by Stacy Gregg
When she felt that every sinew and muscle of Sasha was attuned to her seat and legs and hands, she asked her horse to elevate and trot on the spot. Suddenly his hindquarters became a mighty engine beneath her, and Sasha arched his neck like the fiercest stallion, and they were in piaffe! The raw energy that had served him so well in the circus was just as powerful in the ménage. Only now with Valentina’s legs wrapped round him and her hands held high, he piaffed beneath her just like a Grand Prix stallion!
And yet here under the floodlights of the academy there was not a single soul to see it. No cheering crowd. No buffooning clowns. No surly ringmaster. She was all alone.
Valentina threw her arms round Sasha, giving him a giant hug. “I don’t care if no one saw that, Sasha. You are such a star,” she breathed into his mane.
“Valentina!”
She looked up to see George Mueller striding across the arena towards her.
“We must talk,” he said.
“I am sorry, Herr Mueller …” Valentina stammered. “I shouldn’t have switched the lights back on. I know I am not supposed to be riding …”
“Valentina.” George Mueller shook his head. “Stop – you are not in trouble!”
“I’m not?”
The head coach paused before he spoke again. “I have been watching you this evening,” he said. “You have been doing these sessions with this horse often?”
Valentina nodded and blushed guiltily. “Most nights, when everyone else has gone to bed. Then I ride.”
“So you taught him by yourself to piaffe like that?”
Valentina nodded.
George Mueller patted Sasha on his shoulder and looked up at the girl on his back. “Hmmm, yes … six months. If I begin to work with you now, it is enough time, I think.”
“I don’t understand,” Valentina frowned.
“The way your horse trots, it is extraordinary,” George Mueller said. “He has a long back and yet he is very collected. When you did the spin, the pirouette, he was placing his hind legs in perfect order. I would give him an eight for that in a Grand Prix test. And his piaffe! The cadence is excellent, his knees are high. A dressage judge would give him good marks for such a display. Very good marks …”
George Mueller stroked Sasha’s pink muzzle. “This horse is going to be one of the greats. He will surprise everyone. That is, if you are willing to put in the hard work.”
Valentina was stunned. “Do you mean you are going to let me ride?”
George Mueller stuck out his hand for her to shake. “Welcome aboard, Valentina Romanov. You are the newest member of the Russian Federation international team.”
***
That night as Valentina lay in bed she had closed her fist tight round the black gemstone of her necklace. In an instant, she saw herself mounted up on Sasha’s back in the grandest arena she had ever seen: pristine white sand under sparkling lights, edged with white boxes filled with blooming flowers, and an enormous crowd cheering as she took a bow. And at that moment she sensed the tension in the stallion beneath her and knew he might explode at any moment. He was relying on Valentina to hold him steady.
She put her fingers to her neck and there it was – her precious necklace. The anchor that held them both. Her heart raced as she clung tight to the stone and Valentina knew that she was seeing her destiny.
CHAPTER 11
The Grand Ball
Anna’s visions of the pink stallion began to fade. She clutched the diamond tight in her fist and screwed her eyes shut. And when she opened them again she saw her mother’s face reflected in the mirror.
The Countess was at the dressing table doing her make-up, and Anna was on her velvet cushion sitting cross-legged, watching her mother with wide eyes. She was laughing, telling stories, and in every movement and gesture, Anna saw the softness of her eyes and the kindness of her smile.
Then Anna’s skin prickled with goosebumps as if the windows had been flung open wide in mid-winter. They were not alone. There was somebody watching them, a shadowy figure standing in the doorway of the bedroom, glowering at them, black eyes seething from beneath a mop of dark hair.
Ivan!
Anna rose up from her velvet cushion and smiled at her brother, beckoning Ivan to join them, but he didn’t move. The dark expression on her brother’s face twisted with jealousy and his hands clenched angrily. And, unseen by their mother, Ivan mouthed at Anna these words: “I will always hate you, little sister.”
Anna was crying, tears hot and wet on her cheeks. She had always thought that her brother hated her for no reason at all, but now she saw that he was jealous and always would be. Not even the terrible loss of their mother could change him.
Anna opened her eyes and released her grip on the stone, gasping for breath. Her cheeks were still hot and wet with tears, and she wiped them roughly with her hand. Too late she realised she had smeared the make-up she had just so carefully applied. She would have to start again …
“Hello, Sister.”
Standing right behind her in the doorway was Ivan.
Igor, who had been lying silently at Anna’s feet, stood up and let out a low, menacing growl.
“Are you ready to make your entrance?” Ivan asked. “Father says I am to accompany you into the ballroom.”
“I …”Anna hesitated. “I need just a few minutes, to correct my make-up …”
Ivan stood impassive in the doorway. “Go on, then,” he said. “Do it.”
Anna powdered over her cheeks once more with trembling hands, while Ivan smouldered with rage at her, just as he had done all those years ago. Hurriedly she reapplied the beauty spot and daubed crimson on her lips. She stood up and Igor brushed against her skirts expectantly.
“Niet. You wait for me here, Igor,” Anna instructed. “A ball is no place for a hound.”
She smoothed her dress and took a deep breath.
“I’m ready,” she said.
***
The grand ballroom was filled with colour, the ladies in frilly satin gowns of every shade imaginable, with feathers decorating their hair. They fluttered their fans theatrically, ducking behind them to whisper to one another, greeting their friends with self-conscious smiles, while their husbands stood beside them, stiff and formal in their dinner suits. All the crowd seemed desperately aware that they were soon to be in the presence of Empress Catherine the Great.
“Come on then!” Ivan said impatiently, urging Anna to the top of the stairs where a gold-liveried footman waited. “The Lord Ivan and the Lady Anna of Khrenovsky,” he announced as brother and sister stepped forward together. Ivan gave Anna a distinctly fake smile as he put out his arm. She placed her fingertips upon it and they descended the stairs to join the party.
Anna had never felt so uncomfortable in all her life. As she took step after step in her high heels she tightened her grip on Ivan’s arm. It was all so frightfully grown-up!
“Stop pinching me – we are here now!” Ivan hissed as soon as they had descended the final step. He yanked his arm away and strode to the centre of the room. Anna watched his brazen confidence as he pushed his way towards a giggling group of young Countesses.
In the midst of all this gaiety and frivolity Ivan’s darkness made him a compelling figure. He had witnessed from early childhood how the Count had played upon his disfigurement as Le Balafre. Now Ivan did the same thing, brandishing his own scar like a badge of courage.
“Did you know he earned it fighting a tiger bare-handed?” Anna heard one of the ladies telling her friend as they promenaded past Anna, whispering into their fans.
“Really?” her friend exclaimed. “He must be very brave indeed to fight such a fierce beast!”
“Oh yes! He is the bravest man in all of Russia,” the first young lady replied. “And a great horseman just like his father.”
Anna listened to their exchange in disbelief. Ivan, meanwhile, was still manoeuvring his way through the crowds, moving ever closer to the Empress.
For Empress Catherine was already seated at the far end of the ballroom, on a golden throne that had been placed directly beneath the crystal chandelier. Flanking her were her most loyal and important nobles. Count Orlov stood directly to the left of her throne, dressed in his military regalia with a pale blue cummerbund bound round his waist. On the other side of the Empress was Anna’s uncle Grigory. Anna noticed how he would whisper conspiratorially to the Empress in a manner that made Anna blush.
Into this group of dignitaries strode Ivan. He marched straight up to the Empress, and after the curtest of bows began to address Her Royal Highness directly. Anna noted a flicker of annoyance on Empress Catherine’s face, but Ivan didn’t seem to care. He kept talking and talking until eventually the monarch whispered to one of her aides. The footman immediately stepped in and ushered Ivan away.
Anna did not dare approach the throne herself. She found an alcove behind the chamber orchestra where there was an unoccupied chaise longue and she sat there, happy to be hidden and yet right in the midst of the gaiety. She loved watching the courtiers dancing and laughing. The orchestra was playing waltzes and the Empress rose to dance with Count Orlov.
Anna watched the way her father held the Empress lightly at the waist as they waltzed, and how she laughed and smiled at his conversation. The dance had only just finished when from across the dance floor a man with a thick black beard and black eyes approached them.
“May I have the pleasure of the next dance, Your Majesty?” he asked.
“Count Smirnov!” the Empress exclaimed, “What a delight to see you here. How was your journey? It must have been exhausting to come so very far.”
Count Smirnov bowed deeply. “I would go to the ends of the earth to dance with Your Majesty!”
Count Orlov harrumphed at Count Smirnov’s attempts to charm, but if the Empress noticed she hid it well.
“I was just speaking with Count Orlov,” she said, “about his marvellous new carriage trotter. Did you know he believes that he has bred the greatest stallion in all of Russia?”
Anna’s heart pounded in her chest. Were they talking about Drakon?
Count Smirnov’s eyes widened and then he gave an uncomfortable, forced laugh.
“Your Majesty, Count Orlov is undoubtedly an excellent breeder of hounds and chickens and various rare oddities, but surely he cannot claim to breed the best carriage horses? My Kabarda stallion is certainly the finest and the fastest in all of Russia.”
Around the room, the tinkling of laughter and the conversation quieted as the other guests caught wind of the conversation between the two Counts and their Empress.
“If you wish to see the finest stallion in all of Russia, Count Orlov –” Count Smirnov intoned – “then visit your stables, for I have brought him here with me! My Kabarda stallion is unsurpassed!”
“Hah! I do not think so!” A voice rang out across the ballroom and a gentleman dressed in a purple satin cummerbund stepped forward to join the Empress’s group.
“Your Majesty,” Count Petrov bowed stiffly. “Count Smirnov is surely not saying that he possesses the perfect carriage horse? Everyone knows that my Turkmene stallion is by far superior. And I too have my horse stabled at Khrenovsky …”
At that point the entire ballroom erupted into argument. It seemed that there were at least a dozen nobles present who believed that their horse was superior to all others.
As the throng gathered around her and the bickering became fevered and tense, the Empress stayed serene. She stood with an expression of unabashed amusement as the nobles got more and more agitated. Each man raised his voice louder, trying to drown out all others. And then, without saying a word, the Empress raised the goblet that she had been drinking from, and tapped a fork lightly against the glass, ringing out a chime that silenced all of them.
“There!” she smiled. “That is better. Such passions you all have! Clearly we must settle this once and for all.”
“As you say, Your Majesty,” Count Smirnov agreed. “If you would like to inspect the horses at the stables …”
“Oh no!” The Empress laughed. “Count Smirnov, you claim that you possess the fastest carriage horse in Russia. And such a boast can only be settled in one way …”
The Empress took in the entire ballroom with her regal gaze and then proclaimed, “We shall have a race tomorrow.”
A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd.
“Your Majesty is indeed wise!” Count Smirnov said. “A race across the black ice of the River Voronezh will settle this!”
Count Petrov snorted. “The Voronezh? Pah! A sprint along the river proves nothing. Stamina is the true worth of a horse. Let the race be held across the vast distances of the taiga!”
There were more shouts and disagreement but the assembled guests fell silent as the Empress spoke once more.
“We shall do both,” she said, smiling. “The race will begin on the river ice and then it will continue across the taiga. The horses will run all the way to the Bridge of the Single Pine and then back again to the Khrenovsky estate.”
She turned to Count Orlov. “Every man who thinks his horse can outrun your trotter shall have his chance to prove it!”
Count Orlov was about to speak, but before he had the chance, Ivan stepped forward.
“I should be honoured to race our horse for you, Father.”
“Well spoken, Ivan.” Count Orlov looked at his son proudly. “My son shall take the reins of my new stallion.”
“No!”
Until this moment Anna had been a silent spectator, biting her tongue as the men all boasted and bragged about their horses. But the idea that Ivan should take the reins of her beloved Drakon? It was simply too much for her.
“He is not yours to race!” Anna shouted. “He is my horse. I saved him from the executioner’s blade. I cared for him as a foal, raised him as a colt and broke him to saddle and harness. Drakon is mine and if anyone is going to race him in this contest it should be me!”
Count Orlov’s face was dark with fury. “Do not be ridiculous, Anna!” he growled. “The open taiga is no place for a woman …”
As soon as he said the words, he visibly regretted them. The room took on a distinctly chilly air as everyone turned to the Empress. She held the silence until it became almost painful, and then frostily said, “So a woman cannot race a carriage horse, Count Orlov? And yet, as you see, a woman is capable of ruling the whole of Russia. Or perhaps you think a man would be better in my place too?”
Count Orlov spluttered and stammered.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I only meant that my son was older. Anna is but a girl, she is only thirteen.”
Empress Catherine’s face was stony with displeasure. “Count Orlov, you do your daughter a great disservice. She is young, but she is clearly capable, aren’t you, child?”
A hundred guests filled the grand ballroom at Khrenovsky and right now all of them were looking at Anna, waiting for her to speak. She could feel her heart racing, her mouth dry and her breath choking in her throat.
“Please, Your Majesty. I know I am only a girl, but I am as brave as any man. I want to race my stallion. I am not afraid.”
The Empress clapped her hands together with delight.
“Darling girl!” She said. “Such courage! You remind me so much of myself at your age. Of course you must be the one to race your horse. Alexei, you will make it so.”
The Empress turned away from Count Orlov and addressed the assembled nobles. “Let all those who wish to compete gather at dawn on the Western Lawn. We shall discover tomorrow which horse is the greatest in all of my realm.”
***
It was well after midnight when the ball came to an end. Anna, who had never stayed up so late at night before, and who had danced until her feet were sore, was exhausted. She had made her way back to her bedroom and was about to get changed into her nightgown when Ivan appeared once more at her door.
“Hello, Sister,” he said.
/> She spun round, startled. “Ivan! I looked for you at the ball. I wanted to talk to you but I couldn’t find you,” Anna said. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you …”
“Embarrass me?” Ivan laughed bitterly. “We shall see who looks a fool when tomorrow comes!”
Igor, who had been resting at the foot of the bed, began to growl, and came to stand protectively at Anna’s side.
“What do you mean?” Anna asked.
Ivan gave a wicked grin. “Oh, nothing,” he said airily. “I was just wondering; have you checked on your horse yet this evening?”
Anna was horrified. “Ivan! What have you done?” She did not wait for an answer. She grabbed her fur coat and ran.
The snow was falling heavily as she sprinted down the slippery marble stairs at the front entrance of the palace. She felt her feet nearly fly out from underneath her, but she managed to keep her footing. She ran all the way along the gravel path to the stables and did not stop until she had reached Drakon’s stall.
“Drakon?” Her heart was racing. If Ivan had even touched her horse …
“Drakon!”
He was right there in his stall, his eyes bright, ears pricked.
“Oh, thank goodness!” She threw her arms round him. “I thought he had hurt you!”
There was an oil lamp burning low in the corner of the stables and she raised it aloft as she examined the grey stallion: checking his legs, looking in his feed bin, sniffing and then tasting the water in his trough. If Ivan had been trying to scare her, his tactic had certainly worked. Typical of her brother to play mind games with her!
