10
The dinner that saw the whole Imperial family that night was tense, to say the least.
Not including the Tsar, there wasn't anyone whose expression oozed sadness, and in the whole salon, despite the orchestra's strings, a surreal silence prevailed.
From time to time, anyone glanced at the place on the left of the Empress, now empty, and soon to be occupied by somebody else.
In varying degrees, everybody, from the princes to the servats, had been touched by Olga's candor and kindness, who had managed to look like anything but a Grand Duchess who, with the right marriage, could have had the chance of having a whole kingdom eating out of her hand. The goodness with which she treated even the humblest of her subjects had breached into more hearts than just the servants and those buzzing around her family, and likely there was no one in Russia who didn't love her like a daughter, a sister or a mother.
But now she was gone, and many were ready to bet that they wouldn't see her for a very long time. Officially, the Kingdom of Württemberg was not part of the war, nor could it afford to be, considering its small dimensions; the marriage was merely a way to strike a nation from the list of potential enemies, other than guaranteeing the presence of a Romanov on the throne of a kingdom in the heart of Europe, where the fates of the world were decided.
But in Katyusha's eyes, with all the knowledge and the cool calculations with which her mind had begun to analyze everything for a while, all this didn't matter; not in this case, in the very least.
Simply put, she couldn't accept it.
To make the situation even more intolerable, the impossible personality of her father was on top of that, so sure of himself to become, at her eyes, even ridiculous. The way he looked down at everyone, the way he claimed the right to decide on everything, almost to the point of considering himself the highest authority on everything, were the mirror of a vile, narrow-minded man, completely detached from his time.
And the embarrassing way he was leading a military campaign destined to shape the role of Russia in the years to come was proving it.
All of a sudden, that kind of awe that for all those years had held back her tongue seemingly disappeared, deleting the dread and the craving of approval that any child, more so for a prince, ought to prove for his parent.
"All of this makes no sense!" she exploded, angrily slamming the spoon in the borshch before her and painting the tablecloth red.
"Stop it." her father replied, surprised but by all means in control.
"No, enough of that! I won't hold back my words for you!"
The temperature dropped sharply in the whole salon, so much that even the orchestra stopped playing.
"We all know why you did it! Do you really think that by selling Olga to the King of Württemberg will open up the doors of power in Europe? By now you should have understood what they think of you in London, in Paris, in Berlin! You are nothing to them! And they will do everything they can to make sure you don't matter a bit in the world they're building!"
"Ekaterina..." said her mother, half-heartedly trying to nip it in the bud, unsuccessfully.
"These are matters way beyond your competence." replied Nicholas, trying to keep a hold on himself. "Now return to your seat."
"Look at yourself! You really consider yourself as the only holder of knowledge! You consider yourself a great leader, but here you are, basking in luxury, when out there your soldiers eat dirt and die in a war that they're doomed to lose, because of you as well!"
If the atmosphere was cold and heavy before, now it was quickly becoming explosive, so much that one after the other the servants silently crawled out of the salon, desperately wishing to save themselves from what could happen.
"Your tactics are obsolete! Your own way of thinking is outdated! You're just an old soldier still clinging to the mirage of a time that no longer exists! You refuse to listen to those who know of war and politics much more than you, with the consequence that this whole country is crumbling under your feet, without you even noticing!
You have a huge army, but trained and equipped in such a way that even a band of French farmers could do better!
Your ability to lead and control an army are laughable! And the fact that you're losing this war proves that!"
"Enough!" thundered the red-faced Tsar, flipping the bench and launching his plate almost to the roof. "You've said quite enough, girl! When I'm done with you, you'll regret even thinking of talking me like this!"
"I told you, I'm no longer afraid of you. How could I be scared of a loser like you?"
"Ekaterina, stop." her mother lambasted her. "Now you're exaggerating."
"Don't pretend to defend him, mother! I'm just saying clearly what you've been thinking for years! Look into his eyes, and tell me if he truly is the man whom you were in love with, still!"
Among everyone's shock, even the Empress lowered her gaze, leaving everybody speechless, including the Tsar.
"And are you alright with this farce?" the little girl marched on, but receiving back only the low eyes of her brothers, half-ashamed, half pretending to ignore her. "Look at us! We look like a bunch of outsiders huddled around a table!"
"I'm warning you, one more word, and by God I will have you booted into enclosure at the Solovetski to the end of your days!"
"Do you know one thing?" replied Katyusha, staring at her father with an incendiary gaze. "I really hope it to be true! I really hope that you're nothing more but fictional characters that I've created in my mind! Because if it weren't so, I'd be forced to accept that a bastard like you could exist in the world!"
That said, and barely holding back tears, she ran away, with the guards at the doors, frozen in place from the shock, unable to even try and obey to the Tsar's order to stop her.
For several long seconds, nobody breathed.
"Children." said Alexandra. "Please return to your rooms."
The princes obeyed without making a peep, but even after the Tsar and the Tsaritsa had been left alone, nobody dared to make a sound.
As if nothing were wrong, or perhaps trying to lie to himself as well, Nicholas sat back down and resumed his meal, but in a few seconds, his consort rose to her feet as well.
"Where are you going?"
"I lost my appetite."
"Return to your seat."
The Tsaritsa's answer to that order was a severe gaze as cold as ice, of the kind that Nicholas had never experienced in his whole life, at least not by the woman who was more important to him than his own life.
"After tonight, I would say that your authority inside this family will know a substantial drop."
With that, the monarch moved towards the doors as well.
"Congratulations." she said, turning once more towards her husband, as the guards opened the doors. "Your scheming has cost you your own daughter's respect."
Thus, all of a sudden, Nicholas was left all alone, but he had lost his appetite as well, by then.
The sight of her mistress running back into her rooms, only to throw herself onto the bed and cry all the tears she held inside, was more than enough to convince Nonna that something really bad had happened, something that had heightened even more the pain she felt for Olishka's departure.
For the first time in forever, Katyusha had left desperation and grief consume her, something that, especially in the last months, Nonna had believed almost impossible, moreover because of the deep change of soul and character that the Grand Duchess had inexplicably undergone as of late.
For a long time, Nonna stood by the door, unable to enter, while the sobs and wails coming from the other side ached like stab wounds; from time to time she lowered her gaze, passing her hand over the apron's pocket and half-closing her eyes, as if she were trying to find within herself the courage to do something that she didn't want to do, or something she was afraid to do.
All of a sudden, after a whole hour had elapsed since Katyusha had locked herself into her room, some light steps made the young maid jump up, and as she turned towards her left she was left for a brief moment speechless.
"Your Majesty."
"How is my daughter?" asked the Tsaritsa.
"She really looks distraught. I have never seen her so devastated."
"Unfortunately, in the end, she is still a little girl."
The doors were of course locked shut, but for the sovereign Nonna could afford the luxury to refresh her handiness, while picking a lock.
Once inside, Alexandra found a room almost completely shrouded in darkness, except the dim light of a few candles sitting on the shelves. The covers and the sheets of the bed were damp with tears, and her beloved child, because that was she still was in her eyes, was still there, her best dinner dress wrinkled, her cheeks and eyes red, and her throat dry by then, after plenty of sobs and whines.
She sat by her.
"Darling?"
"Leave me alone."
But instead, Alexandra began to caress her hair, gently and respectfully, as she hadn't done in years.
"Don't be too much angry with your father. He has suffered from Olga's leave as well. But he cannot afford to show it. He's Tsar. He has to be above his emotions, always."
"But why? Why do you defend him?" the girl shrieked, at last raising her eyes at her mother. "How can you approve of what he is doing? He calls himself a king, but he's bringing ruin to this country, as he has already brought it upon our family!"
"He is far from perfect, but I can assure you that he is doing his best to assure your own wellbeing and that of the whole Russian people. Sometimes, to be a king means having to make difficult choices. Olga knew this, and accepted to do her part, despite the fact that leaving us, and especially leaving you, just killed her inside."
As much as she tried, Katyusha could not find in herself not to hate her father with everything she had; but at the same time, her heart was beating like mad before that smile's maternal sweetness.
"Mother!" she cried, throwing herself into her arms. "What is happening to me?"
"Tell me, are you really convinced of what you said? That this is nothing but a dream?"
"I... I don't know. There is someone. I can hear it. It whispers into my ears. I can see and hear things. Things that I cannot understand! I no longer know who I am! I see two worlds, and both seem real to me! Which is the real one? And who am I, really? Which Katyusha is the real one?"
At that, the Tsaritsa broke the hug a little, allowing the respective gazes to meet.
"You are yourself, darling. And the choice of which world you belong to is yours and yours alone. If you deem this to be the dream, you cannot do anything else but to wake up. Because the best thing about dreams is that you can end them, if you wish to."
"But... if this were really a dream..." the girl said uncertainly. "It would mean that you... all of you..."
"But if this were the real world, then don't be afraid of your dreams. If there really is another you that speaks to you in your dreams, don't run from that. Accept it. Because it doesn't matter who or what that is, she will always be a part of you."
Again, mother and daughter hugged, but this time the former did not break the hug until the child fell into a deep sleep in her arms, gently lowering her under the cover before exiting.
"Always keep close to her." she ordered Nonna. "Never let her out of her sight, not even for a moment."
"I will, Your Majesty. I promise you." the girl replied, and as soon as she was left alone she threw a glance once more at her apron's pocket, worriedly.
Again with that feeling.
That terrible, extremely uncomfortable feeling of paralysis.
Held in a horizontal position, utterly unable to move, and surrounded by the most complete darkness.
Once more, her hearing, although muffled and only able to hold onto far echoes, was the only sense she had left.
But the sounds, those were the usual ones: that strange ticking sound, that senseless words, that indefinite sound of steps.
That was the worst thing that could happen to her; and since a while, those were the only dreams allowed to her. At least once, as far as her memories could go, there were far more pleasant dreams, if disconnected and difficult to understand.
She wanted to move, to scream. But she couldn't. As much as she couldn't go back, no matter how hard she wanted to.
And yet, once more, she felt a presence at her side, a loving and reassuring one, bringer of the same familiar voice she had heard the other times. But this time, other than the voice, she also felt the gentle touch of two warm hands closed around her own.
"Don't give up. You have to keep fighting. You always did. Please, come back to us. We are all waiting for you. You are our commander. Our leader.
Katyusha..."
"Your Highness? Your Highness?"
Katyusha did not like to be waken up, but this time she was more than relieved to be brought back from that horrible dream, although sweetened by that splendid voice.
It looked like midnight had just passed, because the moon was perfectly framed by the windows of her bedroom.
Her eyes took a few seconds to focus on the indistinct figure before her, so cloudy were her eyes and so sudden had been her awakening.
"Nonna. What's the matter?"
"I am sorry, Your Highness. I chose to wait until your parents got to sleep."
"What for?"
At that, Nonna's hand went into her pocket and emerged with a sealed envelope.
"This is from your sister."
"From Olishka!?" the girl asked, her eyes wide.
"She gave it to me before her departure, as she feared you couldn't meet again. I think she might want to meet with you one last time."
For a moment, Katyusha thought that she was still dreaming, and snatching the envelope from Nonna she opened it at once.
Remembering well what had happened at Peterhof not that long ago she immediately thought about some kind of trickery, but her sister's writing was unique to say the least, so she calmed herself down, and started to read it instead.
It looked like Olishka was certain that their father would do anything to forbid them to meet one last time, so she had taken steps for a last, secret meeting that very night, on the bank of the Moscova, at the foot of the Ustyinskiy Bridge, that she would reach by sailing up the river.
"I want to go there, Nonna!"
"It might be dangerous. There are lots of guards. Getting out of the Kremlin won't be easy."
"Don't worry about it. I know a secret passage."
Nonna hesitated, half afraid, half aware of the risks that both would run.
"Are you sure you wish to do that?"
"For my sister? You bet."
"Very well. But with one condition: I will come with you. I want to be sure that nothing will happen to you. And you must promise me that we will be back before first light. If we were discovered, my own head could pay the price."
"You have my word."
With that, Nonna smiled.
"Alright, you have convinced me."
Padre Ansaldi was by all means a missionary who had travelled all over the known world, but he was still far from immune to the merciless Russian climate.
In the evening, before going to bed, he always needed a generous spoonful of honey and mint dissolved in hot milk, to free up his throat.
For long he had gone to the kitchens himself to undertake that kind of evening ritual, but since their arrival in Moscow someone, perhaps wishing for him not to be discovered wandering where the Tsar would not have approved, had thought of entrusting him a personal maid, Yava.
For Yava, bringing to her charge the daily glass of spiked milk was the last task of the day. Like always, the girl reached the rooms of the priest just a few minutes' shy of midnight, but this time she found the door unusually deprived of the two guards assigned to watch it.
"Bugger that Nikita." she complained, looking around and noticing a complete lack of the guardian, also her secret beau. "But I had told him not to leave his post. I'd bet he's gone off to play with his worthy friend. Too bad, tomorrow morning the Captain will make him dance once more."
She knocked.
"Padre Ansaldi? I brought you your milk."
No one answered, but that was per script: more often that not Padre Ansaldi was so thoroughly immersed into his books that he isolated himself well into the night.
So she walked in, but strangely enough she found the room unusually dark. On the desk towered the usual pile of volumes, but there was no trace of Padre Ansaldi.
"Padre Ansaldi? Have you gone to bed already?"
The maid turned her gaze towards the bed, noticing that the canopy bed's curtains were closed. Seeing a shape behind them, she walked up and opened them, staying root where she stood by shock.
"What..."
But she had no time to say or do anything more, because immediately after a shadow literally appeared behind her. Glimpsing that, she tried to react, but the unknown assailant was, to say the least, quick as a flash: in the first place she held her in place by twisting an arm behind her back, then, closing her nose, he forced a strange red syrup down in her throat.
Just a few seconds passed, and then Yava collapsed on the spot asleep.
"Sorry, baby doll. But I've got something to do."