The Ice Swan by J’nell Ciesielski

The guests had dispersed home amid the last drops of wine and buzzing with gossip of the duchess and her unexpected paramour. Another revolution could have sprung and Svetlana would not have noticed as she sat on the settee in the library with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. The room had been a sanctuary when she’d first arrived with its overstuffed pillows and pages to pour through that recounted exploits of her new home, but she saw none of it now. Not even the blazing fire could stave off her chills, which had little to do with the formidable Scottish weather.

For his part Sergey appeared not the least concerned with the spectacle and ensuing fallout it caused as he recounted his tale.

“The Bolsheviks dragged me to one of the many buildings they had commandeered and threw me into the basement with the other loyalists they’d managed to capture that night you escaped.” He paced slowly in front of the large fireplace, the flames burning bright orange behind him to elongate his already lanky shadow. “When they weren’t interrogating me, I was beaten and starved. Brutal tactics by beasts.”

Sitting in a chair opposite Svetlana, Mama dabbed a lace hankie to her eyes. “What information could they possibly hope to gain from a gentleman?”

“I’m a known loyalist to the tsar, as is my family, Princess. It was not always information they were after. More often it was punishment for my allegiances.”

A tear slipped down Mama’s cheek. “Where is your family now? I cannot imagine your gentle mother and sister enduring such horror.”

Sergey dropped his eyes as if the agony could not allow him to look at another human being. “I do not know their fate, but I pray they are alive and well. I am only glad my father did not live long enough to see this. The Reds would have made an example of him.”

“As they did to you instead.”

“For months it was the same. Yelling, beatings, scraps of food to fight over. So many died. Then one night the guards came in taunting us and firing their pistols into the ceiling. They were celebrating the news of the imperial family’s execution. To add to their merrymaking they decided to kill us, too, so we could continue to serve their highnesses in the great beyond.”

Sergey paused and gripped the mantel. A knot bobbed in his throat. “They marched us to the edge of the city and forced us to dig our own graves before they shot us. I was hit in the arm and fell into the pit. They forced the village peasants to cover us with dirt, but one of them saw I was alive and saved me.”

“Oh, my poor brave boy.”

“Eventually I made it out of Russia and to Paris. I looked everywhere for you. Asked everyone I encountered.”

Mama sniffed. “Svetlana kept us hidden. She didn’t trust anyone to know who we were.”

“It was safer that way, Mama,” Marina said from her chair.

“Then on Armistice Day, I found you.” Sergey looked to Svetlana. Anguish rippled across his face. “It was a moment, but I saw you. Standing at the window with your hair shining silver in the morning light. I tried to get to you, but the crowd pushed me on. By the time I managed to break free I was blocks away.”

With a cry Mama lurched to the edge of her chair and stared accusingly at Svetlana. “Why did you not tell me you’d seen Sergey? How could you keep it to yourself?”

Having sat silent since they entered the library as the initial shock settled into acceptance that this was indeed happening and Sergey was standing before them, Svetlana roused herself to respond.

“At the time I didn’t know for certain. I rushed out the door to find you, but then the letter came informing us about Hugh.” She pushed away the memory of that awful telegram. “I thought if it had been you, you would return.”

Sergey nodded sympathetically. “I mapped my way back somehow, only to find two shadows stalking me.”

Marina gasped. “The Reds?”

“Whoever it was, I didn’t feel safe leading them straight to you, so I left and laid low for a time. When I finally returned to the address it was locked up tight. The neighbors said you’d sailed to Britain.”

“Where you’ve finally found us. As you promised.” Mama’s tearful voice cracked as if she were apologizing for their absence, as if their safety had been a secondary inconvenience.

“I would never break my promise to you.” Sergey’s eyes combed over Svetlana as if fitting the puzzle of her to the memory he’d held when they last parted.

She couldn’t help doing the same. He was leaner than before, like a reed shaved down to its sparest form. The hair and mouth and mannerisms were the same, but there was an edge to him now. The easygoing manner so finely tuned to parties and afternoons riding in drozhkies had coiled into a bound energy that vibrated just below the skin. Yet when she looked into his dark eyes, she saw the same young man who had come to play cards with her on Sunday afternoons, who had taken her ice skating when the freeze set in, and whom she might have married. But the revolution had changed things, had changed them. Could he see the differences in her as well?

Differences or not, it was a wonderful miracle to see him again. Alive and safe. A piece of her life returned.

“I can’t believe you’re really standing here.”

Sergey knelt in front of her and held her hands between his. “Believe it, kroshka. I told you I would find you and I have. The thought of returning to your side was all that kept me alive since we parted over a year ago.” His eyes glistened with fervor as he pressed his lips to her fingertips.

The library door slammed shut, startling them. Wynn stood there, his face held in shadow as the firelight dared not touch that far across the room.

“The guest chamber is being prepared.”

Svetlana withdrew her hands from Sergey’s and tucked them in her lap. First that kiss and now this. She’d done nothing to contribute to either, but shame filled her nonetheless.

Ever the courtly gentleman, Sergey rose and smoothed the front of his worn black jacket.

“Thank you. My sincerest apologies for placing a burden on you with no advance warning.”

“No trouble at all.” Wynn strolled to stand near the end of the settee. His expression freed itself from the darkened shadows, but what was revealed was nothing resembling lightness.

Svetlana dug her nails into her palms to keep from twisting the silk fabric of her skirt. The charity event had been a great success, but this night was going down as the most chaotic she’d ever experienced.

“Of course it’s no trouble when Sergey is a dear old friend of our family.” Mama beamed as if Sergey had hung the sun and stars. A belief she’d always attributed to him despite having her own son to dote upon. Then again, Nikolai always had more heart than polish. “If not for him, we never could have escaped Petrograd. We owe him everything.”

“As we do Wynn for all he’s done. If I had a glass, I would toast you both.” Svetlana smiled up at Wynn. “Sergey was telling us of his imprisonment and eventual escape from the Bolsheviks. It was him I saw that day in the crowd.” Armistice Day. The day of worldwide rejoicing. The day their lives had changed forever when that telegram arrived announcing Hugh’s death.

From the look on Wynn’s face, he remembered it all too well. Shifting his weight, he smoothed his expression to pleasant blandness once more.

“I’m amazed you were able to find the princesses in Paris. The war turned it from one of the most vibrant cities in the world to a pot of mass chaos.”

“It wasn’t easy, I grant you,” Sergey said.

“How did you find us?” Svetlana asked.

“I knew you probably wouldn’t be using your titles, so I made discreet inquiries that led me to the Russian part of Paris. Who knew such a thing existed? Seems I barely missed the influenza epidemic, which decimated our people, forced as they were to live like rats in basements.”

“The entire world has been affected. They’re saying the number of deceased victims may be greater than those lost during the war.” Svetlana’s throat constricted as she looked at Marina. “We had our own scare.”

Sergey’s hand flattened to his heart. “Dear sister. How glad I am that you survived. A true miracle.”

“Another blessing Wynn gave us,” Svetlana added.

Wynn’s lips cracked into a soft smile. “It was the attention her doting nurse gave her that saved her life.”

There it was again. That subtle look that passed between him and her like an exhale of breath. Soft, undetectable, yet laced with possibilities. What might have happened if they’d been able to continue their dance earlier? Would they finally have known what it was like to share a breath?

Sergey cleared his throat, drawing attention back to him, and resumed his recounting. “From a few of the survivors who remembered your descriptions, I was able to trace you to an Alexander Nevsky Cathedral where the priest said he’d married you in November. Imagine my surprise.”

His lips pinched beneath his black mustache. Longing and sadness mingled in his eyes as they lingered on Svetlana, hundreds of hours of memories spent together lost in them.

“I would be a liar to say I was not shocked and saddened at the news that your precious hand had slipped from mine, much as it did that day on the train platform, but I forced myself to overcome my own feelings and rejoice that you were alive. That is all that truly matters to me.”

The past held too many what-ifs and Sergey’s sudden appearance brought them all rushing back to the surface. A future she had once been destined to. She could no longer afford to mourn. Life had moved on.

With this new life came suspicion of the old one trailing her. “Do you recall the names of the people you spoke to?”

“Peasants mostly. I didn’t bother asking their names. Why do you ask?”

“I only wonder if it was some of the same people we lived with at the church.” Or a crooked club owner who sheltered the evilness of communism to his own advantage. “We left rather in a hurry.”

“So the priest informed me when he gave me your address.”

Wynn stepped closer, the dancing flames shadowing havoc across his impassible expression.

“We didn’t give the priest our address. Considering the name Dalsky is being hunted by the Bolsheviks, it was best to keep such information hidden.”

Sergey dipped a finger behind the folds of his necktie to his scratch at his neck. “Pardon me for misspeaking. What I meant was, the priest told me you were a physician at the hospital, so naturally I went there. One of your colleagues was able to send me in the correct direction, but as I was telling the ladies, my timing proved to be a stroke of bad luck, and I was forced to continue my journey to Britain. Once here, there was little difficulty in finding the Duke of Kilbride’s estate. I’m only sorry to have disturbed what appeared to be a remarkable evening.”

He tried to cover his pain, but the half-hearted smile fluttering across his mouth wasn’t an adequate mask. Guilt sliced through Svetlana. Once she might have shared a life with him. A marriage of companionship and understanding and comfort, which was more than most couples could expect. She might have tried for more, to love him, but she never would have fallen in love with him. Now friendship and refuge were all she could offer him. With Wynn, however, something wonderful stirred between them, something promising more than mere companionship.

“You must be exhausted from your journey,” she said, her words falling flat against the startling surprise of his arrival. “We’ll speak again tomorrow, but for now I’ll have you shown to your room.” She rose to ring the bell pull for Glasby, but Sergey waved her back down.

“I’m afraid there’s one last thing I must impart. My heart dreads the telling, but if there is anyone who should tell you, I hope you find comfort that it is from an old friend.” Eyeing them each in turn, he fidgeted with the buttons on his jacket. An unusual tic for one so confident as Sergey.

“On the night you escaped Petrograd, the White Army made a stand at Palace Square in front of the Winter Palace. The man I was imprisoned with was there when it happened. He told me what he saw. The soldiers fought bravely but were not enough against the Red Army. Those not killed in action were dragged to the river and executed. Colonel Dalsky and Nikolai among them.”

Mama screamed and wilted into her chair. Marina sobbed. Svetlana sat unable to move as the blinding force of devastation sank through her like a stone. In her heart she’d known. She’d tried desperately to hold on to bits of hope despite reconciling herself to never seeing her beloved father and brother again this side of eternity. Yet to hear her deepest fear spoken aloud was enough to flay open her raw heart.

A tear slid down her cheek. Then another. She dashed them away and tucked in the lashed strips of her heart to tend at a later time when she could allow the sorrow to drown her. Rising, she crossed to her mother and slipped her arms around her.

Mama rocked away with a wail. “Dead! I always knew it. Gone forever.”

“Mama, you must calm down.”

“I will rage if I wish! Just because you do not have the heart to mourn for love doesn’t mean I don’t.”

Svetlana bit back an angry retort as tears scalded her eyes. “Marina, help me get her to her chambers.”

Tears streaming down her young face, Marina took hold of their mother’s left arm while Svetlana took the right and together they hauled the sobbing woman from her chair.

Sergey hovered like a bird with wings unsure of its flight. “Can I do anything?”

Svetlana didn’t answer. She didn’t have the soundness of mind to think on what he could do. The edges of her mind blackened down to a single focal point of preservation. Get her mother upstairs, see to her family first, and then and only then could she crumble.

Turning she found Wynn standing next to her with arms open at his sides. As if he were waiting for her to find him. He took one look at her face and dropped his arms.

“Get her settled. I’ll bring laudanum.”

It was like wrestling a boneless cat up the stairs as it screeched and howled on each step. Once in her chamber, Mama flung herself onto the bed with a wail, clutching her cross necklace. Svetlana and Marina sat on either side of her, but their mother curled into a ball like a child and cried with great wracking sobs. They had to hold her down as Wynn administered the laudanum, Marina crying the entire time.

At last Mama’s sobs quieted to a pitiful sleep as she still clutched her cross. Silvery tracks of tears shone down her face and blotched her silk bodice. Svetlana pulled a coverlet over her mother before turning to gather Marina into her arms. Her sister’s fresh bout of tears soaked through the front of Svetlana’s dress. Helpless, Svetlana held her tight and murmured nonsense words of comfort that fell coldly across her own embattled soul.

Pressing her cheek to the top of Marina’s head, Svetlana found Wynn standing quietly at the foot of the bed. Solid, sure, unmoving. A tear trickled from her eye. Wynn moved toward her, his arms reaching out.

“Please don’t,” she whispered.

He stopped, expression pained, and dropped his arms for the second time that night when she needed him most. She couldn’t allow him to touch her. If he did, she would give in to the overwhelming tumult of sadness and splinter apart. She had no doubt his arms were strong enough to catch all of her dissolving pieces, but not now. For a short time longer, her pieces must remain intact to comfort what remained of her family.

He left, quietly shutting the door behind him. Svetlana hugged her sister tighter, and as Wynn’s footsteps faded away, a piece of her heart broke away and shattered.

*  *  *

Snow fell heavy from the sky, blotting out the weakened rays of sun creeping over the distant horizon. The white drifts thickened around the castle walls to muffle the early morning floor creaks and crackles of glass frosting over. Wynn stood outside Svetlana’s chamber with every thought centered on the woman within. His hand raised to knock.

“Please don’t,”she’d said.

His hand flattened soundlessly against the cold wood. She’d stood there with the fire behind her burning around her edges and her face cold as marble, a juxtaposition of raging pain and cool control as she upheld her loved ones drowning in grief. The pain of losing his own brother had ripped through him afresh. Would their family never be able to enjoy peace?

He wanted so badly to gather her into his arms and carry her sadness. To run his hand over her smooth hair and whisper that he had her. She’d ordered him to stay put, but he saw the forbidding plea for what it was. A shield on which she carried others to safety before allowing the tending of her own wounds. He saw the cuts on her heart and the sorrow wailing in her soul. When the time came, he would bind her back together.

He knocked softly on the door. When no answer came, he pushed carefully into her chamber so as not to disturb her if she’d returned and managed to fall asleep while he’d been downstairs in his study. The room was dark and cold, and the bed empty. She most likely remained at her mother’s bedside in the east wing of the castle. The opposite wing of the master and mistress chambers, and a wholly separate floor from the bachelor quarters, where he’d sequestered that Russian ex-lover, or childhood friend, or whoever he was supposed to be.

Wynn moved to the window and braced his hands on either side of the cold panes. The temperature bit into his palms and drew out bits of heated anger. The fact was Sergey had a past with Svetlana that at one time may have become a future together, but as far as Wynn could tell the man held no sway over her heart aside from what existed as fond memories. It mattered not how many times Ana cooed over the man or how many references to their Russian life were made, Svetlana was Wynn’s wife now. Nothing could change that. Not even when that greasy mustached weasel kissed her standing in the middle of their home in front of all their guests, claiming her as a husband would. Claiming her in a way Wynn had not yet been able to do.

Then again, could Wynn blame him? There had been an understanding between Sergey and Svetlana for years. The man had escaped death only to discover his good-as-fiancée had wed another man. But to tackle her and force his lips upon hers like that . . . It had taken every ounce of Wynn’s restraint to keep from knocking the ill-wanted Russian’s block off. Wynn was not a man often given to jealousies, as they were the result of flagging confidence and weak minds, but he couldn’t deny the shaking of his own confidence. What if having Sergey returned to her made Svetlana regret her hasty marriage to Wynn? What if the man’s reappearance ignited romantic feelings long repressed?

Shoving off the window, Wynn crossed through their joined sitting room and into his chamber. A small fire had been lit, its orange glow of heat extending a small radius before chilling at the night’s blue touch pooling through the window. Why had the drapes not been drawn?

Crossing the floor, he stopped in the center of the room at the sight of the figure on his bed. Curled on her side, Svetlana still wore her gown from the previous evening, but the pins in her hair had been removed and the strands tumbled like ribbons of silver across his pillow. He moved quietly to the side of the bed, careful not to wake her. At his approach her eyes fluttered up to meet his and he saw that she hadn’t been asleep at all. Tears rolled down her cheeks and splotched the pillow. A quiet sob trembled between her lips and fair to broke his heart. He was on the bed in an instant, pulling her into his arms.

“Lana, my darling. I’m here.”

She clung to him, face buried into his chest and fingers twisting at his shirtfront as she cried out the pieces of her cloven heart. Wynn gently stroked her hair, murmuring inane comforts as he willed the ability to absorb her pain into himself. But that ability was beyond his limits. All he could offer was holding her tight to catch the falling pieces until her body depleted itself of sorrow and she lay limp and heavy in his arms.

“There now, my heart. I’m here.”