The Tsarina's Legacy Read Free Page A

with perspiration, worked in and out of fists. He had assumed his audience with Zubov merely a formality to make Catherine feel she had taken care with her favorite’s pride. He had expected this boy to fuss a bit but ultimately put his stamp of approval on the project, as all of Catherine’s other favorites would have done, to curry favor. “The empress’s Muslim subjects worship one God, as do we.”
    â€œBut we have more pressing problems now, what with England rattling a sword in our direction and trying to drive us out of the Black Sea. Your prize, Prince. Should we not ready our forces to teach the dolts a lesson?”
    Catherine isn’t foolish enough to make needless war, you pretentious twit. “A gesture of goodwill seems all the more appropriate, then,” Grisha said. “Surely we don’t want the English seducing our old Muslim adversaries with pretty words and promises of petty glory.”
    Zubov unleashed a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Catherine said I should listen to your plea, so I suppose I don’t have a choice in the matter. She has a soft spot for old friends. It’s one of her many charms.” He flapped his hands again, ruffles flopping at his wrists, displacing the monkey. The creature landed awkwardly on the floor but scrambled to his feet quickly. “All the rest of you, go!” Zubov barked. “The prince and I require privacy.”
    The courtiers shuffled past Grisha to get to the door. Grisha straightened his aching back and sucked in the loose folds of his stomach as best he could manage, ignoring the curious stares as the men strode past. Most of them bowed respectfully in his direction, while others gave him a wide berth, as though fearing contamination.
    He didn’t move until the last of them, the elderly brigadier, shut the heavy door behind him. Only then did Grisha approach Zubov, the scroll with the plans for the mosque still safely tucked against his side. “The plan is visionary in scope. I think it will please the empress.”
    â€œDoubtful.” Zubov rose to his feet. “I sometimes fear for Catherine’s emotional state. The poor dear has grown so flustered. The last thing she needs is your petty distractions.”
    Grisha wanted to grab Zubov by the throat and knock his front teeth out. But Catherine wouldn’t care to see her current favorite enter the boudoir with his pretty face maimed. Instead he forced his features into a serene expression, preparing to play to the boy’s ego. “I would not have troubled you with a whim, Platon Alexandrovich.”
    â€œI still fail to understand the point of a mosque. You are a conquering hero, Prince. We were at war with these people. You did what needed to be done.”
    A voice in his head screamed, fueled by the intense adrenaline of battle, the war cry to Allah as the enemy soldiers rushed toward his men, no matter how futile their efforts. Grisha’s voice rose, banishing the bloodthirsty battle cries from his memory. “I am here at the empress’s behest. She trusts your opinion on this matter.”
    â€œThen I suppose I should at least see this foolishness.” He extended his hand. “May I?”
    Silently, Grisha handed over the scroll.
    Zubov clicked his teeth and unrolled the thin goatskin parchment. He scrunched his black eyebrows together but scarcely looked at the design. Instead, he scrutinized the paper, fingering it and frowning. “What is this? Papyrus? Are you planning to construct pyramids?”
    Grisha had commissioned an elderly Tatar to choose the architect himself. “I consulted with a cleric familiar with the needs of the people of this faith.”
    â€œA Mohammedan! Oh, that’s rich.”
    Grisha struggled to keep his voice even. “Who else would design a mosque?”
    â€œI understand your whims were given free rein in the imperial treasury in the past, but you’ve been away too long.