Her reflection stared back through the gauzy light of the candleflames. She forced herself to smile, willing the tears to stop.

I am Empress now. I have a duty to my country and my husband.

"More coffee, highness?" asked Gustave.

"Why not?" Eugene stifled a yawn. He had stayed awake into the small hours to read the reports specially prepared by the Mirom Senate, fortifying himself with strong coffee. It was a task he had intended to delegate to Maltheus, but after a first glance, he had seen that he needed to understand fully for himself the chaotic state of the Muscobar finances that had led to the uprising.

It made sorry reading. The Muscobar economy seemed precarious, largely based on shipbuilding, exports of iron from foundries close to the Nieva, and herring. The Orlovs had drained the country of money to fund their lavish lifestyle. All the nobles owned large estates that were only just self-sufficient enough to feed the life-bound peasants who served them and worked their lands. Both the army and navy, starved of investment, had not enough revenue left to pay their men. There was no state schooling and the few hospitals were run by religious institutions.

"If your highness has no further requirements tonight?"

Eugene looked around and saw Gustave was still in attendance. "I didn't mean to keep you up so late, Gustave. I can see to myself."

By three in the morning, Eugene was rubbing his sleep-starved eyes as he outlined a plan to turn around Muscobar's economy. It would have to be negotiated with both Tielen and Muscobite councils, for it involved a substantial amount of investment from Tielen coffers to exploit Muscobar's natural resources and to develop manufacturing industries. It would mean persuading the Muscobar nobility to part with many of their peasant-servants to work in the new factories. Silk mills and looms could be established on each estate. Though this would not be an easy task. He would have to buy the nobility's support with promises of privileges and subsidies. They had been used to a life of indolence and luxury for far too long.

The flame in the oil lamp began to gutter and a thin thread of black smoke snaked upward; the wick was almost burned out and the light was too dim to read by.

Eugene rose from his desk and stretched his stiff back. He had heard Saint Simeon's clock strike three some while ago. It was too late to disturb Astasia. As a precaution, he had had Gustave set up his camp bed in his study, just as if he were on campaign. He kicked off his shoes and took off his jacket by firelight. He raked the embers of the dying fire and replaced the fireguard. He liked doing things for himself. So much less fuss.

The air was chilly now that the fire had died down; he pulled the blankets around him, emptied his mind of all extraneous thoughts, and let sleep take him.

At dawn Eugene woke and got swiftly out of his camp bed, fired with the plans he had been devising for Muscobar. It was a brisk morning and he was up before the servants had reached his study to make the fire. No matter. He had accustomed himself to cold mornings and to managing on little sleep on campaign. He even found this regime invigorating. Besides, he was looking forward to the meeting with the Senate today. His plan for Muscobar would encounter some opposition, but he was confident he could persuade even the most reactionary diehards that it was time to change. His enlightened ideals had brought prosperity and contentment to Tielen. And if Muscobar could be swayed, then maybe recalcitrant Smarna could be influenced as well.

Ever since the dissidents torched the Senate House, the members of the Senate had been meeting in the Admiralty, a magnificent colonnaded building painted white and brilliant blue, on the banks of the river.

Eugene rode to the Senate at the head of his bodyguard. To his pleasure, people going about their daily business in the streets stopped to watch the cavalcade pass by, and he distinctly heard cheering and saw smiling faces in the crowd. He acknowledged their greetings with a wave of the hand and a nod of the head, smiling back with genuine warmth. This could only be a good omen for the reforms he was preparing to put to the Senate.

"The free wine and beer on coronation night were much appreciated in the city, highness," murmured the captain of the bodyguard. "And the silver coin you gave to each child."

As Eugene dismounted and climbed the broad Admiralty steps, he could not but notice that the central pediment of the building was still ornamented with the two-headed gilded sea eagles of the Orlovs.

Inside he was greeted formally by representatives of the Senate and shown to a lofty council chamber whose painted walls and ceiling showed billowing seascapes dominated by magnificent warships and rosy-bosomed sea nymphs.

The senators all rose to their feet as he entered and took his place at the head of a great oval table, with Maltheus at his right hand. His bodyguard silently stationed themselves around the great chamber.

"Please be seated, gentlemen." As Eugene sat down, he noticed the chair to his left was still empty. "But where is Kyrill Vassian?"

The senators glanced uncertainly at one another.

"This is most unusual; the First Minister has never, in my experience, been late before, imperial highness," said one, evidently embarrassed. "I will look into the matter straightaway."

Eugene nodded. He had seen the glances exchanged and wondered briefly if Vassian's absence could be interpreted as a last silent protest against the annexation of his country.

Chancellor Maltheus rose to his feet and, after clearing his throat, began to address the Senate in the common tongue.

"Now that we are united in one empire, Tielen is ready to share the benefits of her experience in commerce and manufacture with Muscobar."

As Maltheus gave a brief outline of Eugene's plans, Eugene himself studied the faces of the listening senators, searching for any hint of approbation or objection.

"This is all well and good," called out a dark-bearded senator, "but how is this to be financed? With more taxes?"

"As soon as the First Minister arrives, the Emperor will address us himself on that issue," said Maltheus with extraordinary restraint, Eugene noted.

"And I see the Emperor has filled this chamber with his bodyguard," cried out another. "Is this to ensure we all vote in favor of the plan? Are those who abstain to be arrested?"

Eugene glanced up at Maltheus.

"The bodyguard always accompany his imperial highness wherever he goes," Maltheus said mildly. "They are all specially chosen men whose sole task is to protect the Emperor-"

The door opened and a man hurried in. It was the official who had gone to fetch Kyrill Vassian.

"There's been a terrible tragedy," he stammered. "The First Minister-" He held out a piece of paper to Eugene in a trembling hand.

As Eugene read aloud the handwritten message, he noticed it was faintly speckled with tiny spots of dark red: "I have dedicated my life to Muscobar and her people. But I have failed in my duty to the city of Mirom and to the House of Orlov. I can see no other course of action but to end it all. May God have mercy on my soul. Vassian."

Eugene looked up and saw the shocked expressions of the senators. "I take it he is dead?" he said quietly.

"And by his own hand." The official took out a handkerchief and wiped his sweating face, trying to conceal a shudder.

"You saw the body?"

The man nodded.

Patriarch Ilarion had begun to shake his head; the senators were muttering among themselves.

"A tragedy, indeed," Eugene said, sinking back down into his chair. He cast the blood-spotted note onto the polished table. If Kyrill Vassian had wanted to sabotage his plans for Muscobar as his final gesture, he could not have chosen a better-or more drastic-way to do it. Even with a suitable respectful pause to honor the dead, no member of the Senate would have his mind fully on the matters under consideration if they proceeded.

"I suggest we adjourn, gentlemen," he said, "and meet again tomorrow."

Maltheus turned to him, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Now what?"

"We send our sincerest condolences to his widow and family. We assure Madame Vassian that she shall want for nothing. I suspect that an imperial visit would seem somewhat insensitive under the circumstances."

"Kyrill Vassian is dead?" shrieked Sofia. She collapsed onto a sofa, weeping noisily. "A suicide?"

"Mama, Mama, please don't upset yourself." Astasia was as shocked as her mother at the news, but Sofia's loud cries drove all other thoughts from her head.

"What will your father say? It will undo him utterly. He had such faith in Vassian."

"Mama-" This uncontrollable weeping would surely lead to a fit of the hysterics, and Astasia did not want Eugene to come in and see her mother in such a state. She began to back away toward the bellpull, ready to summon help.

"And poor, dear Elizaveta, she must be quite distracted with grief. What a disgrace for the family. That handsome boy of hers, Valery, now all his prospects are ruined. Why didn't Kyrill think of such a thing? Why?" Sofia had begun to breathe too fast, taking in little hiccups of air between sobs. Astasia hastily tugged the bellpull and hurried back to her mother's side.

"Remember what the physician told you, Mama," she said, "you must breathe slowly. Inhale-then let the breath out steadily."

Nadezhda appeared.

"Smelling salts, quick!" Astasia said, seeing her mother's lashes fluttering rapidly, her eyes sliding upward.

Nadezhda swiftly reappeared with a little silver and crystal bottle, which Astasia waved beneath her mother's nostrils. Sofia wrinkled her nose in disgust and let out a sharp sneeze. Her sobs slowly calmed and she fumbled for Astasia's hand, gripping it in her own. Astasia patted her mother's hand as soothingly as she could.

"Fetch my mother some brandy, please, Nadezhda."

Nadezhda gave Astasia a little glance of sympathy and knelt down beside the Grand Duchess, placing the glass firmly in her shaking hand, steering it to her lips.

All the while she was trying to calm her mother, Astasia had had no time to examine her own feelings. But now she could imagine all the horrible little details: the sound of a shot from the stables, Elizaveta hurrying out, the stableboy trying to hold her back, knowing what a terrible sight lay within . . .

And Valery Vassian . . . How would his father's suicide damage his career? He had been one of Andrei's close circle of cadet friends from the Military Academy, often the butt of practical jokes, but good-natured enough to laugh them off. She felt ashamed of the times she had teased him. Now that Andrei was not here to protect his friend, she must take on that role herself. She would speak to Eugene as soon as possible.

Sofia let out another sob.

"Oh, Mama Mama." Astasia settled herself on the sofa next to her mother. "You and Papa need a little rest, a change of air. It will do you both good."

"Smarna's so far," sniffed Sofia. "Couldn't we come to stay at Swanholm with you?"

Mama in Swanholm, ordering everyone about, taking charge before Astasia had had a chance to establish herself as mistress of the palace? "The Straits can be very rough at this time of year," she said hastily. "And you know how you hate storms at sea, Mama. What about Erinaskoe? You haven't been there in over a year. The valley's so pretty in the spring. Papa can potter in his glasshouses and you can walk in the Orangery. Why not send word to the housekeeper to air the rooms?"

All the flags in Mirom were lowered to half-mast to honor the late First Minister. Most of the court and Senate put on mourning bands, though Eugene heard some mutter that they could not respect a man who had taken his own life.

Eugene made a strategic retreat to his study and called Chancellor Maltheus to join him for a late lunch. Gustave arranged for a cold collation to be served, with several bottles of Maltheus's favorite Tielen beer.

"And if things had gone as we had planned," Maltheus said, draining his glass, "I'd be on my way back to Tielborg with the morning tide to ask the Tielen council to fund and support your plans for Muscobar."

Eugene studied the little bubbles slowly rising through the clear liquid to the top of his glass. He was still mulling over the consequences of Vassian's suicide.

"Do you anticipate much resistance?"

"Only from the nationalist contingent. I'll remind 'em we're all part of one empire now," said Maltheus with a broad smile, "and that there are benefits to be reaped for Tielen as well as Muscobar from this investment."

"And then there's Smarna . . ."

"Smarna!" Maltheus let out a derisive guffaw. "What an extraordinary lack of diplomacy: calling back their ambassador, staying away from the coronation. Everyone was talking about it."

"Precisely so. When we should have been celebrating the union of the five princedoms, one was notable by its absence."

Gustave knocked and announced, "The directors of the Mirom Charitable Society and the School Board are here to meet with you, imperial highness. I've shown them into the Nieva Room."

"Still on your mission to educate the poor?" Maltheus asked.

"A man should be able to write his own name-and read. How else can he hope to better himself? Come, Maltheus," Eugene said, placing his arm around Maltheus's broad shoulders, "come and help me start a small revolution of my own in Muscobar."

Men and women of the Charitable Society had gathered in the long reception room that overlooked the river and the river gardens. Eugene moved among them informally, listening to their suggestions, making a few of his own. Soon he realized there was considerable resistance to his plans.

"And where will we find the teachers for all these schools?" one woman asked in disapproving tones.

"Surely you can't intend to include the street children?" added another. "Not without delousing and bathing them all first."

"Especially the street children," Eugene said. "And the school day will start with a nourishing meal for them all just as it does in Tielen. No one can work efficiently on an empty stomach."

This information was received with astonished silence.

"A good barley soup costs little enough to prepare," volunteered a third woman, who had kept silent until now. The other two turned on her, lapsing into the Muscobite tongue, so that Eugene could not follow their argument.

At that instant, Astasia came into the room. The arguing charity workers stopped in midflow and sank into curtsies. Eugene looked at Astasia with gratitude over their bowed heads; perhaps she would be able to sway them with her winning smile and enthusiasm.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt." She walked up to him and said softly, "Can I ask a favor of you?"

Surprised, he nodded, wondering what request she was about to make.

"Vassian's son, Valery. He was a friend of my brother's. Could you find some way to give him a position so that he can support his mother and sisters?"

Why had she chosen this moment to make her request? It was just the kind of spontaneous, inappropriate interruption he might have expected from Karila.

"We will talk of it later," he said, trying not to show his annoyance. He took her by the hand and addressed the visitors. "The Empress is, I believe, very interested in our proposed education program."

He could sense that she was looking askance at him. He pressed her hand, saying, "I am so pleased to have your support, my dear."

And suddenly the unreceptive throng was smiling and applauding.

What magic had she wrought to persuade them?

Beyond the smiling faces, he saw Gustave in the doorway. He left Astasia to the appreciative reception and went to see what was the matter.

"Refreshments will be served now, as you ordered, highness," Gustave said in a loud voice, flinging the doors wide to admit liveried servants carrying silver trays of sweet wine and cakes.

Then he continued quietly, "I thought you might be interested to learn that a detachment of the Northern Army has just entered the city. They have an Azhkendi prisoner with them. They are taking him, as you ordered, to the Naval Fortress on Gunwharf Island."

Eugene left the Winter Palace by the River Gate and, accompanied only by two of his most trusted bodyguard, crossed to Gunwharf Island.

They arrived as a small, curious crowd gathered to watch the coach with its barred windows pass under the archway of the forbidding fortress.

"Do you wish to interrogate the prisoner yourself, imperial highness?" asked the commanding officer.