“Yes. I see what you are saying. But, surely—”

“Nikolai Kuragin is our only hope! He is our savior! He is Alexei’s and my only real chance of survival, Alex. You must believe me, because it is true.”

“I can protect you. I can protect you both. It’s what I do, you know.”

“You want me to believe that we will be safer anywhere on earth than we are here in this fortress? Do you not understand that? They want me dead. They want our child dead and out of their way. It is the Russian way. Centuries of Russian politics repeated.”

Hawke looked away for a moment, his mind reeling. For how long had he wandered in his wilderness of grief? Insupportable grief, yes, and loss. Years. And now Asia was here before him, alive, and he felt as if he were fighting for her love! Fighting for his own son! No, more, he was fighting for his life, the one that had been ripped from him on that island in Sweden.

“My resources are easily the equal of Kuragin’s. Vastly superior.”

“He will never allow it.”

“He will never allow it? Stand between me and my family’s rightful happiness? No one can do that, believe me. Surely the general will understand us, Anastasia,” Hawke said, softening his tone, trying to keep the creeping desperation from his voice. He was shaken. He was beginning to doubt himself. And doubt was something completely alien to his being, his core. He took a moment to compose himself before speaking.

Hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him, gazing directly into her lovely eyes.

“Anastasia, listen to me. Kuragin knows we love each other. Surely he can comprehend that it’s natural that we want to be together. Raise our child in some seminormal environment instead of some bloody barbed-wire prison. Listen, I’ll return to the palace and find Kuragin right now. He and I will straighten all this out, as gentlemen. I’m sure he will see reason. Why would he not? Why on earth would he keep the three of us apart, keep us from the happiness we truly deserve and—”

“Alex, please sit back down. There is something more I must tell you. Please sit. Now, before you say another word.”

“I can hear quite well standing up, thank you.”

She took a deep breath and let the dreaded sentence spill out all at once:

“Nikolai and I are married.”

“Married, you say? Don’t talk nonsense. He’s old enough to be your grandfather. It’s beneath you.”

“Listen, please. I believed utterly and completely that you were dead, Alex. I saw you from my bedroom window, facedown in the snow. I watched you bleeding to death before my own eyes. I wanted to die myself. Then, in prison, Alexei was born. I knew I had to survive in order to protect him. The grandson of the dead Tsar was suddenly a threat to many inside and outside the Kremlin who—”

“But how could you—”

“There was a trial. I was convicted of treason and accessory to murder. A date was set for my execution. The night before I was to go before a firing squad, General Kuragin visited me in my cell. He had a signed pardon from the prime minister, from Putin himself. In the end, so Nikolai said, Putin could not let the son of the man who’d restored him to power be murdered by the Tsarists. Putin did it for you, Alex. He and Kuragin are the only reason we are both alive.”

“So you fell in love? You married him?”

“Oh, Alex, it wasn’t about love. Nothing like that. It was mere gratitude. That, and the security he offered us here. He’s an old man. He has been very lonely for most of his life. In his way, I think he does love me, Alex. And I’ve grown fond of him. Listen. I truly believed I had lost the only man I loved or ever would love. You. Late one night, when he’d had a bit too much wine and vodka, Nikolai got down on his knees and begged me to make his last few years happy ones. He was crying. In that moment, considering all he’d done, I felt I had no choice but to say yes. And, until I saw your face a few hours ago, I had no cause to regret it.”

“And if I got down on my knees and begged? If I ripped open my chest and showed you my beating heart?”

“Alex, my God. Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t do this? Don’t do this?”

“I mean—”

“Don’t worry, Anastasia. I won’t beg you. My knees don’t work that way.”

He looked away from her, staring at the distant horizon, peering in vain through the black curtain that had descended between them. A flash of memory from his childhood: he’d been given a puppy for his sixth birthday and called it Scoundrel. His mother had found him hugging the dog tightly to his chest, smothering it with kisses. “Don’t love it so well, Alex, or it may be taken from you,” she said.

A man must never place himself in a position to lose.

He should seek only that which he cannot lose.

“Oh, Alex, my poor darling, I—I feel like my heart’s going to cave in. I don’t know what to say.” She reached up to take his hand, but it was like clasping a glove from which the hand has been withdrawn.

“It’s because there is nothing more to say. I should never have come here. I’d almost come to grips with losing you, and now I shall have to start all over again. Although now”—he looked away briefly—“now I seem to have lost my son as well.”

“Oh, my poor, poor darling. It is devastating to see you in so much pain. If only there were something I could say or do—but there isn’t, is there?”

“I am glad you are alive. At least I have that knowledge to carry with me. And I am happy that I got to see my son, if only for a few brief moments. Knowing he, too, is alive, safe, happy, and with his mother . . . I can take all that with me, Anastasia, carry that in my heart at least. I don’t blame you for what happened. You did what you had to do to survive. Anyone would.”

“Dear Alex.”

“I should like to leave this place, Anastasia. Now. Is that possible?”

“No, Alex. Please. Stay just a little while. If only for his sake . . .”

“You have no idea what you’re asking of me. None.”

“But tomorrow is his birthday. We have planned a little party. He thinks you will be there and—”

“No! Please stop this!”

“All right. As you wish. There is a train tomorrow. The Red Arrow.”

“I shall be on it.”

She looked away.

“But you cannot—”

“Please. It is done.”

“If you insist, I will make the arrangements. It’s a lovely train, an express. I’ll take you to the station. In the troika. I remember how you loved the troika.”

Anastasia looked up at Hawke, awaiting his reply. He was looking directly at her, but every trace of animation had flown from his face. His fierce blue eyes were cold as stone. He was still as still.

“I will retire to my room until it is time to leave tomorrow morning. Will you please apologize for me? Tell your—husband—that I’m not feeling well? And that I deeply appreciate all that he’s done for you and Alexei?”

“Of course. He will understand.”

She put her hand on his forearm.

He regarded her in silence for what seemed a very long time, and then he turned his back and walked away from her, his head held high, his hands clasped behind his back, his hidden heart shattered.

Six

Early the next morning, Hawke emerged from General Kuragin’s private study into one of the palace’s great sunlit hallways. He’d been unable to find sleep all night, but he put a brave front on it. After a brief conversation about the possibility of an extremely private meeting with Prime Minister Putin at some point in the future, he got to his feet to bid Kuragin farewell, allowing himself to be embraced by the much older man.

His parting words to the general had been, “Thank you, thank you for saving them both, Nikolai, from the bottom of my heart. I know that I owe you their lives, and I will never forget it.”