glass with wine and sauntered over to where the girls sat, gossiping with one another and making observations about this young man or that.
“Now that one I like,” Yelena was saying, pointing with her spoon in a tipsy and suggestive manner that was completely deceptive, since Ivan had never seen her tipsy in his life. He glanced down the line indicated by the spoon and frowned slightly, for though the young man in question was seated amongst his own noisy friends, that pale face above black clothing was unfamiliar. For just a moment their eyes met across the length and width of the crowded hall, and the young man, recognizing Ivan as the Tsar’s son, rose from his seat and bowed low.
Ivan matched the bow, but with slightly less than good manners since he was staring all the time. Yelena made a tsk-tsk noise and rapped him sharply on the elbow with her spoon. “Vanya!” she said, “I thought you were supposed to be watching the young ladies !”
“Only when I see one worth watching,” he said, and grinned. “The way you were watching him. Who is he?”
“Oh.” Yelena looked flustered and had the expression of someone about to rummage for a list of names, except that Katya already had it.
“Mikhail Voronov,” she read, rather disapproving. “He and two brothers. All of them are princes, it says here, but,” she waved the paper under Ivan’s nose, “though they’ve claimed the style and title, they didn’t give us the name of their domains.” Yekaterina hiccupped in a manner that was most restrained and ladylike, but was a hiccup nonetheless. “Otherwise it would be too easy for Strel’tsin to track down where they aren’t, in his damned books.”
She dropped the piece of paper onto the table, where Yelena scooped it up, and blinked at Ivan through the eyes of someone who has started their party an hour or so before the other guests. Katya, oldest of the family and a spinster with a reputed savage temper, had her own reasons for disliking celebrations like this one and her own way of either surviving or of leaving early. “Are you having a good time?” she asked, speaking very, very carefully so that all the letters fell – or staggered – into their proper place.
“Very good,” said Ivan. “Try the sturgeon pie. It’s excellent.” Directly he tried to change the subject they all looked at him at once, with expressions that varied from amusement to the sort of steely glint that had him thinking about freezing lake-water.
“I’ve tried it,” said Tsarevna Yekaterina, “and it’s not as good as it might be. The cooks need livening up.”
“You’d do it with a knout, I suppose?”
“If necessary. This is an important occasion, and—”
“—And I haven’t heard complaints from anyone else.” Oh yes , he thought, it’ll definitely be the lake for me if I’m not more careful . “So we’ll leave the food aside. What about the, er, other selection?”
Yelizaveta looked down the hall at Ivan’s cronies, and hid a most unPrincess-like giggle behind her hand. “Mother said you were responsible for them being here. True?”
Ivan grinned wryly. “In a manner of speaking. But when Katya saw the first list, she said—”
“Nothing like what you must have thought you heard! There was a nice one somewhere – he was in blue and grey – but I can’t see him any more.”
“Still, these are the sort of people you meant, aren’t they? Good lads, all of them. Even bandy-legs Temir.”
“You really must like the notion of swimming in winter, Vanyushka,” said Tsarevna Yelena, and smiled at him. It was a sweet smile, sweet as honey but with broken glass stirred into it. Ivan sat down on the corner of the table and drank some wine, knowing that he’d just been given his final warning.
Lena didn’t usually even bother with threats – she preferred to leave them to Katya, who being taller made them sound much more impressive – but when she did trouble to issue one, the
“Now that one I like,” Yelena was saying, pointing with her spoon in a tipsy and suggestive manner that was completely deceptive, since Ivan had never seen her tipsy in his life. He glanced down the line indicated by the spoon and frowned slightly, for though the young man in question was seated amongst his own noisy friends, that pale face above black clothing was unfamiliar. For just a moment their eyes met across the length and width of the crowded hall, and the young man, recognizing Ivan as the Tsar’s son, rose from his seat and bowed low.
Ivan matched the bow, but with slightly less than good manners since he was staring all the time. Yelena made a tsk-tsk noise and rapped him sharply on the elbow with her spoon. “Vanya!” she said, “I thought you were supposed to be watching the young ladies !”
“Only when I see one worth watching,” he said, and grinned. “The way you were watching him. Who is he?”
“Oh.” Yelena looked flustered and had the expression of someone about to rummage for a list of names, except that Katya already had it.
“Mikhail Voronov,” she read, rather disapproving. “He and two brothers. All of them are princes, it says here, but,” she waved the paper under Ivan’s nose, “though they’ve claimed the style and title, they didn’t give us the name of their domains.” Yekaterina hiccupped in a manner that was most restrained and ladylike, but was a hiccup nonetheless. “Otherwise it would be too easy for Strel’tsin to track down where they aren’t, in his damned books.”
She dropped the piece of paper onto the table, where Yelena scooped it up, and blinked at Ivan through the eyes of someone who has started their party an hour or so before the other guests. Katya, oldest of the family and a spinster with a reputed savage temper, had her own reasons for disliking celebrations like this one and her own way of either surviving or of leaving early. “Are you having a good time?” she asked, speaking very, very carefully so that all the letters fell – or staggered – into their proper place.
“Very good,” said Ivan. “Try the sturgeon pie. It’s excellent.” Directly he tried to change the subject they all looked at him at once, with expressions that varied from amusement to the sort of steely glint that had him thinking about freezing lake-water.
“I’ve tried it,” said Tsarevna Yekaterina, “and it’s not as good as it might be. The cooks need livening up.”
“You’d do it with a knout, I suppose?”
“If necessary. This is an important occasion, and—”
“—And I haven’t heard complaints from anyone else.” Oh yes , he thought, it’ll definitely be the lake for me if I’m not more careful . “So we’ll leave the food aside. What about the, er, other selection?”
Yelizaveta looked down the hall at Ivan’s cronies, and hid a most unPrincess-like giggle behind her hand. “Mother said you were responsible for them being here. True?”
Ivan grinned wryly. “In a manner of speaking. But when Katya saw the first list, she said—”
“Nothing like what you must have thought you heard! There was a nice one somewhere – he was in blue and grey – but I can’t see him any more.”
“Still, these are the sort of people you meant, aren’t they? Good lads, all of them. Even bandy-legs Temir.”
“You really must like the notion of swimming in winter, Vanyushka,” said Tsarevna Yelena, and smiled at him. It was a sweet smile, sweet as honey but with broken glass stirred into it. Ivan sat down on the corner of the table and drank some wine, knowing that he’d just been given his final warning.
Lena didn’t usually even bother with threats – she preferred to leave them to Katya, who being taller made them sound much more impressive – but when she did trouble to issue one, the
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