Robin Bridges - The Morning Star

The conversation at dinner that night made us both homesick. Princess Aline, the wife of Grand Duke Pavel, had died during childbirth in September, leaving the grieving widower with a sickly premature son and a daughter who was not yet two. The whole imperial family was devastated. Pavel’s brother Sergei and his wife, Grand Duchess Ella, were taking care of the children while the widower mourned. Under the table, George took my hand and squeezed it. I squeezed back.

“It’s time for the two of you to think about having children soon, no?” Grand Duke Vladimir said, digging in to his lobster.

Miechen said nothing but looked from George to me with her shimmering gaze. I could feel my cheeks burning. George calmly said, “When Katiya is finished with school,” and gave my fingers another affectionate squeeze.

The Koldun shrugged, but Miechen smiled. “I admire your ambition, my dear. But is the university degree absolutely necessary? Of course, there’s no limit to what one can learn through tutors and books. The university climate can be dangerous these days. They say the classrooms are full of revolutionaries.”

“I keep out of the politics, Your Imperial Highness,” I said. Of course, I knew of the revolutionary ideas that were probably discussed in Miechen’s own salon in St. Petersburg. She attracted the most elite of the Russian academia to her palace to share ideas and discuss the latest advancements in science and the arts. She and the grand duke were great art patrons but were always eager to host the latest scientific celebrity at the Vladimir Palace as well.

“Uncle Vladimir, have you had any luck with information on the sword?” George was trying to change the subject. But I knew discussing the Morning Star would cause just as much awkwardness as discussing our breeding plans. The Koldun’s face turned red.

“No, and I don’t expect to discover anything useful, Georgi. You and Katiya should forget all this nonsense about giving away the sword. It’s safest right here with you.”

“Think about what you’d be giving up anyway,” Miechen added. “Right now the Grigori protect the tsar and his immediate family. You risk putting your father in danger again. And his heir.”

Not that the Koldun nor his wife had any true concern for Nicholas. Now that Konstantin Pavlovich, the common threat to all, was gone, the Dark and Light Courts had returned to their subtle and petty bickering. Militza still chafed under Maman’s gentle handling of the St. Petersburg blood drinkers. The wolf-folk had retreated to Moscow and everyone left the mages of the Inner Circle to do whatever it was they did to keep St. Petersburg safe. The members of the Order of St. Lazarus patrolled the palaces but waited for direct orders from me.

And the Grigori, I thought with a long sigh, still waited as well. Protecting both the Morning Star and the Talisman of Isis was a heavy burden. I kept the talisman around my neck at all times, refusing to take it off even to sleep. George had balked at this but understood. If there was a way I could destroy both talisman and sword, I would do it. I wanted to free all of the creatures under my control.

Taking my sigh for distress, George let his fork fall to his plate with a clang and tossed his napkin onto the table carelessly. Before he could say a word, Miechen put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Vladimir, we should be leaving. Georgi is getting tired. And Katiya needs to see to her studies.”

“My apologies, Aunt Miechen,” George said. “You are always welcome here with us. But certainly you are both anxious to visit the casinos in town?” His smile did not reach his eyes.

Grand Duke Vladimir seemed to be measuring his nephew up as he and Miechen both stood. Perhaps now he would no longer see George as a pawn in the Inner Circle for him to maneuver. I prayed he would not now see George as a threat either. “I will see what has been discovered about the sword,” he said. “I will write to you as soon as we return to St. Petersburg.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” George said as we walked our guests to the door.

Miechen pulled George out onto the front steps to mention a book that she’d read by Dr. Flammarion, and the Koldun put his hand on my arm and motioned for me to speak with him in the hallway. “Katiya, I have a confession, my dear.”

“Yes?” I kept my face as placid as I could.

“Papus and I may have already discovered the ritual you have been seeking.”

“To return the Morning Star?” I asked. “Why did you not say so?”

His face was troubled. “In order to return the sword to heaven, one must travel beyond the seven gates and invoke the Angel of the Sword, Auriel. I don’t know if George is strong enough to complete the ritual in the Graylands and return. But now that I’ve seen my nephew, perhaps it would be a kindness to send him back to the Graylands. Even if he does not survive.”

“What are you saying?” My blood froze. I suddenly felt very cold.

The Koldun’s eyes searched my face. “How much longer do you believe those idiot doctors can keep him alive? Do you want to see him waste away in front of your eyes? If you love him, you should let him go. Let the angel accept him along with the sword.”

I stared at Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich, too horrified to speak. In my heart, I worried that he was right. “There has to be another way,” I murmured. “I can’t lose him.”

He shook his head and turned to go. I remained in the hallway, dazed, as I heard the grand duke and grand duchess say their goodbyes again to George and leave in their carriage. I did not wait for George to come back inside. I couldn’t look at him right now.

Hastily, I retired to our bedroom. The Morning Star was safely hidden in a trunk at the foot of our bed. I would have to find another ritual to get rid of the sword without risk to George. Perhaps I could invoke the angel myself.

Although I pretended to be asleep when George joined me and kissed my cheek, I lay awake that night for hours, listening to his breathing. It started out shallow and uneven before settling into a steady rhythm once he was sleeping deeply. I rolled over to peek at his cold light, still a brilliant white glow with tendrils that fluttered carelessly around him. Did his light seem brighter than it had been? Or was it my imagination? I reached out to place my hand on his chest. His heartbeat tonight was slow and steady and perfectly regular. In his sleep, my husband stirred and wrapped his arm around me. I finally closed my eyes and willed myself to relax. The Koldun was wrong. He had to be.

Exhausted, I returned home from classes the next afternoon, desiring nothing more than a cup of hot tea and my bed. The lecture on kidney diseases had been dull and long-winded. I’d already read the professor’s article on nephritis in one of my father’s medical journals years ago. He hadn’t made any new discoveries since the article had been published, so the lecture consisted of nothing but old material. Anya took my books from me at the front door and curtsied. “A letter came for you today, Your Imperial Highness. It’s on your desk.”

“Thank you,” I said. It still felt strange being addressed as a grand duchess. But I imagined it would seem even stranger when I would one day be addressed as a doctor. I smiled to myself, hoping that day would not be too far away. And I knew it would not take me as long to get used to such a title.

Our study was empty. George must have been napping, I thought distractedly as I saw the envelope on my desk. The letter was postmarked from Cetinje.

Anya poured fresh water in the samovar and it soon started its comforting sounds of brewing. I sat down to read the letter. It was from Elena. I had not seen nor heard from her in over a year. Not since she’d been expelled from Smolni.

Katerina Alexandrovna,

How could you be so heartless? Militza told me everything that happened to our brother. She says you left him in the Graylands and will not bring him back. Did you truly believe your blood bond would be broken by Danilo’s death? Could you really be that stupid? Mother has been patient, waiting for a sign of his return, but we have heard nothing, and it has been almost a year. You have read the Polish princess’s spell book. You know what must be done!

I threw the letter down, too agitated to read on, even though her angry words went on for another page. I knew that Elena missed her brother terribly, but there was nothing more I could have done for him. Her handwriting was sharp and rushed; she had been in a great passion when she wrote the letter. I made a cup of tea and went searching for George. Studying could wait.

He was not sleeping. In the bedroom, I found the furniture pushed aside and a ritual circle drawn on the floor. Sigils were scrawled within the circle in what looked like chalk. The room smelled of burnt incense. A sliver of dragon’s blood resin smoldered in a brass dish on the bedside table. What had he done?

“George?” I shouted, fear churning in my stomach. What if he’d overheard the Koldun last night? Would he try to invoke the Angel of the Sword on his own? I searched the trunk, which had been pushed against the wall. The Morning Star was missing.

I shouted for Anya and she came immediately. “Where is the grand duke?” I asked.

She looked surprised. “He was out on the terrace with his visitors. I was going to bring them tea and cakes but he refused and said they were not staying long. In fact, the men left the villa a few minutes later.”

“Who were his visitors?” I asked, my fear for George growing.

“I’m not sure. They were strange-looking men, Your Imperial Highness. They frightened me with their stony faces.”

The Grigori. He had asked them to come to our villa to create a portal. Just that part of the ritual alone would sap his strength. I would have to follow them and pray I wasn’t too late to stop him. “Anya, please cancel our dinner plans tonight with my aunt Zina. I don’t care what you tell her—just make my apologies, please.”

Anya’s eyes grew wide. “Yes, Your Imperial Highness.” With a curtsy and a bewildered look, she left.

I returned to the bedroom alone and stared at the magic circle on the floor. I’d have to use my cold light to open my own doorway to the Graylands. I prayed I’d be able to find the seven gates on my own.

I used the same word Militza had taught me, the Coptic word for “open,” and suddenly found myself back in the Graylands. I focused on drawing my cold light as close to me as possible. The mist made it difficult to see, and I remembered dismally that George had carried coins for the ferryman the last time we’d journeyed here together. I had nothing on me save the Talisman of Isis.

Taking a deep breath, I pricked my finger and let a single drop of blood fall upon the black stone, the scarab in the middle of the talisman. I needed all the magic I could summon. “The blood of Isis, the strength of Isis, and the power of Isis is mine,” I whispered. The mist swirled around me and I felt a tingling sensation up my spine. “Please help me find the seven gates.” The talisman grew white-hot and I dropped it to the ground with a cry. The scarab fell out and shattered into tiny pieces. I’d broken the talisman.

Out of the mists stepped a figure. The crown prince.

“Danilo?” My heart froze. What if it was the lich tsar?

He picked up the pieces of the talisman and handed them back to me. “Yes, Katerina.”

“Your soul was in the scarab.” No wonder Elena and Militza thought me stupid. Why hadn’t they told me?

“Of course.” He brushed a remaining sliver of the stone from his jacket.

“And you are safe from Konstantin now.”

Danilo smiled. “You were magnificent. He can torment me no longer.”

I felt an enormous sense of relief. At least I’d saved one soul in all of my blunders. But now I had to save George. “Can you lead me to the seven gates?” I asked. “I have to rescue George.” I watched as his face showed no emotion. “My husband,” I added.

“I see. I am bound by honor to assist you, if not bound by my affection.”

“You never loved me, Danilo,” I protested. “You needed a necromancer. You loved my powers.”

“Perhaps. We are wasting time, Duchess. Or should I say, Your Imperial Highness?” He took off into the mists and would have left me behind if I had not hurried to follow him.

We did not come across the jackal-headed ferryman again. Instead, the route Danilo used took us through a cavern, lit by softly glowing lights. They looked like mushrooms. I expected the cave to be damp and smell of mold, but there was no scent. And no mist. The cavern descended into darkness, as the mushrooms grew more and more sparse. The path was smooth stone, but I still managed to trip a few times, much to Danilo’s amusement.