The Frost And The Flame

by Drusilla Campbell

  Thus the gala hours passed, and she listened as Oleg and his colleagues talked politics and war. Prince Oleg was quieter than usual in these discussions. Behind his mask Katia sensed a mind distracted and impatient. What was he planning? she wondered.

  Russian forces had engaged the invading Persians in the Caucasus, and the talk that night was of nothing but this. It was rumoured that the Czar was ready to leave for the south at any time. Katia thought the men made war sound like a game they had invented. They were like boys playing generals with a limitless peasant army at their disposal.

  Once or twice in the evening, she glimpsed Alexei with Elizabeth. His hands touched her possessively as their bodies moved together to the music.

  ‘I wish…' Katia started to dream but stopped herself. It was no good making wishes. And, besides, she didn’t want Alexei or any man! They were all too dangerous to be trusted.

  After a while, she heard Oleg speaking to her. “I am sure you will enjoy Countess Sevilla’s company, Katiana.” He introduced her to a sallow-faced old woman behind a huge Spanish fan. “The Countess lived in New Spain with her husband, His Excellency.” Oleg and Count Sevilla had been speaking of fur trading in the New World. And of something else as well. Though Katia could not guess the subject of their whispers, she knew it had nothing to do with diplomacy.

  “While His Excellency and I are having a cigar and a little private conversation upstairs, the Countess can improve your knowledge of geography, Katia. I know you will not wish to dance.”

  His statement was clearly an order, and Oleg was so certain of her fear and obedience that he did not wait for her response. No sooner had he and Count Sevilla begun to ascend the stairway to the balconied mezzanine, than their heads were bent together in secretive negotiation.

  Katia turned toward Countess Sevilla who was breezing herself with a black lace fan as she observed the dancers. Her gown was black and heavy with golden ornaments that spoke of Spain’s fabled wealth of holdings in the New World. She held a small black mask in her lap.

  “You are Prince Oleg’s ward?” The Countess asked the question casually enough, but her snappish black eyes were frankly curious as they met Katia’s.

  “His Highness is an old friend of my aunt, Countess.”

  “And your aunty, who is she?”

  “The Lady Natasha Kalino, ma’am.” Katia stifled a yawn.

  “Do I know her?” The old Countess’ fan opened with a practiced snap. She fanned herself slowly, awaiting Katia’s reply.

  “My aunt is from Muscovy, Countess,” Katia replied evasively. She turned around to end the conversation; and, suddenly, Alexei Stephanovich was standing so near to her she could have touched him with her hand. She lowered her mask, and they looked into each other’s eyes.

  “One dance, Mademoiselle?” the unmasked peasant asked, smiling a little.

  Madame Sevilla replied for Katia, “His Highness has left the Mademoiselle in my care…”

  “Bugger His Highness,” replied the peasant, grinning cordially over his shoulder as he led Katia into the dance.

  Behind her mask, Katia smiled with delight. She cast a sideways glance at Countess Sevilla and almost laughed to see her consternation.

  For the space of a few bars, Katia held her mask high. But in time the need to look at Alexei face-to-face became overpowering. Gradually, almost fearfully, she lowered the feathered mask and looked deeply into his eyes. The ballroom seemed empty then, and the music she heard was the singing of her own heart.

  Alexei said, “You and my cousin make quite a pair, Mademoiselle Katia.” There was a hint of innuendo in his voice.

  Katia heard it, and she was quick to react defensively. Her gaiety evaporated. “I do not take your meaning, sir,” she said coolly.

  “I only meant to say that your costume is magnificent. You are the most beautiful woman in this room.”

  “Have you spent the evening peering behind each disguise, Alexei Stephanovich?” Katia felt pepperish. She was angry with Alexei for being so appealing. She wanted to hate him, but could not.

  They danced for a while longer in silence, and then the pattern of the dance called for them to change partners several times. It was moments before Alexei’s hand took hers again, and they paced the measures together once more.

  “And where have you learned to dance so gracefully?” He tilted his head toward hers and spoke so only she could hear him. Uneasily, she was aware of other dancers noticing their intimate conversation. “You didn’t learn from Oleg,” he continued. “I know he’s far too busy with diplomacy to take a moment off for such frivolous entertainment. But if you were mine, Katia…” His breath stirred the hairs at the nape of her neck. “…I would not leave you alone with ancient Spanish chaperones. I would keep you near me always for the pleasure it would bring us both.”

  She raised her mask high. Alexei could not see her face. Nevertheless, Katia knew he could feel the flush even where his hand rested lightly on her arm. A warning voice began to sing its litany in her mind. ‘You must not trust him. Don’t believe anything he says. He will only betray you.’

  But she wouldn’t listen. She didn’t want to hear the warnings. She was dancing with Alexei, and all at once only music filled her head. Music and the soft intonations of Alexei’s voice and the fearsome pounding of her heart. There was nothing she could do to deny her love for him. She loved Alexei; and for now, for the space of one dance, it didn’t matter to her that this love was hopeless and bound to bring her pain. She had forgotten everything. Even Oleg…

  Suddenly Alexei saw the frightened wild look in her eyes. “Don’t do this to me, Alexei,” she whispered fervently. Pushing away from him, she turned and went quickly through the other dancers to the edge of the floor where Alexei caught up to her. His hand on her arm was firm.

  “Go away,” she begged, unmindful of the small scene they were creating. Nearby a pair of portly matrons whispered behind their fans. “Do not persist in this game. Please. You are cruel when you play with me this way. Go away, Alexei. Go away, I beg of you.”

  “It is you who are cruel, Katia.” She was making her way to a loveseat near a wall, and he followed after her. “What are you afraid of, Katia?”

  She sat down with a heavy sigh, clutching her mask on her lap, her slanted blue eyes imploring. “You must go away from me, Alexei. I say that for your own good, believe me. Much has happened since we met in Muscovy. You do not know me.” She paused at the memory of their parting on the snowy track. It seemed not one but many lifetimes past. She fought back the tears. “Indeed, there are times when I hardly recognize myself.”

  “Then you do not look upon yourself with loving eyes. I play no games with you, Katia. And I do know you. I know that you are fire and not ice. For me you are the warmth of the sun, of the hearth in winter. And I know you care for me.” She turned away. “You know it too, Katia. Damn it, you love me!” His fingers bruised her arm. “Why do you deny me? Is it Elizabeth? You know that she means nothing to me. You rejected me, and she was there to ease the pain a little. Nothing more. Am I unattractive to you? Is there someone you like better?”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” she answered quickly, placing her fingertips on his mouth to silence him. “There is no one else.”

  “You admit it then?” He held her wrist. “You admit you love me?”

  “Alexei, your voice!” The conversations going on about them had stopped at the sound of Alexei’s raised voice. Inquisitive eyes focused on them. She remembered Oleg again and was terrified. “You must go, my lord,” she whispered, her voice quivering with urgency. There must be no more conversation between us.”

  “But I must see you, Katia. I won’t let you send me away without some explanation. In two days time there will be a carnival supper in the gardens at Tzarskoe Selo. I will wait for you in the willow glen on the island at two.”

  “You don’t know what you are asking!” cried Katia brokenly.

  “An hour alone with you. Is th
at so much? Meet me. Say you will. Promise me you will.” His handsome face—the lips she had kissed, the dark eyes filled with love and determination—was inches from her own.

  “No!” she pulled away from him and jumped up. She had to get away before Oleg saw them together. She wanted to run, but something stronger than fear held her still.

  "Promise me, Katia!” His black eyes burned into her, and there was no part of her that could stay hard and cold toward him. She loved him, and all at once she realized that an hour with Alexei might be all she would ever know of happiness. She could not deny herself that little space of time. And when he hurt her—as she knew he must—she would learn to live with that reality as she had learned to live with the horror that was Oleg Romanov.

  She nodded quickly, twice, then hurried away.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The heat in the ballroom was stifling, the conversation more than usually tedious. Excusing herself from the group of merrymakers with whom she had spent too much of the evening, Elizabeth Romanov walked through the several crowded reception rooms that lay between the ballroom and the cool solarium. She was dressed as a Spanish pirate lady in a daringly cut batiste blouse with ballooning sleeves and a wide dark skirt gathered up on one side to reveal a brilliant red petticoat gathered and ruffled with lace. Her luxuriant black hair was loose and tumbling about her shoulders. On her wrists and ankles were golden bangles that rang together making music as she walked.

  The air in the solarium was fresh and cool. It was her favorite room in the Winter Palace. It was here, in the midst of exotic potted plants and trees, Oleg had first kissed her and they experienced the marvelous chemistry that had been so short lived between them. The huge glass room was aromatic with the scent of gardenias and the ripe lemons that hung, like lanterns in the glossy leaved trees. An artificial stream had been made to wander, rock and moss-edged, between the groves of exotic verbage; and it was beside this that she stopped, suddenly hearing footsteps behind her on the marble floor.

  It was Myshkin.

  “I hope I did not alarm you. Your Highness,” he said, bowing politely. Myshkin was not in costume. As always, he wore the dismal grey uniform of the Czar’s Third Section, the security branch of the government.

  “What are you doing here, Myshkin?” she asked abruptly. Like everyone else in Russia, she was uncomfortable in this man’s presence.

  “My Czar’s business.” He smiled, gold teeth flashing, and dipped his head again creating a kind of mockery of respect designed, Elizabeth knew, to make her squirm.

  “Then why aren’t you doing it instead of wasting your time in here with me?”

  “It seemed a fitting place for us to have a word or two out of sight and sound of the others.”

  “You have nothing to say to me! If you want my husband, you must look elsewhere.” Her voice was controlled and arrogant. How she hated this little man, the Czar’s lick-spittle!

  “My words are for you, Your Highness, but they are about your husband.” He paused a moment to let his message and ominous tone sink in. “Prince Oleg’s ward is truly lovely. Don’t you agree?”

  “Stop sparring with me, Myshkin. What do you want?” Her irritation was growing. Just the mention of Katia’s name annoyed her. The girl was, indeed, a beauty. How dare Oleg make such a display? It was an insult! The diamonds, the silver, the intricately cut crystals were all too much, too ostentatious if society was to believe that Katia was nothing more than his ward. Coming down the stairs, so arrogant and haughty in their finery, they had humiliated Elizabeth deliberately, and she despised them both for it.

  Myshkin continued. “The Czar is not impressed by girlish beauty, however. And he is sorely upset to see one of his subjects so determined to outshine all others.”

  “I can’t help the way Prince Oleg dresses, Myshkin. And his ward, well, I have nothing to do with the chit.” Elizabeth tossed her raven hair and walked along the edge of the artificial stream as if to put an end to the conversation.

  Myshkin followed only a few steps behind. “That too distresses our Czar. He believes in the sanctity of marriage and is not happy when his subjects appear to take their vows lightly. You should speak to Oleg on this subject, Princess. He is endangering his reputation, and thereby yours as well, by this flagrant show and by his friendship with scoundrels like Count Sevilla. It would be a pity to see a noble family name besmirched by scandal.”

  “Are you threatening me, Myshkin? I warn you I will not tolerate such insolence from a second-rate thug. Remember you are speaking with a Romanov princess.”

  With an abrupt change of mood, Myshkin was all good manners and apologies. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I meant no offence with my honesty. I only thought you would want to know.” Smiling his golden smile, he bowed and turned away before she could either accept or reject his apology. Elizabeth was left alone in the solarium once more, her thoughts angry and tumultuous.

  How dare Oleg do this to her? It was one thing if he wished to risk himself, but she wouldn’t let him destroy her life at the same time. If Oleg were shamed, she would share fully in his mortification. Damn, the fiend! Oleg might be able to tolerate life in the country, far from the public eye. He would have his hunting and gaming and women—oh, there would always be little darlings for Oleg Romanov! But exile to the country would be a kind of death-in-life for Elizabeth. She would grow old and fat and lonely. She would rather anything than spend the rest of her days in rustic isolation with a husband she hated and who hated her as well. Whatever she had to do to avoid this fate, she knew she would stop at nothing to save herself. Nothing!

  She spoke aloud. “I’ll put a stop to this, Oleg. You won’t drag me into the sewer with you!”

  At midnight, Oleg escorted Katia to supper. Long tables had been laid with a feast such as she had never before seen or even believed possible. Bowls and dishes and decanters and trays of filigreed gold and silver held hundreds of exquisitely prepared delicacies: lobster, caviar, fish and game, a dozen varieties of jelly and pate, loaves of savoury bread and rolls and mounds of pastries filled with mince and cheese and spiced vegetables. There was fruit from the Imperial greenhouses at Tzarskoe Selo, birds from the Imperial parks as well as wild pig and roasted pheasants decorated with their own magnificent feathers. The Czar’s guest's were ravenous after hours of dancing and flirtation. Only Katia appeared to have no appetite for the feast. Oleg chided her for neglecting her health so she feigned an interest in the lobster and drank a little more champagne.

  But how could she eat when her stomach was turning circles like a mill wheel? She regretted her mute agreement to meet Alexei secretly at Tzarskoe Selo, and yet she was happy at the same time. Whatever her future held—and Katia was fatalistically certain it would not be pleasant—she would at least have a few moments with Alexei to remember with joy. She knew she dared not take any chance that might endanger Mary, and she was certain that Alexei would hate her if he knew that she and Oleg were lovers; yet, despite all this, a power stronger than fear and responsibility and shame compelled her to be with her Prince one last time before the truth drove them apart forever.

  The caviar on her plate seemed to stare at her like some grotesque many-eyed creature. She was nauseated and wanted to go home. The air about her was a stew of food and human odors warmed by crowding bodies. As if he sensed her discomfort, Oleg detached himself from a political discussion a short while later and suggested it was time they left.

  Though the hour was late the courtyard of the Winter Palace was crowded with carriages when Oleg hurried Katia down the lantern-lit outside staircase. A few robust yantchiki were still playing ball while others warmed their hands over charcoal braziers. Someone strummed a guitar nearby and sang dolorously. Katia could not hear the words, but the plaintive melody was eloquent enough.

  She saw Leo in the yantchik’s seat. “Where is Sasha?” she asked, instantly wary of any change from the expected.

  “I sent him home as I thought we might be
rather late.” Oleg smirked.

  “Are we not returning to the palace?” She sensed danger.

  “Not just yet awhile. I have in mind,” Oleg helped her into the carriage, “a little excursion.”

  The mill wheel in Katia’s stomach turned faster. “Where are we going?”

  “I told you, my dear. This is an excursion. For your benefit and education.” In the dimly-lit carriage, Oleg’s profile was a granite shade and his pale hair shone silver as her spangled costume. With his lips tightly pressed together and drawn down at the corners, he looked older than his thirty years. His dissipate life had already marked his once handsome appearance with the mean lines of stress and discontent.

  Katia knew better than to press for answers. She rested against the leather upholstery and listened to the carriage wheels as they rolled noisily along the cobblestones of St. Petersburg for a long time. Then the roadway changed to dirt. Katia could see nothing from the closed coach, but the unpaved road and the deeper silence outside told her they were in the country. After a time, the coach swerved left onto a muddy track. Katia thought she smelled the river nearby.

  “Why are you taking me to the river?” she demanded in alarm.

  “How astute of you to guess our destination, Katiana. But if you intend to become hysterical, I warn you, we have some distance yet to go; and I could force you to keep still.” He spoke without looking at her. His thin lips barely parted to form the words.

  She fell back into the cushions. “Threats are not necessary, Oleg. Since knowing you, I have learned great powers of self-control.”

  “And a disagreeable temperament as well.” Oleg paused. “But not for everyone.”

  “What do you mean?” Her mouth was parched with fear.

  “I told you once, Katia, that every man in St. Petersburg would adore and want you. Was I not correct? I watched their eyes on you tonight, and I saw that they could not resist you.” He looked at her narrowly. “Even my cousin Alexei appears smitten.”