“I’ll take that as confirmation,” Yuliana said. “I honestly don’t know how all you noblemen think you’re getting away with this talk, as if the tsar were unaware. My father knew everything you were up to. But he let you continue on, as long as you were merely spouting high principles and hot air among the aristocracy.
“But now my sources tell me you’ve moved on to agitating the common soldiers. You mean to take the idea of a constitutional monarchy out of your dinner parties and into the barracks, and eventually, this palace and the empire. You intend to block my brother from traveling to Moscow for his coronation next month.” She purposely did not mention that she knew of their actual plans to stage a coup tomorrow. It was like chess. One did not reveal all of one’s moves.
Trubetskoy nearly choked on the walnut in his mouth. He whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and coughed into it, then swallowed and hastily drank some tea.
“You do realize, Colonel, that that would be treason? It would be such a shame if a man such as yourself—descended from a noble line with a proud history of defending the empire—were to lose his head.”
“I—I . . . The death penalty was abolished in Russia.”
“Oh, was it?” Yuliana said, even though she knew perfectly well that it had been. “Well, new leadership, new rules. There was supposed to be a hanging the other day, did you hear? That’s what happens to those who act against the tsardom.”
Trubetskoy braced himself on the edge of the table. “Your Imperial Highness, I promise you, whatever you’ve heard about me, it isn’t true.”
Yuliana took a dainty bite of her tartine. She sipped on her tea. She dabbed her mouth with a cloth napkin, folded it, and set it precisely back in its place. “What would your lovely wife, Ekaterina Laval, do if you were to be executed? Or even if the tsesarevich were lenient and merely sentenced you to katorga in the Siberian labor camps for the rest of your life? Would she be able to live without the riches to which she is accustomed? Would she accompany you to the penal colonies and watch you toil in shackles in the mines?”
Trubetskoy cleared his throat. “Again, I insist that whatever you imagine you’ve heard, it is not true. And if it were, my words and actions would be mine alone. Ekaterina is a complete innocent.”
Yuliana folded her hands before her. “Well, if you’ve done nothing wrong, there is nothing to fear. But, Colonel, if you leave here today understanding only one thing, let it be this: my brother will be tsar. If you attempt to rise against him, you will fail, and those involved—including all associated with them, through marriage or otherwise—will be found guilty of high treason. Do I make myself clear?”
He remained steady. “As clear as Russia is great, Your Imperial Highness.”
“Excellent. I’m so glad we could have this little chat. You may go now.”
Trubetskoy rose from his chair, bowed, and retreated from the room.
When he was gone, Yuliana stabbed at a jam tart. Trubetskoy’s insistence on his innocence hadn’t faltered when she’d mentioned his wife. He hadn’t even shuddered or given a hint that Yuliana had intimidated him. The afternoon hadn’t gone quite as she wanted.
Yuliana twisted her fork. The tart crumbled beneath it.
She could only hope that beneath his calm exterior, Trubetskoy had been frightened. And that his fear would impact the Decembrists’ plans against the throne.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Vika sat at the kitchen table in her cottage, absentmindedly stirring a bowl of borscht as she contemplated the revolt to come.
Someone tapped at her door.
She frowned and pushed back from the table. Who would visit her here? The knock sounded too timid to be Ludmila.
Vika opened the front door, and snow blew in from the darkness, along with a windswept Renata.
“I’m sorry to come unannounced,” Renata said. She looked around at the entry and began to step backward into the snow again. “And I didn’t mean to barge in. It was the wind—”
“It’s all right.” Vika pulled Renata into the entry and locked the winter out. “Let me take your coat.”
Renata stood as if still frozen from the snow.
“Shall I charm it off you?” Vika asked. Sparks rushed to her fingertips. She’d been deprived for what had felt like an eternity—although it had actually been less than a week—such that the promise of even such a simple enchantment made her entire body hum.
“I thought the tsesarevich forbade you to use magic?”
Vika smothered the smile that had crept to her lips. She’d always liked Renata, but then again, if forced to choose, she knew Renata would pick Nikolai. “Pasha and I have an understanding,” Vika said carefully.
Renata hesitated but then didn’t answer. She shrugged off her coat and let Vika hang it on a hook by the door.
“I—I came to ask you for tea.”
Vika narrowed her eyes. “Oh, really? They don’t have tea in Saint Petersburg?”
“I mean, I came to show you something. It’s about Nikolai, in a way. And tea leaves.”
Vika scrutinized her again. But it was just Renata, with her wide, innocent eyes and even more innocent braids. There was not a whisper of guile within her.
“All right. This way.” Vika led Renata into her kitchen. She cleared away the uneaten bowl of borscht and grabbed two cups from the cabinet. Her teapot was already heating on top of the samovar, as Vika had intended to brew tea for herself earlier (except that she had forgotten, she’d been so lost in stirring her soup).
She fetched her strainer and was just about to pour zavarka—the dark tea concentrate in the pot—into the cups when Renata stepped forward and said, “Wait.”
“You don’t want tea?” Vika asked.
“I do. But please don’t strain out the leaves.”
Vika nodded and set her strainer down. She poured some zavarka (with the leaves) into each cup and diluted it with hot water from the samovar. “Please have a seat.”
The girls settled themselves at the kitchen table—it didn’t escape Vika that Renata waited until Vika was seated before she herself sat down—and cradled their cups in their hands. Steam spiraled off the surface.
“So . . . what is it you wanted to show me?”
Renata took several sips. “I—I can move the tea.”
“What do you mean?”
Renata drank until there was only a quarter of the tea left. “Let me show you.”
She stared at her cup. Nothing happened at first. But then ripples fanned out from the center of the liquid, and the leaves inside it began to quiver, subtly floating toward the edges, as if there were a current in the tea.
“Heavens,” Vika whispered.
Renata blinked. The tea stopped moving.
“I interrupted your concentration,” Vika said. “Forgive me. Continue, please.”
Renata gritted her teeth and stared again at her cup. The leaves quivered, then continued to drift. They stopped close to their original place, but in an entirely different pattern.
“You can control the leaves.” Vika shook her head, still astonished by what she’d just witnessed. “But how?”
Renata smoothed a wrinkle in the table runner. It was one Ludmila had knit for Vika and Sergei ages ago. She kept going over the same spot, even though it was already smoothed down.