The Gathering Storm

The Lenten fast was upon us, which meant no meat during the week. Our days and nights were quiet, spent reading or doing needlework. Maman even gave up her tarot cards for forty days and forty nights. Princess Alix and her father and brother returned to Wulfgarten. The Montenegrins left for Cetinje, with Prince Danilo promising to return before Easter.



"It is only for a little while, my love," he said. "You must write me every day." I did no such thing, and I burned all the letters he sent me.



With my royal wedding back on, our trip to Biarritz was, of course, postponed. Maman now made plans for us to journey to Cetinje in the summer. She was eager to meet the King and Queen of Montenegro.



Once a week I went with Maman to the hospital to visit with the sick and to the Oldenburg Infant Asylum to bring food and clothing to the orphans.



Papa was still busy with the planning of his institute of experimental medicine. He had been corresponding with several leading scientists across Europe for their suggestions. The building of the institute had already begun. Papa hoped it would be completed within two years. In the meantime, he was collecting a massive medical library, which he kept in his own library at Betskoi House. I'd heard no word from either Paris or Zurich, but it was just as well, I told myself. A crown princess could not become a doctor. I continued to study the medical journals and textbooks, soaking in the knowledge, all the same.



On a cold and dismal day in March, we were visiting the hospital when Dr. Kruglevski received another patient with his throat ripped out. The smell of the blood was horrible.



Maman would have swooned and fall en to the floor if the head nurse had not caught her and settled her down onto an empty cot nearby. I fanned her while another nurse brought her a cup of tea.



The nurses gave Maman a cool wet rag for her forehead, and I went to see the body. "Do you think it was an animal?" one of the nurses was asking. She crossed herself and prayed for the poor man's soul.



Dr. Kruglevski shook his head. "No man could do something this hideous," he said. There was a hole in the victim's neck bigger than my hand. The jugular had been shredded and mangled. The doctor pulled me back. "Don't look, my dear. I wouldn't want you to have nightmares."



"But a doctor must be objective," I said. "And truly, it doesn't bother me much." Not anymore, at least. I realized with shock that I sounded like a coldhearted monster myself. Perhaps that was what I'd been all along. Just another monster.



"Seeing men injured by war or disease is one thing," Dr. Kruglevski said.



"Cold-blooded, senseless violence like this disturbs even an old man like me, Duchess." He patted me kindly on the shoulder. He pulled a silver flask out of his pocket and took a long drink.



The dead man's hand was clenched shut with rigor mortis. I could see something shiny hidden in his fingers. I took a handkerchief and wiped away some of the blood and tried to pry his hand open. His fingers were cold and already a bluish gray.



"Duchess, what are you doing?" the doctor asked.



"He's holding something. He must have struggled with his attacker." I gently opened his fingers and pulled the shiny object out, holding it to the light. It was a button. From a military jacket.



"Mon Dieu." The doctor frowned. He took the button from my hand and held it against the buttons on the man's torn coat. It was a perfect match, yet none of the man's buttons were missing. There was some sort of crest on the button. The shape of a Maltese cross.



I sighed sadly. Another Knight. "Do you know who the victim is?" I asked.



"No, but I am sure another member of the Order can make an identification."



"Will you send for the commander?"



"Yes." He asked the nurse to send a message to Vorontsov Palace requesting General Tcherevine's presence for the identification of the body. He took another long drink from his silver flask. I'd never seen the doctor look so tired and old before. It appeared as if he hadn't slept in days.



"Is there anything I can do for you, Doctor?" I asked. "Can I get you a cup of tea? Or something to eat?"



He shook his head and smiled. "I thank you, but no. And I hope you are getting a good glimpse at the unglamorous side of being a physician. It is not all glory and praise for medical breakthroughs."



"Of course. This is where the real heroism is seen," I said quietly. I laid a hand on the doctor's shoulder before leaving him to check on my mother.



I sat with her until General Tcherevine arrived with several of his officers.



Petya was with him. "Mother?" he said, rushing to her side.



"She's fine," I told him. "We were here when they brought the young man in, and she swooned. She should be feeling well enough to ride home soon."



"When will this nightmare end?" Maman asked, starting to grow hysterical again. I gave her my handkerchief.



Petya and I both followed the general to the exam room, where the dead soldier lay. I heard my brother draw in a sharp breath. I turned and grabbed his arm, squeezing his hand. "Who is it?" I whispered.



"Troubetsky," he whispered back. "He and I have served together since we first started at the Corps."



"Do you think Demidov killed him?" I whispered, not wanting to disturb the general. He was covering the dead soldier with a clean white sheet.



His grandfather's body was one of those that had disappeared from its tomb several weeks earlier.



Petya shrugged with an uneasy frown. "Why is this happening? Some of the men are saying the Order is cursed."



I wished I could tell him. But it would be safer if he did not know.



The general glanced at my brother, who quickly snapped to attention.



"Commander Oldenburg, I want you to place your troops here in the hospital to guard this man's body."



"Yes, sir." He efficiently dispatched two men to guard the front door of the hospital and two to patrol the grounds. Once everything was settled, he returned to Maman's bedside. "Are you feeling better? Ready to go home?" he asked her.



"Of course, dear." She enjoyed having everyone making a fuss over her, and it was during times like this that I suspected he was her favorite child.



He always did what she expected of him. Unlike me.



Petya helped me and Maman into the carriage and refused to let the driver take us home alone. I was about to tell him everything I knew, but as soon as the carriage took off, my brother scowled at me.



"What on earth do you think you were doing back there?"



"What do you mean?" I asked innocently, glancing at Maman, who was quietly sniffling in her handkerchief.



My brother's eyes narrowed. "You were meddling."



"I was only trying to help. Does anyone really know what is going on?" I leaned closer to him and lowered my voice. "Someone, or something, is raising an army of undead soldiers to attack the other members of the Order. Your knights are destroying each other. Does your general have a plan to stop this?"



Petya frowned and stared out the carriage window. "No. We do not know how to stop them."



I sat back, brooding. Who would know how to stop them? I knew there was nothing in A Necromancer's Companion that could help. After I'd discovered the sheult spell with Dariya, curiosity had gotten the better of me. I had read the book with the strange Egyptian markings several times, looking for a way to help the count or a way to protect the remaining members of the Order. I had found nothing useful.



I reached over and covered my brother's hand with my own. "Please be careful, Petya."



He said nothing, but nodded. Maman sobbed softly.



That night the nightmares returned, more vivid and more horrible than before. Fires and women screaming. Young men dying. And so much blood.