Read Online Rasputin's Daughter by Robert Alexander - Free Book Online Page B

motives were anything but simple. I should have spun quickly away, but in the reddish light of the oil lamps, my eyes burned upon him. He was the first member of the nobility I had ever seen so exposed, and I was transfixed by his long thin arms, which appeared as beautiful as they did weak, not to mention his skin, which looked astonishingly smooth and pure, without a single bruise or scar.
    “Nothing,” I replied, turning and averting my eyes. “Nothing at all. I…I just need to get some sleep.” Behind me I heard the rustle of clothing as he dressed. “There’s not much sense in your waiting for Papa. Knowing him, he won’t be home until after the sun rises.”
    “I don’t doubt that. But are you and Varya quite all right by yourselves?”
    “I assure you, we’re perfectly fine.”
    “Very well.” He came up behind me in his stocking feet and hugged me. “But someday, my sweet one, you’re going to have to tell your Fedya what you’ve been up to! Imagine, you out so late on your very own! And without an escort! Aren’t you the little devil? But not to worry, I promise I won’t tell your father!”
    When he gave me a little squeeze, I flinched. Prying myself out of his grasp, I excused myself and hurried from my father’s bedroom. Why didn’t I trust Prince Felix? Papa certainly did. Indeed, my father seemed to be genuinely fond of him. One might even say that in the past months they had become close personal friends. Had my father, perhaps, seen and seized a chance to endear himself to another branch of the Tsar’s extended family? Or was he in fact helping the prince deal with certain proclivities that didn’t mesh with married life?
    Knowing that Prince Felix would leave our flat via the rear door, I hurried down the hall to the kitchen, where I made a quick but somewhat feeble attempt at rinsing the blood from the sink. I then took the filthy coat over to the nook where Sasha lay and dropped the garment in a corner. Sasha looked up at me from Dunya’s cot, his brow wrinkled with confusion.
    “Not a word from you!” I whispered, as I pulled the curtain tight, hiding him behind it.
    A moment later Prince Felix did indeed come into the kitchen, pulling his great reindeer coat over his shoulders as he made his way to the door. Slipping right up next to me, he leaned over and pressed his buttery cheek against mine.
    “Good night, my dear,” he said, with a light but moist kiss. “I hear a flying angel just blew into town, so perhaps your father is out rejoicing.”
    Recognizing the code words of the Khlysty, I shuddered. What was Prince Felix implying? Exactly what was his business, tonight or anytime, with Papa?
    “In any case,” continued the prince, “be sure to tell him his Fedya stopped by.”
    My voice faint, I replied, “Yes. I’ll be sure to tell him.”
    And then he opened the rear door and slipped down the dark, narrow stairs as easily as a black-capped marmot into its frosty Siberian hole.
     
    Because the Khlysty were severely outlawed, their greatest oath was one of secrecy. For that reason, my father was the only person I knew who’d actually met someone who belonged to the sect. From bits and pieces of things Papa had said, I had come to understand that years upon years ago, when he had wandered the countryside on foot in search of God, he had drunk tea and eaten raisins with a small group of Khlysty. But while my father believed as they did in the concept of sin driving out sin-a concept that fit so neatly into our Russian soul-there had been nothing more to the encounter. My own mother had grilled him on the issue, and right to her face Papa had denied ever taking part in a Khlyst ritual of rejoicing, when members would whirl and twirl themselves into a frenzy, eventually collapsing onto the floor.
    Whether or not Prince Felix knew that Papa was at the palace, the very fact that he had even insinuated that Papa was out “rejoicing” scared me to the bone. My father had