Chapter Seventeen
Tatiana Nikolaevna, Empress of all the Russias.
Imperial House, Tobolsk
“Natalya.” Tatiana looked up from her correspondence as the young girl who’d become her close friend and confidante entered the room.
Natalya was a pretty girl, though still a bit thin, and one who’d been through more female-specific atrocities than any young girl in a fairer world would ever have experienced. Coming from minor nobility, she’d seen her parents, mother and father both, murdered in front of her by Bolsheviks. That same group of Bolsheviks had then turned her into a sex slave before trading her to the crew of a smuggler for some cheap rotgut.
She’d done as much as, or perhaps more than, anyone for the rescue of the three remaining members of the Royal Family, from saving the group sent to pinpoint their location for a rescue, to spying out the exact floor plan of their Tobolsk prison. And every step of that had been at the risk of her own life.
Tatiana had come to love her as another sister, not least because, after all that suffering, she remained whole and clean inside.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Natalya said, dipping into a curtsey. Tatiana exhaled audibly through her nose, but allowed no other sign of her impatience to show as her friend straightened up with an impish smile.
“You know I want you to call me Tatiana when we’re alone.”
“And you know that I will, once I’ve greeted you properly at least once,” Natalya fired back. “I’m sorry I didn’t come right away, but your message said it wasn’t urgent and I needed to finish some things.”
Tatiana waved a hand to dismiss the apology and pointed to the chair next to her. She sat at a large table in front of a wide window that looked out on the snow-covered landscape and provided plenty of natural light. Letters and reports lay stacked in neat piles all around her, along with a bottle of ink and one of the precious fountain pens they’d been able to keep in good repair.
“It’s fine,” Tatiana said. “But please come sit. I need your advice.”
“Of course.” Natalya smoothed her day dress and sat on the edge of the chair. She didn’t lean forward to look at the papers in front of Tatiana, but simply folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Tatiana let out a sigh.
“So. I have been informed that I must secure the succession. What are your thoughts?”
Natalya’s eyebrows shot up. “On the succession? I quite agree. You must secure it as soon as possible.”
“Obviously I must, minx. The question is, how?”
“That is the obvious part, I should think,” Natalya allowed herself a smile. “You must marry and have children. I rather think General Kostyshakov might—”
“Natalya. Stop.” Tatiana’s voice cracked with a bit more harshness than she intended, so she hurried to continue before Natalya’s infernally keen mind could fixate on why. “We are not talking of him. That isn’t what I mean, and you are well aware of it. If I marry, it must be for the political gain of Russia, and that cannot happen until this war is won. No, I’m talking about in the meantime. Should something happen to me—”
“—Such as, for instance, if you were hurt or killed while serving as part of an artillery battery?” Natalya’s sweet tone did nothing to hide the barbs of her question. She’d made it very plain that she disapproved of Tatiana’s actions in the recent battle.
“Yes. For instance,” Tatiana said. She took the jab, but her tone held a warning. She was still dealing with the fallout of her actions, and she wasn’t about to rehash her decisions now. “I must put some provision in place.”
“Well, your sisters come most immediately to mind. Though I suppose we could find you a cousin or two if needed.”
“It must be one of my sisters,” Tatiana said. “If I am hanging my legitimacy on the fact that I’m the eldest surviving child of the Tsar, then I cannot in good conscience pass either of them over without reason . . . and therein lies the problem.”
“Why?” Natalya asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. Tatiana suddenly realized that her clever handmaid very likely knew exactly what she was about to say. But she knew that articulating her thoughts would help Tatiana come to a decision . . . and so she let her sovereign speak first, like a wise courtier.
“Maria,” Tatiana said slowly, dropping her voice down. “She is the next eldest but . . . I worry for her. She cries, every night, for Mama and Papa. I miss them too—of course I do! And Olga and little Alexei. It’s like an ache in my chest that never really goes away . . . but I cannot afford to fall into tears every night. A Tsarina has too much to do. And truth be told, the way she speaks of our parents leads me to believe that she is almost . . . canonizing them, in a way. In her mind. The other day, she questioned me quite sharply when I mentioned changing a policy that my father put into place. It was a nothing policy . . . something silly about etiquette. Not even the kind of thing we can reasonably support in this environment, and yet she acted mortally offended that I would even think to tamper with what she termed ‘his legacy.’” Tatiana snorted and pressed her lips together, then turned and looked out the window as a formation of her troops marched by, singing, on the road that led past her front door.
“This war is his legacy,” she said, speaking lowly enough that Natalya might not even have been able to hear her. “The unrest, the violence, the Reds . . . all of it. He might have prevented it, had he been a better ruler. If Maria cannot see that, then she cannot be my heir.”
She turned back to meet her handmaid’s gaze. Natalya smiled gently, her eyes warm. “So, then it must be Anastasia.”
“Yes,” Tatiana said. “Though she is a whole host of other problems. I do not see how anyone can have gone through what we’ve gone through and still have such immaturity about them.”
“Everyone’s ordeal is different,” Natalya said, her voice going hard. Tatiana glanced up at her, suddenly remembering that Natalya was even younger than Tatiana’s youngest sister. “Anastasia will grow up because she must. We all do.”
“I have already lost my parents, my brother, and one of my sisters. I cannot lose another by passing her over for the succession. I will if I must, for the good of Russia, but . . .” Tatiana broke off.
Natalya reached out and covered her empress’s hand with her own. “I quite understand,” she said, her voice gentle. “You must protect her, but you do not want to alienate her.”
“Yes!” Tatiana flipped her hand over and squeezed Natalya’s fingers in gratitude. “That is exactly it.”
Natalya nodded, and inhaled slowly through her nose. “Well,” she said slowly. “She is a Grand Duchess of Russia. What if she were to marry?”
Tatiana blinked. Enough people had begun dropping pointed hints about her marriage that she hadn’t really even thought about the prospect of her sisters’ nuptials.
“A political alliance?” Tatiana said slowly, almost tasting the words. “One that takes her out of the succession, but ties another powerful family to our cause . . .” Then she blinked again and straightened as an idea struck into her brain and ran down her spine like lightning. “Natalya,” she gasped, “I have it! Look at this!”
Tatiana reached for first one, then another of the piles in front of her. She rifled through it until she found the letter she wanted, and shoved it at Natalya, making the paper rattle.
Natalya took the page, her eyes quickly scanning the letter. It wasn’t long, after all.
“What a pompous old man,” she said quietly. “Meaning no disrespect to your royal cousin, of course, Tatiana.”
“No, no, the King of Great Britain is a pompous old man,” Tatiana said, waving away her friend’s apology. “As if I would run to him while I’ve a war to fight! But that’s not important. What is important is the invitation. And he’s right about one thing. He does have the best Navy in the world . . . and a bit of a wastrel son. I’d wager that Cousin George might be keen to get Cousin David settled down . . . and who better to be Princess of Wales than an Imperial Grand Duchess of Russia?”
“Do you think he would be persuaded to help us in the war effort?”
“He’ll be cagey about it, but there is a possibility. And even if Maria isn’t suitable to be Tsarina, she is a dedicated royalist who hates the Reds as much as any of us. She’ll be persuasive.”
“So you will send Maria to Britain to marry the Prince of Wales?”
“Well,” Tatiana said, pursing her lips. “Not explicitly. In fact, I think that would be a mistake. Maria wouldn’t enjoy feeling managed like that. But our grandmother was born in Britain . . . perhaps I can send both Maria and Anastasia, too. It would certainly be safer than keeping them here, and Grandmama is still at risk down in Crimea.”
She looked down at the letter, and then up at Natalya with a grin. “Yes, Grandmama must be my ally in this, I think. She will understand how to best hint that Maria and David make a match of it, and Maria can have no better guide . . . Yes. That is what we will do. I must write to Cousin George and Grandmama immediately.”
“What about Anastasia?” Natalya glanced at the door through which the youngest sister often came in her role as Tatiana’s secretary.
“I will think on that a little more. For now, this is enough to get started. Thank you, Natalya.”
Natalya pushed her chair back and stood up, letting out a little laugh. “For what, your Imperial Majesty? I did very little.”
“You did exactly what I needed, my friend. Except for breaking my rule about using my name when we’re alone!”
“After I’ve properly greeted you once.”
“Well, you just used my title for the second time, but I won’t hold it against you.” Tatiana grinned up at the girl who’d become her closest friend. “I will see you later for dinner?”
“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it.”