to lock my knees so I would not faint.
After the prayers, I followed Maman in the long formal procession through the palace from the chapel to the Jordan Staircase, leading outside to the snow-covered riverbank. The procession was silent except for the quiet swishes of the women’s elaborate court dresses. The empress and the grand duchesses wore long heavy trains that had to be carried by their pages. My mother’s page looked as if he were no older than I was.
Hundreds of servants in smart crimson liveries stood at attention along the magnificent staircase. I lifted my skirts slightly, praying I would not trip as I descended the stairs.
When we reached the ground floor, many of the empress’s ladies-in-waiting remained inside the enfilade, along with the entire Diplomatic Corps, watching the ceremony from the grand windows. Maman and I followed the procession outside to see Papa and Petya. I was happy to breathe the frigid air, even though it hurt my lungs. After the closeness of the chapel, it was fresh and bracing.
The metropolitan stood in front of the Imperial Pavilion, his silver-and-gold robes blazing in the pale sunlight. He prayed silently over a small hole that had been cut into the ice. The waters of the Neva, warmer than the ice above it, caused steam to rise out of the hole.
We stood behind the pavilion, next to the beautiful young grand duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna and her husband, Grand Duke Serge Alexandrovich, one of the tsar’s uncles. The grand duchess turned to greet us. “Katerina Alexandrovna, you attend the Smolny Institute, do you not?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” I tried to curtsy, and wobbled slightly on the frozen, uneven ground.
“And you have already been presented to court?” Her breath fogged in the crisp winter air.
“Just this past summer, Your Highness,” Maman answered. “I believe you were in Darmstadt at the time.”
The grand duchess ignored my mother and kept her unsettling eyes on me. Both of her eyes were grayish blue, but one had a circle of brown. “You must be the same age as my sister, Alix. She is coming to stay with me this winter. I hope you will get to meet her.”
“I’d be honored.”
Tall and slender, the grand duke Serge leaned over and whispered something to his wife. “Please excuse us,” she said, following him to the Imperial Pavilion, where the tsar and empress stood with their younger children. Their older sons sat astride their horses in full dress uniforms.
All of the imperial family looked solemn. And, not surprisingly, cold. The tsarevitch and the grand duke George were dressed in the uniforms of the Preobrajensky Regiment. Even the young grand duchesses were wearing their own regimental insignia.
“There is Petya!” Maman whispered, clapping her hands as my brother’s regiment marched past the Imperial Pavilion. The regiment stopped to salute the tsar, who saluted back, before they continued their march toward the river.
We could see Dariya and her stepmother standing at the other side of the pavilion, close to Miechen and her family. I had not had a chance to talk with my cousin since Miechen’s ball. I wanted to tell her about Princess Cantacuzene and her warnings about the Montenegrins.
When all the troops had marched or ridden across the frozen river to the opposite side, a hush fell on the crowd. As the priests chanted a hymn, a faint scent of frankincense and myrrh wafted through the pavilion. The tsar kissed the large golden cross in the metropolitan’s hand. The metropolitan then lowered the cross into the river, dipping it three times to bless the water that flowed through the streets of St. Petersburg. When the cross was raised the third time and held high above the metropolitan’s head, the troops would fire canons from the other side of the river in salute.
Maman spoke in hushed tones with the elderly princess Orlova, standing next to her. They were discussing the Anichkov Ball, which would be held in a few weeks. It would be the first imperial ball of the year, which started off the St. Petersburg winter season. I watched the excited troops and their horses eagerly awaiting their signal to return across the river.
At that moment, the golden cross was lifted, glittering in the pale winter sunlight.
A canon shot fired and the horses charged across the ice in front of the crowd. A great cheer went up but was drowned out by the thundering of hooves. The cavalry raced to the near side of the river, pulling their horses up short before they reached the Imperial Pavilion. It was a dangerous maneuver. The onlookers held their breath as snow and chunks of ice flew up.
Suddenly, there was a shout. The cavalry circled around one fallen horse. A man was down. Maman put her hands to her mouth, worried about Papa. After several minutes, two men rode back toward the Imperial Pavilion to update the tsar. The men wore grim looks on their faces.
Maman and I both sighed with relief when we realized one of the men speaking to the tsar was Papa. After consulting for several minutes, Papa and another soldier rode back across the field. The Preobrajensky Regiment’s orchestra started playing their march as the hussars lined up to approach the tsar. In one long line they rode forward, then fanned out in a semicircle.
I glanced back to the far end of the field and saw the fallen soldier being carried off in a sleigh, followed by my father and several officers on horseback. They were taking the injured man to the hospital. Papa’s interest in medicine had begun when he had served in the war against the Turks and he’d wanted to get the best medical care for his troops. That was how he had met Dr. Louis Pasteur.
The crowd started to thin out after the ceremony ended. Maman remained in her seat, talking to Princess Orlova and Princess Cantacuzene. We were joined by Dariya and her stepmother. I searched across the ice, looking for Petya. He sat on his horse in front of the Imperial Pavilion with two fellow officers, speaking with the tsar. I made my way over so I could ask Petya what was happening.
As I stepped out in front of the pavilion, my brother’s horse reared. I flung my arms up instinctively to protect my face as muddy snow flew everywhere. I was too scared to do anything else. I heard Maman’s scream behind me.
Petya fell to the ground, his boot caught in the stirrup by the heel spur. He would have been dragged by the beast if his companion had not grabbed the reins quickly. It was the grand duke George Alexandrovich who saved my brother’s life with his quick action.
Everything happened so fast I found myself rooted to the spot. I realized then that I had not been close enough to be in any real danger, but my brother had almost been killed. My heart pounded. And I was shaking with fear.
Maman sobbed as she raced down the steps past me to see Petya.
I tried to follow her, but the tsar’s men had him surrounded and were herding the crowd away as they placed him on an army stretcher.
Maman pushed her way through the people, but I was only able to catch a glimpse of my brother as he slowly sat up on the stretcher. He was banged up pretty badly, with several bruises and scratches, but otherwise seemed uninjured. Awake and alert, he still looked dazed. He was searching the crowd for someone, and then I realized he was looking for his horse.
I saw the stupid beast still acting skittishly on the other side of the pavilion. My poor brother. His cold light looked benign now, but there had been a brilliant flash as he’d fallen.
I tried again to push through the soldiers, but they ignored me completely. No one would let me by. Maman was already at Petya’s side, hovering over him with her handkerchief.
Frustrated, I found my brother’s horse, pawing the ground nervously. The animal snorted as I reached out to touch his neck. His large brown eye stared at me fearfully. Agitated, he was about to rear again.
“Are you so determined to get yourself killed this morning, Duchess?” Grand Duke George Alexandrovich said as he held firm to the horse’s reins. The horse seemed finally to quiet down under his gentle command.
Annoyed, I curtsied to the grand duke. “That was a very brave thing to do, Your Imperial Highness,” I said. “Thank you for saving my brother’s life.”
His blue eyes swept over me. “I wonder what frightened your brother’s horse, Duchess. He seemed fine until you approached.”
I blushed, horrified by and furious at his insinuation. I was too mad to think sensibly before I opened my mouth. “I did not know his horse was afraid of young girls, Your Highness.”
He bent his head down so only I could hear him. “Not all young girls, Duchess,” he said softly, “but they can sense supernatural malice.” He jerked on the reins of his own animal and led Petya’s horse back to the imperial
