The Unfailing Light Read Free Page A

Massandra, for the estate was very near to our villa, but we would have to walk across the beautifully cultivated vineyards to reach the caves. The servants had packed two large picnic baskets for us. I could smell the freshly baked baklava that had been wrapped up for later.
    Maman and Aunt Zina seated themselves in the carriageseat across from us. “What a glorious morning!” my aunt said. She smiled like a cat that had gotten into the cream.
    Maman, however, looked a bit weak. “How did your séance go?” I asked with concern.
    “It was so exciting!” the countess said, ignoring the fact that I’d addressed my mother. “We made contact with a servant of Empress Yelizaveta Petrovna! He shared the most delightful recipe for a raspberry sorbet.”
    “What a comfort to know that spiritism has such practical uses,” I murmured. Dariya poked me in the arm and stifled a giggle. “Maman, are you feeling all right?” I asked, turning toward her. She seemed paler than usual.
    My mother forced a laugh. “Of course, dear. It is just unbearably early for me. I’m not used to being out of bed before noon, you know.”
    But it was more than that. The cold light that shimmered around her, the light that only a necromancer can see, looked different this morning. Not brighter or dimmer necessarily, merely different. A person’s cold light grows brighter the closer one is to death. A necromancer uses her own cold light to manipulate life and death, just as she can manipulate another person’s cold light. I was still learning how dangerous my powers could be. I did not understand what the change to my mother’s cold light meant, but I suspected it was related to the previous night’s séance. Had one of the ghosts touched Maman?
    Our carriage ride was pleasant, as the dirt road took us high into the hills where we could look down at the harbor. The Crimean Peninsula was very rocky, and full of mountains dotted with caves. The narrow strip of beach along thesoutheastern coast was known as the Riviera of Russia, and this was where all the palaces and dachas belonging to the nobility glittered like gems in the sun.
    The carriage stopped at the gates of Massandra and we climbed out, taking our picnic baskets. Maman and Aunt Zina carried their parasols. It would not be a long hike, but I was thankful for the fresh air.
    I hurried ahead to walk with Dariya. She was swinging her picnic basket and humming an aria from the opera
Iphigenia
. I wished we’d had more time to spend at the ruins in Khersones. We still planned to perform the Greek play before our holiday in the Crimea ended.
    As we walked down the shady path leading to the caves, we came to a bridge that crossed a crystal clear stream. We could hear voices on the other side of the bridge.
    “Georgi! No!” There was a splash, and then a young girl shrieked with laughter.
    My heart pounded in my throat as I recognized the voice.
    Dariya looked at me and shrugged. “The imperial family?”
    It was their estate, even if they were staying at Livadia while Massandra Palace was being finished.
    “Perhaps we should have chosen another day,” I said, starting to turn around.
    “Katerina Alexandrovna!” A pleased young female voice stopped me. The tsar’s eldest daughter had already seen us. “And Dariya Yevgenievna! Georgi! Nicky! Look who it is!”
    Grand Duchess Xenia was dripping wet. Her older brothers behind her looked as if they’d been swimming as well.
    My skin felt as if it were on fire as George Alexandrovich’s gaze swept over me. His hair was wet; a lone, limp curl fellover his forehead and my fingers itched to push it back off his beautiful face. He eyed me warily. His siblings obviously did not know he had proposed to me less than a month ago. Or that I had refused him. And I hoped he would never tell them. What good could ever come of it?
    The eldest of the tsar’s sons, Grand Duke Nicholas Alexandrovich, smiled his shy smile and gave us a polite bow.