Nikki went home and set his valet to packing.

And then he went in search of his wife to explain his impractical journey.

Alisa was in the nursery, rocking baby Georgi. When her husband declared his intention in an erratic presentation at the same time hopeful and hopeless, she gazed at him over the head of their youngest child sleeping in her arms and said, "Could it even remotely be true?" Her thoughts were on Lisaveta.

"Realistically, no one could survive the fire," he replied with a small sigh. Nikki had spoken with many of the survivors and he wasn't optimistic about "even remotely." Bodies had been charred to ashes in the flaming inferno. The fact Stefan's body hadn't been recovered wasn't an isolated incident. Thousands of men had disappeared into ashes. "I don't know what to say-" he shrugged, his expression grave "-that won't sound pessimistic…"

"Yet you're going," his wife softly declared. "Why?"

"To set my conscience at ease, I suppose. And for Stefan," Nikki slowly said. "Because I'd want him to look for me, too, even if it was a chance in a million."

Nikki arrived in Tiflis four days later. He spoke to Militza first for he wasn't certain how Lisaveta was dealing with Stefan's death. If she wasn't emotionally stable, he didn't wish to inform her of his mission. He felt compelled to follow the rumors however unprosperous their substance, however fruitless his search, because his friendship with Stefan demanded it. But something in him did insist on hope. What he hadn't mentioned to Alisa, for it seemed too tenuous even to himself, were his own feelings about Stefan's extraordinary will to survive. In fact, over the years they'd been friends, he'd often wondered if Stefan recognized the finality of death or whether he'd do battle with the grim reaper, too, when his time came. And since his body had never been identified-although in the charred remains of so many tragic souls, his could have been as unrecognizable as any other-Nikki retained the minutest, unsubstantial, inexplicable hope Stefan might have lived.

With all his heart and every dim, obscure mystical interpretation of his spirit, he wished the rumors true.

A month had passed since the fall of Kars, slightly longer still since Nikki had seen Lisaveta on her wedding day, and she looked altered walking into the morning room, paler, more delicate, her luminous eyes strangely otherworldly and underscored with dark and melancholy shadows.

"You must eat," he said immediately, rising to greet her.

She smiled. "I am, Nikki, for Stefan's child."

"You're too pale." He took her hands in his and gazed at her in the judgmental familiar way of family. Was she too slender? Her hands perhaps too cool? Did the cranberry shade of her gown accent the whiteness of her skin? She wasn't wearing black, he noted, but knowing her own strength of character and Stefan's superstitious dislike of mourning attire, he wasn't surprised.

"Well, I'll contrive to get out more," she replied politely, aware his concern was motivated by affection and not inclined to argue with him. But in truth, she rarely went out anymore. "You look fit," she declared, intent on transferring the subject away from herself.

Nikki was tanned and lean, dressed in chamois hunting clothes. "Thank you. Come, sit. Militza must see you go out more," he added with a significant look at Stefan's aunt. "She tells me you're strong enough to hear what I have to say." He was abrupt but pressed by an internal urgency, his thoughts absorbed by his quest. He found he didn't have patience for socializing.

Lisaveta didn't answer immediately, her gaze having swiftly shifted over to Militza, who was seated on an embroidered settee near the sunny windows.

Nikki in turn surveyed Lisaveta for a troubled moment, wondering if he'd be mistaken offering her such slender hope. She was far from robust, her appearance causing him some concern.

Nikki hadn't traveled this distance without some purpose, Lisaveta realized, and for a wishful moment she overlooked the ominous quality of the term "strong enough" and dared to hope. As swiftly, more prudent reflection intervened and she calmed herself, knowing nothing he could say could hurt her beyond the pain she'd already endured. "Don't look so dreadfully worried, Nikki," she declared placidly, "I'm quite healthy."

As she seated herself in a graceful flow of cranberry wool, Nikki pulled up a chair opposite and, sitting down, debated briefly how best to begin. "You've heard the rumors," he decided would be suitable preface. His identical golden eyes held hers in a steady gaze. "About Stefan," he added, because her expression was so emotionless he wasn't sure she understood.

"Only recently," she answered after a short silence.

As Nikki's brows drew together slightly in puzzlement, Militza, seated off to one side, beyond Lisaveta's direct line of vision, indicated to Nikki with a finger to her lips that she'd withheld the information.

"Yesterday, in fact," Lisaveta went on, noting the direction of Nikki's glance, aware suddenly why she hadn't heard sooner. Her face seemed to light with an instant excitement. "Is it possible-"

"The stories are most likely the apocryphal kind that followed, the death of Alexander I fifty years ago," Nikki interrupted, not wishing to raise false hopes. "In fact, I'm sure they're equally fanciful, but-"

This time Lisaveta interrupted. "Take me with you." Her statement was unequivocal, touched with an intensity that seemed to vibrate across the small distance separating them. She didn't ask for further clarification or detail. She'd understood immediately why Nikki was in Tiflis and intended including herself in his search.

Nikki shook his head. "It's too dangerous. The fighting is still sporadic around Kars and Erzurum. Although treaty negotiations have begun, no truce has been called yet. I can't expose you to that danger."

Lisaveta looked toward Militza for support. "We could bring some of the grooms… for added safety."

"I'm sorry, my dear, Nikki's right," Militza replied, regret and apology in her tone. "Stefan wouldn't want you to risk your life."

"I'll keep you informed of my progress," Nikki offered, "and send back reports."

"When will you leave?" Lisaveta inquired politely, as though she weren't determined to accompany him, as though her mind weren't already organizing the provisions she'd require for travel in a war zone, as though her bland expression weren't hiding a tumultuous excitement. If there was the slenderest chance Stefan were alive somewhere between here and Istanbul, between here and hell itself, she intended to find him. In fact, when she'd first heard the startling rumor yesterday of the sightings, she'd smiled, as though the words alone had brought him back to life. Once her initial rush of joy had been mitigated by more logical realities and a flurry of questions to Militza, she'd cautioned herself against treacherous dreams, had reminded herself of the magnitude of the fire sweeping Kars. But her spirit had steadfastly ignored practicality and reason; her spirit had begun to hope. And now Nikki was here like a gift from God. Her guide, as it were, in her search.

"I'm leaving in the morning," Nikki replied in answer to Lisaveta's casual inquiry. "Militza's kindly offered the use of Stefan's stables."

"Cleo's back, you know." Her voice was mild but inside she was giddy with elation. Had Cleo's escape been a sign?

"Yes, I'd heard." Militza had taken him to see Stefan's horse directly after he'd arrived at the palace. Eyewitness accounts reported Cleo had been taken as a trophy when the Turks had overrun Stefan's forward position. She'd been hauled rearing and squealing from the scene only to return to camp three days later. And Nikki had thought on hearing the story, had Cleo known Stefan still lived that day? Animals had an affinity, a closeness to their masters beyond the understanding of man. Had she fought to stay with him and returned to his tent to wait for him? Even now she seemed restless and unquiet; she'd tried to break out of her stall twice, Militza had said. It wasn't the normal despondent behavior of a pet mourning its master's death.

"Stefan's been seen with a companion, I understand." Lisaveta's face was no longer pale but infused with vitality and the flush of health. Not only her wishful dreams were involved now. Nikki's presence here indicated a serious plausibility; he wouldn't have taken on this journey without some credible evidence. "Are the same stories circulating in Saint Petersburg?"

"I only heard of a companion once." Nikki didn't mention that the single fact of Haci's name had brought him south for fear of kindling impossible expectations. "The accounts have generally described him alone, in native dress. No mention's been made of wounds or illness, but surely he had to have been seriously hurt. If" Nikki carefully added, "the rumors have any substance at all."

"Thank you for taking on this… mission of verification," Lisaveta calmly said, sure her heartbeat could be heard pounding clear across the room. She studied Nikki for a cautious moment, fearful he'd noticed her agitation.

But her cousin seemed to accept her statement at face value. "If nothing else," he said quietly, wanting to make his own expectations clear, "the myth of resurrection will be nullified."

"Yes, of course," Lisaveta agreed, congratulating herself on her novice acting abilities, simultaneously deciding her fur coat was a necessity for the highlands' autumn climate. "Militza," she said by way of disassociation, "one of Stefan's coats will fit Nikki, don't you think? Perhaps the black marten." Did that sound suitably acceptant and passive?

"Why, yes, I'm sure it will," Militza said, concealing her relief at Lisaveta's apparent concurrence.

And the day progressed in preparations for Nikki's journey.

Lisaveta and Militza were up early the following morning to wish Nikki and his escort Godspeed. Provisioned for a month, they carried additional warm clothing, for snow had been falling sporadically in the mountainous heights near Kars since September, and November weather could be extremely cold at those altitudes. Nikki promised to telegraph each day so they could follow the direction of his search, and with his clearance from the Tsar, travel in the war zone should not present problems.

Lisaveta pleaded a headache after Nikki's departure, a complaint Militza viewed as reasonable after their busy schedule yesterday. She then retired to her room and swiftly changed into a serviceable leather split skirt and matching jacket made for fall riding. Into a knapsack she'd pulled from Stefan's closet she crammed an astrakhan jacket, one of Stefan's wool sweaters, a scarf, riding gloves, a knit cap, a change of underclothing and an extra blouse. Snapping the clasps shut, Lisaveta tossed the bag on her shoulder, and creeping silently down one of the servants' staircases, she exited the palace through a side door near the kitchen.

The grooms were startled by her request but obeyed without question, and in twenty minutes Lisaveta and two of Stefan's young grooms, hurriedly equipped for travel, were on Nikki's trail.

Chapter Twenty

They overtook his party shortly after midday because Nikki and his men had stopped to lunch and Lisaveta, counting on that eventuality, had pushed on.

"I suppose I'm not surprised," Nikki grumbled, waiting in the middle of the road for her to reach him, his gloved hands braced on his saddle pommel. He'd observed Lisaveta and her escort through his field glasses ten minutes before and, swearing a blue streak, had pulled his horse to a halt.

"I don't imagine I can convince you to turn around and go back to Tiflis," he growled as she cantered up. Each word was a blighting rumble.

"I won't slow you down," Lisaveta declared, full of cheer and unaffected by his annoyance, her cheeks flushed a healthy pink from her ride. "I promise." She was five hours out of Tiflis, perhaps five hours closer to Stefan, or at least, if nothing else, she was accomplishing something other than her aimless walking the past weeks through the great empty corridors of Stefan's palace.

"You might harm the baby," Nikki admonished, his black hair whipped by the wind coming down from the highlands.

"Native women ride until they deliver. I'll be fine."

"If you were a native woman," Nikki sardonically replied, "I wouldn't be concerned."

"I won't go back." Her terse statement was in the style of an imperial edict, and Nikki, married to a woman of singular independence, recognized the tone. Lisaveta's hair was tucked up into a scarlet wool cap and she looked very young in her green leather riding costume despite her air of royal prerogative.