I shook my head. “Please, not tonight, Maman. I feel a migraine coming on.”
“Oh, how dreadful!” Maman said. “We are planning to summon someone from the sixteenth century!”
It did not matter whose spirit they wished to bother this evening; I wanted no part of it. My mother still believed that spiritism and seances were simply innocent fun, amusing diversions for ladies of the aristocracy. I, of course, knew better. My ability to conjure up the long departed went far beyond summoning spirits.
I, Katerina Alexandra Maria, Duchess of Oldenburg, was a necromancer. And I hated it. Ever since I had been a little girl, I had been able to bring the dead back to life. Fortunately, only a few people close to the tsar knew my secret. His son, Grand Duke George Alexandrovich, was one of them. Unfortunately, there were several dangerous and powerful people in Russia who knew my secret as well. People such as Maman’s friend Grand Duchess Miechen.
“Are you certain, dear?” Maman asked. “The Montenegrins have arrived at Yalta and promised to call this evening. You’ve missed the princesses Anastasia and Elena, haven’t you?”
My head began to pound even worse. I had not missed them at all. The Montenegrin princesses had almost killed me last spring by casting a charm to make me fall in love with their brother, Crown Prince Danilo. Although I had broken off the engagement, Maman still retained hopes that I would reconsider my feelings for the wickedly handsome Danilo and become a crown princess.
No one had told her the crown prince was a blood drinker. Like most of the nobility, she lived her life bedazzled by the glamour of the light and dark faerie courts and believed that all the vampires had been driven from St. Petersburg many years ago. I hoped I was doing the right thing hiding the truth from her. My brother and father, however, knew that evil creatures roamed our city. And they knew about me.
“Please send my regrets,” I said, taking Maman’s hands. “I think I will go to bed early tonight. Tomorrow is the excursion to the caves, is it not?”
“Mais oui! Zina will never forgive me if we do not go!” She kissed me on the forehead. “Sleep well, Katiya. Should I send Anya up here with some tea?”
“That would be wonderful.” I smiled. My maid would be happy to escape from the company downstairs. She feared the Montenegrin princesses as much as I did.
Maman left, and it was not long before Anya knocked on my door. “Duchess? Your mother said you were not feeling well.”
“It’s just a headache,” I said, coming in from the balcony and locking the doors. “Thank you.” I sank down into the chair and inhaled the steam from my cup. For some reason the tea in the Crimea always tasted better than the kind we drank at home.
“I heard the princesses asking about you,” Anya said, fussing with the tea tray. She’d brought a plate of brown bread and butter, along with some cheese and fruit, to ensure that I did not go to bed hungry.
Not everyone knew that the Montenegrins were veshtiza witches, with the power to turn into bloodsucking moths, but rumors of their dark magic had spread throughout St. Petersburg. Now shunned by the empress and the Light Court, they were attempting to curry the favor of the Dark Court faerie, Grand Duchess Miechen. Her court rivaled the Light Court, and the empress knew it.
The tense power struggle between the light and dark faerie courts had not improved since the battle with the lich tsar at Peterhof. Their powers might not have been apparent to most inhabitants of St. Petersburg, but the aristocratic elite knew the rumors and the legends, mostly tales spun by the fae themselves. Behind a veil of glamour, the two dangerous faeries plotted and schemed for control of the fate of the empire. The empress, of course, blamed the Dark Court for the attack against her husband, the current tsar. Grand Duchess Miechen, who dreamed of the day when her own son would wear the imperial crown, had no love for the lich tsar Konstantin. Nor was she particularly fond of the blood-drinking Montenegrins, whose treachery had caused her to miscarry twins last month.
“What did the princesses say?” I asked as I reached for a slice of bread. Anya loved to gossip, and I would not be allowed to rest until I’d been told everything she’d heard.
She sat down in the chair next to mine and lowered her voice. “They said their dear brother was still at home with his parents, languishing and heartsick over you, but that they hoped to see you at the grand duchess’s birthday ball this week.”
I rubbed my temples. I knew I’d have to see them in public eventually. There would be plenty of people at the ball, and hopefully any conversations the Montenegrins and I had would be brief. If I never saw the crown prince again, it would be too soon.
Anya helped me get ready for bed and then took the tea tray away, leaving me alone in the dark. I heard the sounds of laughter coming from Maman’s seance in the parlor. And someone, probably Aunt Zina, singing a gypsy love song. I closed my eyes and listened to her rich, husky voice.
The metal bed was not as comfortable as my bed at home in St. Petersburg. It felt more like my old cot at Smolny. But the linens smelled like sunshine and sea air. As I fell asleep, I dreamed of paper-thin white wings, fluttering outside on my balcony.
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, we met Dariya and her stepmother for our excursion to the Massandra caves. Adjacent to the imperial estate of Livadia, the grounds of Massandra had recently been bought by the tsar, and a grand palace was being built. Some of the caves were open for excursions, and that was where we planned to spend the day.
Dariya grinned at me, holding her parasol up to protect her fair skin from the late-morning sunshine. Accepting the footman’s arm for support, I climbed into the carriage next to her. It would be a short ride to Massandra, for the estate was very near to our villa, but we would have to walk across the beautifully cultivated vineyards to reach the caves. The servants had packed two large picnic baskets for us. I could smell the freshly baked baklava that had been wrapped up for later.
Maman and Aunt Zina seated themselves in the carriage seat across from us. “What a glorious morning!” my aunt said. She smiled like a cat that had gotten into the cream.
Maman, however, looked a bit weak. “How did your seance go?” I asked with concern.
“It was so exciting!” the countess said, ignoring the fact that I’d addressed my mother. “We made contact with a servant of Empress Yelizaveta Petrovna! He shared the most delightful recipe for a raspberry sorbet.”
“What a comfort to know that spiritism has such practical uses,” I murmured. Dariya poked me in the arm and stifled a giggle. “Maman, are you feeling all right?” I asked, turning toward her. She seemed paler than usual.
My mother forced a laugh. “Of course, dear. It is just unbearably early for me. I’m not used to being out of bed before noon, you know.”
But it was more than that. The cold light that shimmered around her, the light that only a necromancer can see, looked different this morning. Not brighter or dimmer necessarily, merely different. A person’s cold light grows brighter the closer one is to death. A necromancer uses her own cold light to manipulate life and death, just as she can manipulate another person’s cold light. I was still learning how dangerous my powers could be. I did not understand what the change to my mother’s cold light meant, but I suspected it was related to the previous night’s seance. Had one of the ghosts touched Maman?
Our carriage ride was pleasant, as the dirt road took us high into the hills where we could look down at the harbor. The Crimean Peninsula was very rocky, and full of mountains dotted with caves. The narrow strip of beach along the southeastern coast was known as the Riviera of Russia, and this was where all the palaces and dachas belonging to the nobility glittered like gems in the sun.
The carriage stopped at the gates of Massandra and we climbed out, taking our picnic baskets. Maman and Aunt Zina carried their parasols. It would not be a long hike, but I was thankful for the fresh air.
I hurried ahead to walk with Dariya. She was swinging her picnic basket and humming an aria from the opera Iphigenia. I wished we’d had more time to spend at the ruins in Khersones. We still planned to perform the Greek play before our holiday in the Crimea ended.
As we walked down the shady path leading to the caves, we came to a bridge that crossed a crystal clear
