by Stacy Gregg
But the clearing was empty. There was nothing but a tiger-shaped imprint in the snow.
***
Ivan’s search party returned home from their hunt empty-handed – unable to find Anna’s beloved beast in the wilderness. Anna knew that she had saved Boris’s life, but her heartache in missing him was so profound that she wept for him every night as she fell asleep. She spent the weeks that followed riding the perimeter of the estate with Drakon and Igor. She told Vasily that this was part of Drakon’s training, that she was teaching the grey stallion how to be a carriage horse. It was true that she was schooling him to accept the harness and to run with the weight of the carriage strapped to him. But she was also keeping a vigil, looking out for signs of her tiger. Her heart desperately wanted Boris to come back so that she might see him just one more time, but her head knew better. If Boris was to live then he must stay away from Khrenovsky forever.
*
Almost a month later, Anna was out on one of her tours that took her as far as the gates of the estate. The grey stallion was just as swift under harness as he was when she rode him with a saddle. Winter had fully arrived and the carriage threw up great gouts of white as they sped across the fields. Igor, who had become spoilt like an only child since Boris was no longer around, was not running alongside the carriage. Instead, he had taken up a comfortable position nestled in the luggage space at Anna’s feet under the bargeboard. Vasily had come with her in the carriage so that she could show him how marvellously well Drakon’s training was progressing. Anna had to admit that it was also nice to have a companion to talk with for once.
“Do you know what is going on at the palace?” Anna asked the groom. “I have seen the serfs busying themselves like crazy in the kitchens. There was a wild boar brought in yesterday and a fell deer. And the housemaids are putting flowers everywhere and the windows are being cleaned and the floors are polished to a high sheen. I asked Katia what was going on and she was flustered and said that Father was due home with guests.”
“We have been asked to prepare thirty stable boxes for their horses,” Vasily said. “It must be a large party.”
“All the same …” Anna frowned. “He has brought visitors to the estate before without such preparation …”
Her words trailed off. There was a rumbling noise, growing louder by the second. The sound of many horses’ hooves pounding on the roads. She looked up and saw a large party approaching the wide-open gates of the estate.
“Vasily! Look!” Most of the riders were on horseback, but there was also a cortège with three riders on guard, surrounding a very grand, gilt-trimmed enclosed carriage. The royal insignia had been painted on its sides and six gorgeous horses dressed in the finest livery towed it.
“If I am not mistaken,” Vasily said as he dropped into a deep bow. “That is the carriage of the Empress herself!”
Anna stiffened in awe. Her father had brought the Empress home with him!
“What do I do?” she hissed to Vasily as she dropped into a hasty curtsey.
“You are asking me?” Vasily said. “Lady Anna, I am not the person to give directions on the etiquette of meeting royalty!”
“There is Father!” Anna saw Count Orlov riding at the front of the party. He sat astride a magnificent black horse, with another rider on a matching horse of equal beauty riding alongside him. Behind these two horses came the royal carriage, flanked by its mounted guards. Anna’s eyes were glued on the carriage as the party drew closer. The golden silk curtains were drawn tightly closed, though she was hoping that she might see a gloved hand reach up and pull them apart so that she could get a glimpse inside. A chance to see the Empress herself at last!
“Anna.” The Count greeted his daughter as he pulled up his horse in front of her carriage. “You have grown, my girl.”
“Yes, she has,” agreed the rider alongside him, who was wearing a green uniform. “She looks so much like her mother. Countess Orlov was one of the greatest beauties of the royal court in her day.”
Anna glanced across at the rider sitting astride the big black horse beside Count Orlov. She had been too busy looking at the magnificent royal carriage to notice that the rider was not a man, but a woman, dressed in military garb, riding astride in jodhpurs and long boots with a sword and a fur hat. The woman was elegant and grey-haired and she had an energy around her that seemed to overshadow even Count Orlov’s presence.
Empress Catherine of Russia.
Anna turned to redirect her clumsy curtsey, bumping herself on the bargeboard as she did so.
“Forgive me for not recognising you straight away, Your Royal Highness,” she managed to stutter. “I thought you were riding in the carriage!”
The Empress wheeled her horse about and sat up tall in the saddle. “I cannot abide long journeys cooped in there,” she said. “My dogs and my maids-in-waiting are in the carriage but I prefer to ride a horse myself.”
“Yes, me too!” Anna smiled, then quickly added, “Your Majesty.”
The Empress laughed. “And is this your own horse, the one you have harnessed to this carriage? He looks a very unusual sort. One of your father’s wonderful experiments, I assume?”
Anna felt her stomach drop. Until this moment her father had never seen Drakon. The Count was not yet aware that his wishes had been defied and that Smetanka’s doomed foal was still alive. There had been a vague chance that in the commotion of the royal arrival Anna could have hidden the stallion from him once more, but now the Empress had directly drawn attention to Drakon. There was no escaping fate.
“This is the son of my father’s foundation sire, the great Arab stallion Smetanka.” Anna tried to keep the tremble out of her voice as she saw her father’s face darken. “His name is Drakon and he is the fastest horse in all of Russia under harness.”
“The fastest horse in all of Russia!” Empress Catherine laughed. “Well, your father certainly has a gift for breeding the very best.”
She turned to the Count. “Do you hold this horse in as high a regard as your daughter does?”
Count Orlov was silent for a moment. Even during his fury, Anna could see his masterful eye at work. He was examining Drakon’s long back, the strong legs, the dinner-plate-sized hooves that would grip even the slipperiest surface of a frozen lake.
“I was not impressed with him as a colt,” the Count said. “Yet I see that perhaps he has grown into something more pleasing. I should like to see him run. I reserve my judgement on him until then. Perhaps he might suit my breeding programme, if he shows stamina. But …” He paused, staring at Anna. “I am always prepared for disappointment.”
Empress Catherine laughed. “No one would be foolish enough to disappoint you, Count Orlov!” she teased him gaily. Then she turned back to Anna. “I look forward to spending more time with you, child, at the ball tonight. I was a great friend of your mother’s and I think you and I shall become close companions.”
“Anna is not coming to the royal ball,” Count Orlov said stiffly.
“Well, of course she is!” The Empress spoke firmly. “Take care not to refuse my wishes in future, Alexei.”
Count Orlov quickly hid the emotion from his face and bowed deeply. “As you wish, Majesty, the child will attend.”
“Excellent!” The Empress dusted the snow from her shoulders with a fur-gloved hand. “Now come, let us ride on! I am assuming the palace is not far from here. I am Empress and I think the time has come for me to be treated as such. I want a banquet prepared and rose petals soaking in my bathtub by the time I am ready to dismount from my horse. See to it, Alexei.”
And with that, the Empress turned down the road towards the Khrenovsky estate at a brisk trot. Count Orlov had no choice but to spur his own horse on ahead to prepare the palace for their arrival. Empress Catherine the Great had spoken.
***
As Anna sat at her dressing table to begin her toilette she felt like she was floating on the music of the string orchestra playing downstairs. Ou
tside her bedroom she could hear the polite chatter of the guests as they made their way downstairs. Soon the dancing would begin. Then the Empress would arrive and the guests would queue to be received, curtseying and bowing before their sovereign in the grand ballroom.
Katia had laid out Anna’s most beautiful gown on the bed. It was her favourite, silver satin, with pretty filigree lace at the chest. Anna admired her reflection in the mirror, dusting her décolletage with powder, rouging the apples of her cheeks and adding a beauty spot with kohl pencil. That was an old-fashioned affectation, but she knew her mother would have approved. Lastly, she reached down to the jewellery box in front of her, withdrew the black diamond necklace and held it up to her throat.
As the cold teardrop jewel touched her warm skin she felt lightning run through her. She looked up once more at her reflection in the mirror as she did up the silver clasp. Holding her breath, she shut her eyes and clutched the gemstone tight in her hands. And then, as the vision overtook her, she was no longer in the palace. The diamond had possessed her once more.
CHAPTER 10
Flying Changes
Circus life had been gruelling, but it was nothing compared to how hard Valentina worked at the Academy. Her day started at 5am. There were sixteen massive warmbloods to feed, and by the time she had lugged hay to their loose boxes, filled their water troughs and mixed their oats and maize, it was dawn and she was starving. Breakfast was served up at the main house and the riders, Natalia and Olga, and Oscar and Molly along with George Mueller and the twins’ mother, Ingrid, would sit down at the table and discuss the day’s programme. Valentina would heap her plate with blini and salmon and winter berries and listen carefully while George Mueller briefed her on which horses to prepare.
By 7am Valentina would be back at the stables, mucking out the loose boxes and tacking up the first four horses for Natalia, Olga and the twins.
“Their saddles must always be polished, manes pulled and legs bandaged,” George Mueller explained. “I expect my horses to look as good in the ménage as they do when they are out competing.”
If a horse was young and green, then Valentina would take it into the arena to work on the lunge rein. The side reins and chambon for this task were the same as she had used to train Sasha for vaulting. She knew how to use a whip to send the horse out and make it circle her at the end of the rope in a steady stride as she relied on voice commands to make it walk, trot and canter.
Once a horse had begun to stretch and use its body like an athlete, she would uncouple it from the lunge gear and get it ready for its rider.
At 8am the training sessions would begin. Standing in the shadows, Valentina watched and absorbed everything. She didn’t know the fancy names for the movements – the pirouettes and piaffes and half-passes, but she understood how to make them happen, as clearly as if she were riding the horses herself.
In the circus the trick was to make it look as if the horse was doing all the work and the rider was doing nothing, as if the movements happened by magic. These dressage riders did the same thing, relying on the smallest shift in their balance or the subtlest squeeze of their legs to send their horses flying around the arena. This dressage was new to her, but the art of camouflage, of keeping the sleight of hand hidden from the audience, was something she had been training for her whole life.
Valentina loved to watch George Mueller as he coached his riders. The old man with ice-white hair and the leathery tan that came from spending a lifetime outdoors could easily have been sixty years old. Yet his posture was erect and his gait was lively and spry. He possessed the same lean build as his niece and nephew, and he dressed smartly in beige jodhpurs, long bronze leather riding boots and the same short-sleeved, collared polo shirt that his riders wore – with the eagle insignia of the Russian Federation and his name across the back in large capital letters.
The head coach was an unflinching taskmaster, pushing his riders to the limit of their stamina and skills. Valentina marvelled at his instinct and sense of timing with the horses. “Try to carry your hands a little higher and I think you may find your half-passes would be straighter,” he would advise Natalia. And then to Olga, “Do not tilt to the left when you ask for a flying change.”
Natalia, an ex-ballerina, took his criticism with a smile, and so did Oscar and Molly. But Olga did not like to be told what to do and their training sessions often ended with her in a foul mood.
One day when Valentina was leading a new horse into the arena for Olga, she got stuck in the middle of a heated exchange.
“I am not riding this horse any more. He is no good.” Olga stood with her hands on her hips, refusing to get on board. “Why won’t you buy me decent horses?”
“Olga.” George Mueller’s voice was calm. “Raffy cost the country a million euro …”
“Pah!” Olga was unimpressed. “A good dressage horse, like the ones the Dutch and the Germans have, will cost at least ten million!”
“Russia cannot afford ten-million-euro horses!” the head coach countered.
“Russia cannot afford to lose its best dressage rider either!” Olga shot back. “The World Games in Stockholm are six months away and we have no horses and no game plan!”
“You should not speak like that to Herr Mueller! Raffy is an excellent horse but you don’t listen!”
Valentina gasped as the words left her mouth and everyone turned to stare at her. Olga, who had already been furious, was now hysterical with rage.
“And what would you know about it, Miss Moscow Spectacular?” Olga’s voice was shrill. “You think because you know how to ride circus tricks that you have any idea what it means to ride Grand Prix dressage?”
It was far too late to take her words back now so Valentina stood her ground. “I may not have ridden in the Grand Prix but my Sasha is a very nice mover. I trained him so I can cartwheel off his back at a canter. I think I can teach him to do a pirouette too.”
Olga gave a hollow laugh. “A pink horse in the Grand Prix? That would not be ridiculous or anything!”
“Olga,” George Mueller intervened. “That is enough. Mount up, please, and let us get started.”
“Niet!” Olga stubbornly refused again. “I am not going to ride this rubbish any more. Get this groom on board her circus pony instead – maybe she can ride him to the Olympics!”
Valentina watched as Olga stormed off, and then she turned to George Mueller.
“I am sorry,” she apologised. “I shouldn’t have spoken out like that.”
“Don’t worry, Valentina.” George Mueller shook his head in wry amusement. “With Olga it is always that the horses are not good enough. It is never her riding that is at fault!”
George Mueller put a hand on Raffy’s shoulder. “She will be back, but not today. Put Raffy on the lunge instead and then put him back in his loose box, all right?”
“All right,” Valentina smiled.
*
Natalia had to ride all of Olga’s horses as well as her own that day and so the training took a little longer than usual. It was almost eight o’clock by the time Valentina was doing the last of the evening feeds. Natalia stayed back to help her out.
“You should not be doing this work,” Valentina said.
“I don’t mind.” Natalia smiled and dug her pitchfork into the hay. “You are the best groom we have ever had, Valentina. Don’t let Olga get to you. She was exactly the same with me when I came here.”
Valentina frowned. “All the time it is the same. The horses are never good enough for her.”
“Olga is from a very wealthy family,” Natalia replied. “She’s had top-class horses since she was six years old. People like her in the dressage world, they are obsessed with bloodlines. And then you turn up from the circus with Sasha, this bizarre creature …”
Natalia saw the look on Valentina’s face. “Oh, I did not mean to offend,” she added hastily. “It is not what I think, Valentina! I love Sasha. He is so cute with his funny pink colour.
But there are a lot of snobs in this sport, you know? All the time with them it must be fancy warmbloods. What I am saying is, don’t let it upset you.”
Natalia threw the last of the hay into the feed bins. “Are you coming up to the house for dinner then?”
“In a little while,” Valentina replied. “I have some more things to do here.”
Valentina checked all the horses, making sure they were bandaged and comfortable for the night before she returned to Sasha’s stall. The pink horse had his head over the door to greet her.
“Don’t worry, Sasha, I think you are the most beautiful horse in the world,” Valentina told him. The stallion responded by burrowing his head into her chest, using her as a scratching post.
“Come on.” Valentina opened the stable door, flung the numnah on to his back and slid the saddle on top. “It’s playtime.”
***
At this hour there was never anyone in the ménage. Natalia, Olga and the twins were having dinner at the house. The lights had been turned out, but Valentina switched them on again and the three central ceiling domes above the sand flickered to life.
Sasha had been in his stall since the morning and he gave deep snorts, clearing his nostrils as Valentina let him walk out on a loose rein to get his shoulders moving. Then she began to do stretches of her own in the saddle, limbering up as she raised her arms above her head and bent them down her back.
She moved into a trot and Sasha carried himself elegantly, head tucked low, hocks moving beneath him. Valentina clucked him on and pressed her leg on to the left and Sasha began to cross his legs over and dance sideways in a smooth leg yield. She put her right leg on and the pink horse danced back the other way.
Valentina came down the long side of the arena in a canter, keeping her gaze high, her shoulders back, her hands held aloft. At the corner, with the precision of a racing-car driver on a hairpin bend, she used a half-halt to prepare Sasha, sitting him back on his hocks. Then she rounded the corner and felt the music in her head surge as she asked him to skip, left-leg-right-leg-left-leg. And then they were on the other side of the arena and she was holding him up with his poll high and pushing him forward into the extended canter strides so that he swept across the sand. Still she did not let him go; she held herself like she was carrying a tray of champagne in her hands, a phrase that George Mueller often used. She rode every single moment with no smile on her face; nothing but the mask of pure concentration.
