by Stacy Gregg
Anna was trembling, biting back tears. Wouldn’t Ivan love it if she cried? The poor cub was mewling once more in terror. She wanted so badly to pick him up but Ivan still had his fork poised like a weapon in his balled-up fist.
“I wish you were not my brother,” she said.
Ivan laughed. “You know your problem, little sister? You are too sensitive!”
He used his napkin to wipe the tines of his fork and then he speared another piece of meat and continued to eat.
***
If the Countess had been there she would have told Ivan off for his cruelty and taken the tiger cub from him. But Anna’s mama was gone, and Count Orlov had already given the tiger to Ivan. So what could she do? Anna could never go against her father’s wishes. And besides, her older brother was the rightful heir to the estate at Khrenovsky. In Count Orlov’s eyes, Ivan could do no wrong.
Watching her cruel brother torment the tiger cub every day was unbearable but Anna knew that if she tried to rescue the poor creature it would make things worse. Her only hope was Ivan’s fickle nature. She would pretend she didn’t care for the cub at all, and ignore his teasing. In time, as with everything else, Ivan would tire of his “plaything”.
Ivan tested her resolve. He became increasingly cruel in his attempts to provoke her. He would look Anna in the eye as he pulled the tiger cub’s tail, then yank the creature’s whiskers so hard they came clean out in his fist. His favourite trick was to pick the mewling cub up by his ears and swing him at Anna so that she had to run from the room.
One morning, when Anna thought she could no longer handle sitting through another meal with him, Ivan arrived at the table without the cub.
Anna knew better than to react. Do not mention the tiger. Do not arouse suspicion.
She struck up a conversation, determined not to let her brother know her mind was racing. “I was down at the stables with Vasily,” Anna said. “He told me that Yuri was preparing horses for father to go hunting today.”
“I know that!” Ivan snapped. “I am going hunting with him!”
And so it was that Anna found herself alone in the palace, finally able to go on a hunt of her own.
She found the stripy cub bewilderedly wandering the hallways and bent down straight away to pick him up. The young tiger flinched back and let out a pitiful mewl.
“Don’t be scared,” Anna cooed softly. “I would never hurt you!” And then she ran to find Katia in the scullery.
“Please, Katia, I need to find something to feed the tiger cub. He is hungry,” Anna asked when she found the head housemaid in the scullery.
Katia headed to the kitchen and retrieved a bowl filled with goat’s milk.
“Come on, Boris,” Anna tried to coax him. “Come and eat.”
The tiger, not yet knowing the name Anna had bestowed on him, but certainly smelling the milk, crawled forward on his belly, emitting a tiny version of the same purr that his mother used to make whenever Anna sat close to the bars of her cage.
He gave the milk a sniff and then lapped it up hungrily while Anna stroked him and murmured. “That’s it, Boris, good boy …”
The tiger cub was Boris from that point on; Borenka when he was being especially sweet and playful. The cub was so gentle-mannered, he would retract his claws so that he did not scratch her when they had play fights. Made bold by Anna’s kindness, he grew more playful and confident every day. Yet the very sight of Ivan striding down the corridor was enough to make the young tiger run and cower.
“I know how you feel,” Anna told the cub. “He is my brother and I am the same way.”
Boris grew fast. He was almost as tall as Anna’s knee when Igor the wolfhound puppy swelled their ranks to a threesome.
The borzoi was the result of Count Orlov’s efforts to breed a hunting hound that could take down a timber wolf and outrun a jackrabbit. His bloodline mastery had produced a sleek, lean animal – a champion wolfhound.
Count Orlov’s skill as a breeder was the talk of the royal court. How was it that he could produce such miraculous breed specimens? What was the secret to his ability to shape their bodies and their minds?
Anna was aware of the whispers about Le Balafre amongst the serfs too. They spoke about his methods in dark tones, hushing as soon as Anna was within earshot.
“Why do they always go quiet when I am in the room?” she asked Katia.
The head housemaid paused and then she said softly, “Your father is a powerful man, Anna. He is like a god in the way he can create life and bring death. His animals are the most beautiful in Russia – but their perfection has a price. And you would do best to not ask too many questions.”
Later, Anna would think how ironic it was that her father’s powers to mould his creatures’ minds had failed completely when it came to Igor’s nature. Count Orlov had bred the borzoi to be a ruthless hunting machine, a bloodthirsty killer, and yet Igor was a resolutely gentle creature and Anna’s most loyal companion.
Anna had been at the kennels the day Igor was born. He was the only snow-white pup in a litter of eight grey-and-white siblings. The runt of the litter, weak and forlorn, Anna had fallen in love with him straight away and had begged the houndmaster to give him to her. The houndmaster, thinking that Count Orlov would not miss such a scrawny weak pup, had agreed, and Anna had carried the snowy ball of fur back home to the palace.
Igor soon grew to be taller than any of his brothers and sisters, and faster than any other hound. Despite his strength and speed, he remained as docile as a kitten. It would never have occurred to Igor that he might try to hunt any of the animals he encountered careening around the corridors of the palace. He romped happily with the family of minks who had set up residence in the upstairs bedrooms. He played an endless game of peek-a-boo with the cheeky otter siblings who lived in the stream that ran through the estate. And he kept a respectful distance from the pair of Amur leopards who continued their reign, wandering the halls wherever they liked, still dressed as if for an elegant soirée in their black velvet collars.
Anna had worried that there might be a rivalry between the pup and Boris, but from the moment they met the borzoi and the tiger cub became firm friends. Anna would often walk through the gardens with the pair of them at her heels. She had fashioned a white silk velvet collar for Igor, but for Boris, she would remove her diamond necklace, placing it round the tiger cub’s ruff. She loved the way his deep orange fur refracted through the black gem, its brilliant facets reflecting an otherworldly amber glow, as dark and mysterious as the eyes of the tiger who wore it.
As Boris grew, his unchecked presence in the palace became terrifying for the servants. They could not believe that Anna could truly control the gigantic beast. And yet Anna never feared her tiger. She knew that he was loyal, that he would do anything to protect her.
She could not have foreseen that Boris’s devotion was dangerous for both of them. In the end, it would tear them apart.
CHAPTER 5
Dark Water
Anna woke that morning to a blood-red sky. Outside, the Khrenovsky estate was covered in a thick blanket of snow and the air was so cold her breath froze as she walked the long driveway that led to the stables.
She strode out with a sense of purpose, partly to warm herself, but also because she needed to get to the stables before Vasily. The groom had been so tense and uptight when she had ridden Smetanka. No wonder the poor stallion was so miserable – he was never allowed to feel his own true speed with a rider on his back. Smetanka wanted to gallop, Anna sensed it. He wanted to be free. Now, she was about to show him freedom.
“Smetanka!” Anna called to the horse with a whisper from the stable door. Smetanka raised his head and nickered in reply, then walked over to her. Anna slipped the latch and went inside. The Arabian stallion widened his nostrils and gave an inquisitive snort at an intruder in his stall.
“We are going to go very fast today, you and me,” Anna confided as she led him out into the yard. She saddled him
quickly, slipped on his bridle and then drew the stallion alongside the mounting post. As soon as he felt the weight of a rider on his back, Smetanka began to skip about anxiously as if there were hot coals beneath his hooves. When Anna tried to hold him still while she slipped her feet into the stirrups, he only danced the more. Once she had her stirrups, she rode him forward. Anna kept a firm grip on his head, which was held high, champing against the bit. They were heading down through the snow-covered meadows that led to the Voronezh River.
As Smetanka jogged and snorted beneath her, Anna became aware of how quickly he responded as she tapped him with her heels, and how he drew back and arched his neck if she put pressure on his mouth. He was so sensitive, and so delicate, his body so lithe compared to the chunky, broad-bellied carthorses in the stables. No other creature was his equal at the Khrenovsky estate, or in all of Russia, for that matter. And to think that the beautiful Galina was heavy with Smetanka’s foal. Would the baby be like his sire? Would he possess the same fire and spirit that made Smetanka so incredible?
The stallion moved with elevated strides through the deep drifts of snow towards the black expanse of the river.
The Voronezh River ran through the very heart of the Khrenovsky estate. Wide and deep, it flowed swiftly in the summer, and threatened to flood its banks as it swelled in the springtime. In the winter, however, the river grew sluggish. Ice floes clogged the waterways and soon these began to join together into one solid mass until the whole of the river had frozen over. That was how the Voronezh was now; a black slick of ice smothered the surface from shore to shore, so thick that Count Orlov used the surface as a winter racetrack. While the rest of the estate was impossible to traverse in the snowy months, the black ice made the perfect surface for carriages, smooth and wide enough for the horses to stride out side by side. A good horse was needed, of course, one that was surefooted enough to stride across the slippery ice. Smetanka was a desert horse and the ice was foreign to him, yet Anna felt certain that his natural grace and athleticism would prove itself on the river.
But first she had to convince Smetanka. When they reached the river’s edge the stallion refused to set foot on the ice, sensing the danger of the rock-hard sheet, the darkness of the water beneath.
“It’s all right,” Anna reassured him. “It is solid. You will see.”
She kept her legs wrapped firm round his belly and began clucking and coaxing. Smetanka was like an eel, wiggling this way and that, refusing to step forward. At one point he reared up on his hind legs, but Anna was quick to respond and she gave him a slap on the rump at just the right moment. The stallion finally summoned up his courage and, with a snort and a leap, he was on the ice.
The frozen river was glassy and opaque, a black mirror beneath Smetanka’s hooves. Anna let him walk at first, allowing him to grow accustomed to the feel of the ice. Smetanka was snorting in consternation, nostrils flared, head held high. Anna kept stroking his neck as he walked, speaking softly to him, talking French, as she felt certain the sweetness of the syllables would calm him. After all, Smetanka was high-born, and French was the language of the royal court.
“Très bien, Smetanka,” Anna cooed. “You are very brave. Now, do you feel ready to run?”
As soon as Anna closed her legs on him, Smetanka broke into a trot, and before she could ask again he was already in a canter and then galloping. The surge of power thrilled her like nothing she had ever felt in her life. He was magnificent, with the grace of a ballerina and such speed to his strides! For the first time since Smetanka had arrived at the estate, Anna felt that the horse belonged here. As if he were born into a world of ice instead of the desert sand. They were going at a breakneck pace and yet she felt so safe as she urged him to even greater exertions. She delighted in the numbing sensation of the icy winter wind cutting at her cheeks, making her eyes water.
“Go, Smetanka!” Anna rose up out of the saddle and perched herself forward above the neck of the stallion. The sound of his hooves striking against the black ice echoed across the river – a furious thunder as the horse galloped for all he was worth.
Then suddenly Anna felt the world give way. The ice beneath Smetanka’s hooves cracked and opened like a black chasm. Anna was plunging down, falling with the horse into the dark water.
The rush of frigid water closing over the top of her head stole her breath away. Anna panicked, churning the black water to white foam as she struggled, thrashing and flailing as she was dragged under.
Above her, where just a moment ago the sky had been clear and blue, there was a frozen ceiling of solid ice.
Anna’s sodden clothes were dragging her deeper and deeper into the icy river. As she looked up she saw her diamond necklace floating away from her body, shimmering in the murky water. It was as if the black diamond were determined to defy their shared fate and make it back to the surface on its own. The diamond rose higher in the water and would have slipped loose from her neck and been lost forever if the chain hadn’t tangled in Anna’s hair. Long blonde strands snagged in the silver filigree. And so the necklace gave up its selfish bid for freedom and drifted around its mistress’s throat as she sank down towards the dark depths of the riverbed.
In the growing gloom, Anna could just make out the surface of the ice and the blur of shapes, silhouettes of men moving on the surface. Forgetting for a moment where she was, she tried to shout out to them, “Help me!”
Too late she realised her mistake as icy riverwater forced its way into her mouth. Anna choked, trying to expel the dark fluid and cling on to her last breaths of air. She looked up at the surface and saw that it was receding further and further – or rather that she was still sinking. Her sodden fur coat had cleaved to her skin and was dragging her even deeper.
In a frenzy, she tugged at the coat sleeves. The heavy fur clung to her as if it were her own skin. Finally she freed herself and watched it tumble through the inky water beneath her.
The surface had become a faraway blur, like the light of a distant star. Black water pressed in from all sides. Anna could not hold her breath much longer. Still she kept fighting the urge to inhale, knowing that once the water filled her lungs it would be over for her. She had to try to get back up there, kick and stroke her way towards the ice above her, but it was so far away. It was so cold. The world was liquid, dark as a moonless sky. Everything was still and quiet.
Then she felt the sudden churn of the water around her. Something was moving through the river, coming in her direction, sending out ripples like a shockwave. Like a ghostly apparition, a silver horse appeared in front of her, stark against the black water, alabaster legs thrashing, mane flowing like luminous riverweed.
Smetanka swam towards Anna, his legs working like pistons. His magnificent silver tail flared out behind him in the jet water like a smoke plume.
Smetanka had the power to reach the surface and she did not. This was her chance and she took it.
As the grey stallion swept by she lunged at his tail and grasped it with both her hands. Smetanka felt the jerk but he was focused on fighting his way to the surface – it didn’t matter to him that he was taking Anna in his wake.
Anna held the tail and puffed up her cheeks, holding in the last breath of air that she possessed. She could only hope that they would make it to the surface before she blacked out from lack of oxygen. Above her, she could see the world coming slowly back into focus. The blue of the sky gave her hope in the blackness, made her hang on despite her exhaustion and the cold. They were almost there …
Smetanka broke the surface like a killer whale. He thrust himself out of the water in a great surge, his eyes wild, taking in great gasps through flared nostrils. Around him, the black water of the river boiled as his front legs churned.
Anna surfaced behind him and gasped in a huge choking breath of air. The silence of her underwater world was shattered by the noise of pickaxes smashing ice floes and her father’s voice, shouting at his men, “Quickly! Break up the ice. Create a
channel so he can swim to shore! We must get him out of there!”
The hole in the ice had already become twice the size it had been when Anna and her horse had fallen through. Count Orlov’s men smashed down their axes to break the surface.
“Keep digging!” Count Orlov demanded. “Faster!”
Smetanka swam the narrow ice channel, making for the riverbank, and Anna somehow continued to cling to his tail. She was about to lose consciousness when she felt strong hands grab her by the shoulders, lifting her out of the water. “Anna, it’s all right. I’ve got you.”
Anna could hear her father’s voice in the fuzzy distance. He was barking orders to get his stallion to the stables and rug him with blankets stuffed with straw. Quickly. Quickly!
And then she heard him shout, “Vasily! Take my daughter to the palace now!”
“Yes, Count Orlov.”
It was Katia who answered the door to find Anna blue-lipped and motionless in Vasily’s arms.
“Oh, my dear Lady Anna! Is she still with us?” the head housemaid asked.
Nobody expected her to live, and there were many times when even Anna herself truly believed she was about to die. The cold of the river had sunk deep into her bones, and it was as if nothing would ever warm them again. The chambermaids brought metal bedpans filled with hot coals to toast her sheets, they piled on blankets until she was crushed by the weight of them, but still she shivered and trembled with ice in her veins. She kept slipping in and out of consciousness and the room seemed to ebb away, as if her body were sinking down into the mattress beneath her, the bed swallowing her into its depths like the black water of the river.
“Mama?”
“Yes, milochka, I am here …”
Was it her mother’s voice or Katia’s?
Whose hand was it that mopped her brow as the delirium came upon her?
Anna reached instinctively to her throat and felt the hard teardrop of the diamond necklace in her frozen hands. She clutched it and warmth surged through her like fire. She closed her eyes and saw blackness. And then the gloom was pierced by the brilliant beams of spotlights and the sound of music.
