Whitefire

by Fern Michaels

  Afstar looked up at both of them with worry in his eyes. “You embark on a difficult journey. You’ll need all your strength and will. Katerina, you especially have a long journey, as yours doesn’t end with the Urals. Good fortune to you both.”

  “We’ll succeed, Uncle, never fear. There is much to do, and it will be done,” she said, with such confidence that even Banyen almost believed her. “Give the command to move,” Katerina ordered Banyen, “for we must make the Ural River by nightfall. Once again I bid you farewell, Uncle. Banyen will bring news of my progress to you in the spring.” Katerina dug her heels deep into the horse’s flanks, the animal responding immediately, with Banyen close behind.

  He looked at Katerina’s easy, relaxed position in the saddle and felt desire rise in him. The tight, confining shirt she wore was open at the throat, revealing a deep cleavage as her breasts rose and fell rhythmically with her steady breathing. He let his gaze linger on the slight spread of her thigh in the form-fitting trousers. Long and supple. His heart pounded in his chest when he thought how she would feel next to him, her flesh as naked as his.

  Katerina felt his appraisal of her and stared pointedly into indigo eyes. She allowed a small smile to tug at her lips as she returned his bold look. She motioned him with her finger to come closer. Suspecting a trick, Banyen held his whip loosely in his hand, ready to strike out if necessary. Katerina leaned closer till she was barely inches from his sun-darkened face. “I know how to kill just as you do. I can do it quickly and silently and not shed a drop of blood, or I can arrange to have your blood flow like a river . . . Remember what I said, Mongol, this is no game we’re playing. When this is over, there will not be a prize for the winner.”

  Dark eyes scoffed at her words, confusing Katerina, throwing her off balance. She had threatened to kill him and he accepted it lightly. Suddenly she felt vulnerable and weak beneath his gaze.

  “Do my ears deceive me, are you threatening me? Never mind, I know a threat when I hear one. Answer one question for me, woman, why do you have such . . . an unreasonable hatred for me? I had to tie you to the horse when I brought you to camp. If I had set you upright, you would have fallen and possibly killed yourself. If you recall, you were in a greatly weakened condition. I see no hatred in your eyes for these . . . scum,” he said, pointing to the prisoners, “nor do I see anything but fondness in your eyes for the Khan. I and I alone am the recipient of your hatred. Why?”

  Katerina stared deeply into the indigo eyes for barely a moment, willing him to remember. She saw only blankness. “You really don’t know, do you. A pity,” she said, straightening her slim body on the horse. “One day possibly the answer will come to you. When it does,” she said, wagging a finger playfully at him, “it will be too late.”

  Banyen’s face filled with rage. What kind of riddle was that? Damn fool woman! Did she think he was a mind reader? Why couldn’t she just tell him whatever it was? Oh no, beat the bush, go around it but never through it. He squared his broad shoulders, gave her a last scorching look, and rode to the front of the twenty-man patrol. With a brisk wave of his hand, the small caravan began to move.

  The prince rode silently ahead of his men, his anger driving his thoughts back in time to the rage he had felt as a boy of six. He lay face down in the dirt, left for dead, as Ivan and his troops stormed Kazan.

  Scared, every muscle in his body still, he dared to move his eyes. When the cannons had finished, and the village had been leveled, he watched the soldiers ride in and slaughter every last person, including his mother and father. He watched as Ivan and his men feasted on goats and sheep afterward, and for sport used the bodies of children for target practice. Banyen’s anger turned to revenge as he thought of Ivan. The sound of a voice startled him.

  Katerina turned in the saddle and waved to Afstar. “My promise, Uncle, when the first wildflower sprouts on the frozen banks of the Dnieper, a new breed of Cossack will be born!” With a last wave of her hand, she spurred the horse forward and raced to take her place behind Banyen.

  The Khan patted his ample girth, a smile on his lips. He had lost count of the times he had seen the wildflowers poke through mounds of snow, only to darken and die within hours. His dark eyes became hooded as he recalled a lone sprout that had survived long after the others were nothing more than brown specks in the smooth, unblemished snow.

  Chapter 9

  Halya Zhuk paced her luxurious bedchamber, a furious look in her eyes. Something must have happened to Yuri, he was weeks overdue. Angrily she thrust out a satin-slippered foot and kicked at the dressing table. Bottles and jars teetered precariously as she continued to jab the table. It was Ivan’s fault. Each time she questioned him he grew angry and hostile. And yesterday, in one of his insane rages, he had said Yuri was dead and it was no great loss. He acted as if he knew something he wasn’t telling her. Yuri couldn’t be dead, not her baby brother.

  She flung herself on the high bed, scalding tears seeping into the rich brocade of the coverlet. If Yuri was dead then nothing mattered. She would go back to Moldavia to be with her aging parents, if they were still alive. And that’s another thing, she thought as she sat up in the bed. How many times had she asked Ivan to send a messenger to her home to find out the condition of her parents? He promised, then did nothing. What if she returned only to find them dead? Another attack of weeping seized her. What should she do? “I don’t want to become Czarina, not anymore. I just want to leave here and go where people are sane and normal. I don’t want to sit next to him. He’s ugly, fat, and disgusting.” She hiccuped. “I can’t bear to have his cold, flabby flesh next to mine, and I can’t bear to . . . to . . . I hate him!” she cried passionately.

  The week before, when Ivan had returned from Alexandrov, he had been stranger than ever. The great palace buzzed about his bizarre behavior. One of the boyars said Ivan ordered a sleigh with seventeen hundred gold plates to be driven to Alexandrov. Afterward, he immured himself in a ramshackle hut. On his return to Moscow he insisted on the right to judge and punish traitors, and also to form a state within a state, if the people wanted him to stay.

  The Prince of Moscow, as he rendered himself, now paid homage to a Tatar called Semyon Bukbulatovich.

  Halya had seen Ivan only once since his return, and had been shocked at his appearance. His clothes hung on his slovenly body, which reeked of wine and sweat. She gagged when he gathered her in his arms, murmuring insane things. In desperation, Halya filled him with liquor till he fell unconscious, then crept from the room, her ears burning with his decadent words. He was crazy, and she had to leave now, before he took it into his head to kill her.

  Halya looked around her elegant room, and at the rows of elaborate gowns that had been sewn for her when Ivan claimed her for his next wife. Every jewel imaginable had been added to her coffers to enhance her beauty. Anything she fancied was given to her upon a simple request. Can I give up all this richness? she wondered, looking around at the magnificent tapestries that adorned the walls, and the thick, colorful carpets that covered the marble floor. The elaborately brocaded silken drapery on the high windows and bed were such as she had imagined existed only in fairy tales. Coffers for her rings, pendants, and bracelets rested on finely made tables. All the boxes were of solid gold and lined with rich, thick velvet. Sometimes, when Halya had nothing else to do, she amused herself by the hour playing with the gems, lining them up on the bed. They were hers for her willingness to do whatever Ivan asked. When she left she would take them with her—nothing else, just the gems. Jewels could buy anything and were an acceptable bribe when one was needed. They had been earned by the use of her body. Yes, they belonged to her, and she would never part with them.

  Halya left the bed and stood on a small carved stool to peer out the small window. Dusk. She hated this time of day, for as night fell Ivan began to grow restless and make demands on her. His day at an end, and his belly satisfied, he would begin to think of the ache in his loins. A bellow would go up, heard
all over the palace, and within minutes two of his trusted guards would be at her door, informing her that the Czar demanded her presence in his chambers. Please, not tonight! she prayed silently. Please, not tonight!

  Her slender shoulders shook and heaved with her unchecked sobs as she stepped down from the easement. In her heart she knew there wouldn’t be a reprieve for her this evening, as it had been over ten days since he had summoned her to his rooms. She didn’t know which was worse, the acts she was forced to perform or the dread of anticipation.

  Shortly after sunset, the moment she dreaded arrived. A knock sounded on her door. “The Czar desires your company this evening,” a guard said imperiously.

  The moment the door closed, Halya threw the bolt and tore through her room, plucking first at one gown and then another from the deep recesses of the wardrobe. Finally she settled on a sea-green silk, cut low over her breasts, adding a string of emeralds around her neck as she preened before the glass. She looked beautiful and Ivan would appreciate her, she was sure of it. Carefully, Halya arranged her hair into deep swirls, allowing one long curl to drape her shoulder. When she remembered how Ivan liked to wind his fingers around the curl and force her head down between his legs, she shuddered. Tossing the lock of hair over her shoulder, she gagged and swore never to do that again, never, never again! After tonight she would do as she saw fit, and would answer to no one. She would start a new life, but only after she had found out about Yuri.

  Slowly she walked to Ivan’s bedchamber. Inside the room, she found him completely nude, dancing obscenely in the center of a ring of naked women. She gasped at the sight, afraid to make a sound.

  “Would you care to join us, Halya?” He drooled as his grotesque body was eagerly caressed by the laughing females.

  “Perhaps another time, dear Ivan,” she said hesitatingly. She prayed that he would not ask her to disrobe and perform humiliating acts in front of the other women.

  “Yes, another time,” he said threateningly. “I have other plans for you tonight.” A sadistic sneer formed on his twisted mouth as his mad, glazed eyes rolled in his head. Halya trembled at his words.

  With a vague wave of his bejeweled fingers, the women were gone. Gathering a robe around him, he picked up a rolled parchment from a nearby table. “I have news for you of your brother, Yuri.” An evil grin quivered on his lips, the madness still lingering in his eyes. “I have word of the hero you call your brother, the boy I called a man. You were right—he was a boy. I must tell you the results of his journey.”

  Ivan played with Halya, watching her every expression, delighting in the intensity of her anticipation. “This message has been in my bedchamber for several days now . . . no, not several days, but two weeks . . . no, a month. Yes, that seems more like it. A month ago my personal courier brought this missive to me.” Ivan waved the crackly parchment in her face, taunting her with its contents.

  Desperately trying to control herself, Halya asked calmly, “Has my brother served you well, my Czar?”

  A roar of mad laughter split the tense air, sending icy shivers down Halya’s spine. “Oh, yes, my lovely one, he has served me well.” Knowing this was the moment to inflict the most pain, Ivan seized it. “He served me so well that he died for me.” The twisted mouth in his demented face spewed forth an evil, demonic laugh, wrought from the center of the earth.

  Halya fell back in shock at the sight of Ivan’s face and the sound that emanated from it. A moment later she lay faint on the floor.

  The sight of her body, collapsed, threw the Czar into a dance of delight, and another heinous laugh gurgled out of his throat. Sitting down beside the princess, he stared at her unconscious form. A variety of noises and movements befell him, as though he were possessed by a demon.

  Halya stirred. She sat up, supporting herself on one arm, and beheld the transformed face of Ivan before her. Controlling her instinct to run, she fought the urge to vomit. Never had she seen such madness as that which played on the face of Ivan. Trembling fearfully, she rose to her feet.

  “Go to your room now and change for my banquet. Within minutes I want you at my side in the common hall. I want everyone to see my whore sitting next to me.”

  Halya flew from the room, relieved to be away from him. Running through the hallways, she sobbed uncontrollably as she thought of Yuri. Inside her chamber, she slammed the door and cried out with anguish, “Yuri, oh, Yuri! My brother dead! How? Why? Now I have no one!” she cried brokenheartedly, collapsing on her bed.

  A knock at her door made her remember Ivan’s order. “My princess, Ivan is calling for you, you must come!” her maid begged, running into the room.

  “Quickly, help me change my gown,” Halya said, motioning the girl to hurry. “Fetch me the black dress and slippers. Tonight is a sad night, and black fits my mood.” She felt dead, drained of all emotion, detached. Ivan would not bother her this night. A numbness settled in her, freeing her from everything but thoughts of Yuri and her hatred of the Czar. Dressed, she walked down the long corridors to the hall, vowing Ivan would find his death at her hands.

  When Halya’s escorts seated her next to Ivan, she was stunned to see an unkempt, filthy man with a curled mustache sitting in the place of honor, on the Czar’s left. Her eyes widened at this strange behavior. It could only mean that Ivan was up to some dastardly thing that would bring harm to someone. Dear God, she prayed, please don’t let it be me. She forced a bright smile and spoke lovingly to Ivan, who looked at her as though he had never seen her before. Her stomach churned as she watched him pick at a stray thread on his elaborate crimson robe. The thread seemed to annoy him. Unexpectedly, he ordered one of the guards, standing behind his throne, to cut the sleeve from the robe immediately. The guard blinked, grasped a long-handled knife, and slit the rich fabric from shoulder to wrist. Ivan took the sleeve and tied it around the head of the man seated next to him. He laughed and sat back in his high gold throne, the saliva dribbling down his chin. The boyars sat mesmerized at his lack of manners and lowered their eyes to the gold plates in front of them. A few of the women smiled at his wicked display, immediately sobering at a well-placed kick under the table by a husband.

  The man at Ivan’s left felt embarrassed and confused, for he knew he was the object of ridicule, but he was powerless to do anything about it. He suffered in silence, the offensive sleeve of scarlet tied rakishly to his head. He reached down and picked up a piece of meat, intent on bringing it to his mouth.

  Ivan slapped the meat from his hand and stared at him. “Were you born in a stable, sir? I eat first, to be sure the food isn’t poisoned. After I have eaten, the boyars eat, and then you may, if there is anything left. I’m not ready to dine yet, so you’ll have to wait until I give you permission. I may not sup at all this night. I see nothing on the table that pleases me,” he said petulantly.

  Halya watched nervously. No one ate, no one made a motion that could in any way be misconstrued by the Czar. When he said nothing tempted him, then nothing should tempt them. If there was one among them who was starving, he would starve. Halya looked at her own plate and closed her eyes. She knew if her life depended on it she couldn’t eat.

  Suddenly Ivan stood up and bowed before his guests. “I called you all here today for a reason,” he announced. “I wish you to pay homage to this man,” he said, pointing to his left. “He’s here on a matter of business, business that could well mean that . . . Never mind, there’s not one among you that can be trusted with such important news. Rise,” he commanded, “and bow to my new envoy. Another day I’ll tell you his name and where he comes from.”

  “From the look of him, he came from the nearest pig trough,” came a low, muttered response.

  “Who is it that dares to speak when I’m talking, and dares to make such an offensive remark to my newly appointed envoy? Speak, or all of your heads will be severed. On the count of one, the man responsible had better step forward. One!”

  Four boyars immediately stood and pushed fo
rward a rotund man who was trying to pull away, his hand reaching for his wife.

  “Remove his head and place it in the middle of the floor,” Ivan ordered. “I’m hungry now, I think I’ll have some meat.” He stretched his bare arm toward a heaping platter of lamb and withdrew a large chunk. His eyes focused on his bare arm, then moved to his new envoy’s head and the sleeve that was tied around it. He ripped it from the envoy’s head and stuck his arm into it. When the heavy silk slipped to his wrist in a bunch, he frowned and chewed on his meat. The envoy sat stunned, as did Halya, who feared her deep breathing would be the subject of Ivan’s next attack.

  The large room was silent as a guard walked slowly to the center of the hall, a large domed platter in his hands. Quickly he set the platter down and stood back to await further orders. Ivan continued to chew, his vision cut off by the assembled boyars at various tables. “Is it ready?” he called, stretching his neck.

  “Yes, my Czar, it is ready,” the man replied.

  “Good. Remove the cover and let us feast our eyes. Did he bleed much?” he asked casually.

  The guard knew the expected response by heart. “Like a pig, my Czar,” he said, as he lifted the lid and exposed the severed head. Gasps rang out through the hall.

  “You may leave,” Ivan said imperiously.

  The new envoy turned in his chair and closed his eyes. Halya clamped her teeth together and forced her hands to remain still in her lap. What would he do next?

  Without warning, Ivan stood up and waved his arms, the fallen sleeve dangling over his long, thin fingers. “The dinner is over! Place your tax monies in the basket with your names and lot numbers. And no cheating,” he said, wagging his finger playfully in the air. “Take the food away,” he ordered the servants. “They don’t deserve fine food served on my priceless plates. Send it all to my quarters and I’ll feast by myself.”