fear of their king and queen.

“And you will be able to meet the rest of my family,” Elena continued as I tried to ignore her and study my Latin. “My oldest sister, Zorka, and her husband live near the palace, since he is in exile from Serbia. She just had another child before Christmas, and he is the fattest baby! And then there are Militza and Stana, then Danilo, then me, and my younger siblings: Anna, Mirko, Zenia, and Vera.”

“The palace must be always noisy,” I said, not used to such mayhem at home.

Elena laughed. “Of course. But we would not have it any other way.”

I closed my Latin book and tossed it aside. There was no way Elena would let me concentrate. “Tell me more about Danilo’s birthday plans. What is going to happen?” I asked.

Elena smiled wickedly. “It will be one of the most important days of his life, second only to his wedding day. There will be a ceremony in the church, which you must attend, as his betrothed. Then we will have dancing and feasting like you have never seen before. It will put any St. Petersburg ball to shame!”

Elena’s father was indeed very wealthy and enjoyed spending his money more than our frugal tsar. The grand duchess Xenia had turned fourteen the previous month, and there had been no ball or party, since her birth date had fallen during Lent. But there had been a spectacular fireworks display at the empress’s birthday celebration the previous fall. And a petting zoo with chattering monkeys at the young grand duchess Olga’s fête the previous summer. I still had the scar on my little finger where one of the nasty creatures had bitten me.

I caught myself wondering how the grand duke George would celebrate his eighteenth birthday. I was mostly certain he wouldn’t be turning into a blood drinker. But it was no use thinking about the grand duke. “And after the feasting?” I asked Elena.

“That is when you will play the most important part,” Elena said all too sweetly. “But the ritual is secret and I
cannot speak of it. Truthfully, I’ve never seen an ascension performed. I’ve only heard Maman speak of our father’s ritual when he was young.”

“What makes you think I’ll agree to participate?” I asked.

Elena grabbed my hand, squeezing it to the point of pain. “You’ll have no choice, Katerina. Your family’s safety, and your own life, depends upon your cooperation.”

T
he next morning at breakfast, we heard terrible news. There had been another death. Another soldier from the Order. Madame Tomilov did not know the dead man’s name, however, and quickly sent one of the footmen to find out. I worried about Petya, whom I hadn’t spoken to in days. Dariya put a hand on my arm. “I am sure your brother is somewhere safe. Surely he is going after the killer right now.”

That thought twisted my stomach even more. I tried to smile. “Most likely, you are right,” I agreed halfheartedly. I could not concentrate on my French or history lessons. I ran to the window every time I heard the clip-clop of horses approaching the front gate.

Madame Orbellani was sympathetic, but Madame Metcherskey was not. “Katerina Alexandrovna, return to your seat at once. There are several students here that have family members in the Order. You are not the only one.”

I looked around, shocked that I had not realized it earlier.
Countess Orlova and Princess Troubetsky, both younger than I. The poor girls. I knew that Aurora Demidov had withdrawn from Smolny after her cousin had been killed, but the countess Orlova had remained and had been there to comfort Princess Troubetsky when she heard about her cousin. Princess Troubetsky was distantly related to Countess Orlova, and thus the Count Orlov, so her grief had been doubled.

“Forgive me, madame,” I said, sliding into my seat. I stared out the window at the darkening clouds passing overhead. I prayed my brother was safe. I worried about my mother, for I knew she must be in hysterics.

The dining hall was like a tomb at lunchtime. Everyone picked at their food silently and got up with relief when it was time to return to class. Madame Metcherskey canceled our dance lessons for the afternoon, and instead, we went to the chapel to pray.

It was late afternoon when a messenger returned with more news. The dead prince was Aleksey Narychkine, murdered in his sleep. He had been the nephew of the elder Prince Narychkine, who had died before Christmas. He had no sister or cousin at Smolny, so we all breathed a sigh of relief, crossing ourselves and saying a prayer for his soul.

“What is happening to the Order?” Princess Troubetsky cried. “Why would someone go after the tsar’s men? Why won’t the tsar do something?”

Madame Orbellani embraced her. “This nightmare will be over soon, I am sure of it.”

The night patrols increased throughout the city. The soldiers always patrolled together, never alone. It made me only slightly less apprehensive for Petya.

Anya looked frightened when she helped me get ready for bed that night. Whispering so she wouldn’t awaken Elena, she told me what her brother had seen when the dead prince had been taken to the hospital that afternoon.

“There were two bodies, Duchess! He said that Prince Narychkine managed to stab his killer in the neck before he bled to death.” She looked green as she told me this. I knew she didn’t like hospitals to begin with, even when there were no dead bodies involved.

“Do they know who his attacker was?” I whispered back. Elena rolled over in her sleep, her breathing slow and regular.

“That is the strangest thing, Duchess! They said it looked just like Prince Ivan Naryshkin.”

I racked my brain, trying to place the name. Was he a friend of my brother’s?

Anya’s cold fingers grabbed my hand as she whispered, “But that is impossible, because they said Prince Naryshkin died over ten years ago. It couldn’t have been him.”

Mon Dieu
. As limited as my knowledge of necromancy was, I did know that it would have taken a powerful necromancer to reanimate someone who had been dead for that long. I shuddered and tried to ignore the wave of nausea I felt. And the other robbed graves—they were all being turned into the House of Bessaraba’s undead army.