gen_storyteller

Chapter 5 - Christmas Is The Time For Giving
Saint Petersburg, Christmastime, 1901

Sergi's patience was at an end. Here he was in what should be the bosom of his family during the very time of year that families drew together. Instead, that hellcat he married had once more put on grand theater that entertained no one and brought out the beast in himself. Even his oldest servants looked at him as if he had become an ogre or some horrid beast from mythology! His own current lover even sided with her mistress this time. Well, that's what he should expect in choosing his wife's seamstress for his bed warmer! There was just no pleasing ANY of them.

His own heir despised and distrusted him. He had tried over the last few years to be the kind of father to Misha that he had always wanted in his own father. The boy was so much like Cecily that Sergi sometimes forgot that he had been born to that milkmaid from the Dacha in Novovinsk. He had been so hopeful when Cecily had agreed to raise the boy as her own. Now he realized he should have just given the lad poison directly.

He had received a curt thank you from the boy when he presented Misha with his gift. The fine, beautiful white horse had been bred fully Arabian and trained by the finest Cossack horseman that Sergi could hire. The saddle, bridle and tack were of the finest, fit for the Czar himself. Yet all his time and trouble were rewarded with only a quick and quiet "thank you", not even a "father" or "pappa" on the end of it either! Oh, but for his mother’s gift, a fine new suit in deep blue velvet,the boy didn't have enough words to finish thanking his dear mamma.

The suit had been sewn by Sergi's own mistress, for the love of the Almighty! Sergi felt hurt and betrayed by them all. The boy had positively gushed with glee upon seeing his other gifts: new boots from London from his grandfather, a model sail boat that truly sailed from his aunt and uncle in England, a fine sled from Sergi's own mother and a box of tin soldiers dressed in the style of the late Crimean war from Sergi's brother Constantine. But to his father, Misha only could choke out a brisk "thank you." It was past time Sergi took matters, and the boy, in hand. He would need to regain his place as respected head of the family, and soon.

As for the frigid bitch he had once adored, he huffed, well, he had never known how to please that one. No man could, he was convinced. She had managed to turn his son against him, she had even managed to make Sergi's own mother and brother look at him in disapproval. No wonder she was cold all the time, she must have originated in hell itself! The devil had spewed her out when she had exhausted his patience and left her for poor, cursed Sergi Yevtochenko to stumble upon. Was not the very core of hell rumored to be solid ice? He needed no sermons to convince him of the realities of hell, he was married to its spawn!

Sergi had gone to considerable trouble for her gift, too. He had driven that Prussian Jew crazy in his demand that every diamond in the set be as perfect and perfectly matched as could be found on this earth. A tiara to rival those worn at court with a necklace as exquisite as fine lace, earbobs that caught the light and made colors dance...all perfect. The bitch had found them "very nice, thank you" in a tone of voice one would use in admiring a shine put on one’s boots by a servant.
~~~

Cecily was admiring herself in the heavy gilt mirror. The new jewels were spectacular with fire that only came from the best of gems. Yes, Sergi provided nicely all the small comforts a woman could want. If he were only more civilized, more cultured, less of a rutting animal led about by his...parts. She blushed brightly at the thought.

Today had been PERFECT, lots of lovely new toys and an entire household upset with Sergi. Cecily fought the urge to sing a happy tune when she remembered that she was supposed to be suffering from a headache brought on by her brute of a husband and his temper. No, singing would not work in her favor and things were going along far too well to get careless now.

Sergi, of course, had not the intellect to perceive the premeditation in his wife's behavior. She intended to keep it that way.

It had been her delightful new friend Ann who had suggested she fill Misha with visions of dread regarding his horsemanship skills. She had discovered the details of Sergi's planned gift and began to undermine any joy the gift might have given to his only son and heir. She had dropped hints that Sergi thought Misha too young and too poor a rider. She "worried" that Sergi would try to force a mount that would be far above a young boy’s ability to control. She wept in fear for her tender son and how he would either be killed or maimed by the horse or, at the very least, anger his father by being unable to control the animal.

She made sure Misha knew nothing of the amount of care that had been taken to ensure a horse that could be controlled by the smallest of movements or commands from its young rider. The Cossacks were the best horsemen in the world and not for his life would Sergi risk his only son on a horse not under full control.

No, Misha only saw a large, intimidating animal fully decked out and led by a rather rough and frightening man in the traditional costume of his people. Naturally, Misha was terrified.

Mrs. Harrison proved a sympathetic and helpful friend indeed. In the last few months since their happy meeting, Cecily had found someone who totally understood her pain. Someone who was non-judgmental about Cecily's desire for revenge. Indeed, Ann had many a suggestion that had been splendid in furthering Cecily's cause.

Each night, Cecily took out the magic stone and held it to her breast. Two desires to fulfill, two wishes to be granted. She wanted to be SURE of what she asked of it. After all, there were only two wishes.

~~~

Sergi entered Cecily's bedchamber in a rage. He had been drinking and wallowing in his already bad mood. It was time, by God, to be the MAN of the house. Changes were coming if it was the last thing he ever did on this earth. Servants scattered like frightened insects at his approach and the household seemed to hold its collective breath in anticipation of the storm to come.

Cecily was startled to the point of genuine fear. She had been pretending to fear him for so long now that the actual emotion quite took her by surprise.

"This is the end, Cecily," he bellowed. Oh God, was he going to divorce her?! That would ruin all her plans as well as her reputation! "I will no longer permit you to enact your many melodramas and cause me to feel like some peasant cattle herder in my own home." He was yelling quite dramatically now. Cecily let out the breath she had been holding since the first fear hit her at the thought of divorce. Sergi was merely going to flex his manhood. Nothing to worry over then, she thought and held the stone more tightly in her fist.

"Yes, things are going to change and I am not open to any discussion on this," he sputtered. Cecily, realizing there was a vast unseen audience for this show, quickly remembered her role of terrified, fragile wife. "Sergi, you have been drinking and it is late. Perhaps in the morning we could discuss whatever is bothering you," she offered, knowing full well that he was past the point of reason. She should know, she had driven him to this point quite carefully and relentlessly.

"Sergi, please, you'll waken Misha and you know how your temper frightens him so." She made her voice choke back a sob on those last few words, actually stammering a bit on the word "frightens". Yes, her money would be on Sergi being an outcast even to his own mother by the end of this performance. What a lovely Christmas gift he was giving to her. And so unexpected as well, she hoped she'd not miss any opportunity it presented. She generally preferred to rehearse a bit before a scene.

"God, woman, I have spent an unbelievable amount of time and effort over the years in trying to please you," he growled. "I have lost my own son's affection and respect in the process," he declared, stating the obvious. "You are the most unfeeling, unnatural woman that I have ever had the misfortune to meet," Sergi snarled. "The men in my family have always held the respect and LOVE of their women...until you, you viper!" He was warming to the subject now. "I WILL be respected," was his demand. "I WILL be in charge of my own household, and I WILL be obeyed." His voice was nearly rattling the windows by this last demand. "Don't worry, Cecily, I don't want to sleep with you. You are so cold a man would die in your embrace. I'd rather sleep in the arms of an ice sculpture than so much as touch you again. But I will be obeyed nonetheless," he finished.

Cecily felt a rush of fury at his rejection being put into words. True, she did not want him...but she damn sure wanted him to WANT HER! He blamed the gulf between them on HER??? This oaf, this lout, this rough, drunken, swaggering barbarian blamed HER??? He thought her cold, well, he should find out what cold REALLY felt like! "I'm cold, I'M cold?". she snapped at him, showing more fire than he'd ever seen her display. "You do not have any idea what cold is, you bastard. Cold is Novodvinsk in the winter waiting the birth of YOUR child. Cold is the promised summer estate you neglected to mention came complete with polar bears and ice floes. Cold is this entire blasted country," Cecily flung at him, feeling an anger beyond thinking.

"I'd almost think you capable of passion with this display, wife," said Sergi calmly, "but you are as you were called back in London...the Ice Queen."

Cecily snapped at that.

"I wish all of you high and mighty Yevtochecko men would encounter TRUE ice, true cold. It should freeze the life out of you all. End the line of titled, dressed-up barbarians here and now!" she cried.

Cecily felt a warm sensation in her left hand and would have sworn the stone actually moved. She instantly realized she may have squandered one of her precious wishes just now in her anger.

Cecily desperately tried to recall her exact words but was unable to do so. "Oh dear God, what have I done?" she wondered softly.

She didn't regret having wished Sergi ill, the troll deserved it. No, she just didn't want to waste good magic destroying him. She was doing quite well at that on her own. Magic should be for things beyond Cecily's capability. He would have to push her too far when she was holding the stone in her hand! Well, if anything DID happen to Sergi, it was his own fault.

Cecily made certain her anguished tears would be heard by the invisible audience then sunk into a stage-perfect swoon. Sergi, having had quite enough theatrics, stepped over her limp body and slammed the door behind him.

Down the hall, Misha wept and vowed to somehow save his mother from the awful man who was his father.

In the halls of Arashmaharr, a party of sorts broke out. Soon the vacant seat would be filled, soon a new sister would be given power and an amulet and a new name. Soon the dark lords would drink the wine of human misery and vengeance and grow drunk on its power. Soon.

Chapter 6 - Those Who Don't Learn From History...
Yevtochenko Dacha, Novodvinsk, Summer, 1904

Cecily sat peering at the distant bay, trying to decide what she should do. Misha was nine years old now and she had come to truly love the boy in the years since Sergi had died. The accident, so swift in coming after the New Year of 1902, had left his widow and son well fixed materially but socially isolated in many ways.

No one blamed her for Sergi's death. Who could have predicted his fall, followed by the large, heavy icicle falling at just that moment, plunging through his chest and into his heart? He died instantly with little pain, the doctor had assured his shocked widow.

So many of Cecily's social circle had really been connections of Sergi’s. She was still considered the foreign wife and a bit off-putting. After the mourning period passed, a few invitations began to arrive. None, however, on the scale or strata she had experienced as a wife instead of widow.

The Czarina had been too busy with her young family and her fears for her fragile son's health to give much thought to her former lady in waiting. Alexandra HAD sent an invitation for both Cecily and Misha to join the royal family on their annual cruise on the "Standart" in March. That good lady had even invited them for a fortnight’s stay at Czarskoe Selo, the Summer Palace, that first year. Misha had played with the young Imperial Duchesses on the children's island in the lake and had laughed for the first time since his father had died. Still, Cecily found her status in society lowered with the death of Sergi.

Her own family had, of course, suggested that Cecily and Misha move back to London. Cecily had nearly done so when the second horrible tragedy shook the Yevtochenko family.

Sergi's young brother Constantine fell through the ice on a pond on his estate. No one noticed him missing until he had drowned under the ice that was much thinner than it had appeared to be.

Then Cecily had had to wait out THAT period of mourning as well and only now could look at all of her options freely.

They would not be staying with her father if they DID move back. As always, he had no concern for Cecily beyond her usefullness to him. She was still not quite good enough to have earned his approval and love.

Esme and her brood would welcome them, of course, but they stayed in the country most of the year. No, Cecily did NOT fancy being the widowed sister-in-law of a country squire in a small town in Devon. Not when there were ample funds for a lovely town home in London and a proper boarding school for Misha.

Her father would not object, he was too busy trying to further his pursuit of a wealthy, widowed Viscountess. He had dreams of elevating his consequence, feathering his bank accounts and acquiring a bit of power with a run for a seat in the Commons backed by his intended's cache. He was spending large sums of his own money in courtship of the Lady in question.

Ezra had far too much to do to be fussing over a nearly forgotten daughter and her half-foreign son. His head swam with an upgrade from a mere barony to something more befitting. Baron Underwood paled before whatmightbe with a proper connection, an entree with those who held the power of elevating one to their proper place.

He had not, of course, said those ACTUAL words. But after all these years, Cecily was quite able to read between the lines of her father's infrequent letters. He had been the one to suggest their staying with Esme in Devon when Cecily had written of her possible return to England.

Her dearest, truest, friend Ann Harrison had joined them here in the Arctic summer. Cecily had confided her sorrows regarding her father's lack of affection and Ann was the soul of sympathy. She had never once indicated that she felt Cecily should just accept the way her Daddy was and go on. No, Ann understood how Cecily's father was the crux of all her pain and sorrow, all her poor choices.

Dear Ann who had never deserted Cecily, even when her own husband had left her and left Russia! Cecily wished she had met the man at some point. She would have loved to give him a piece of her mind for his treatment of lovely Ann. Cecily instantly invited Ann to move in with her and they were now as close as sisters. Certainly closer than she and Esme had ever been.

Now they needed to decide what they wanted to do, where they wanted to live, how they wished to live. Cecily still hated Russia but could not deny the advantage of living as a noble in a country that still conducted itself with near medieval societal structures, a land where one’s every wish could be catered to by masses of eager, starving peasants. Well, they complained of starving anyway. "Hard work led to full stomaches," as Sergi used to say!

She really wanted Misha to have the best of educations. He was, after all, the Grand Duke now. He MUST be prepared to take his place one day and do so with authority.

She longed to have him educated in the finest of British schools, his manners polished in the best of London society. Yes, a move might be for the best.

She could send Misha ahead when school started for the next term, tidy affairs here then she and Ann could head to civilization, go home.
~~~

Anyanka was puzzled. She felt sure D'Hoffryn would approach Cecily soon after that wonderful vengefull wish that had claimed Sergi's life. When he did not come, Anyanka was mystified. With the second Yevtochenko man dying so soon after, also by ice, Anyanka was certain it was the wish Cecily had made and not just coincidence. Still D'Hoffryn waited, telling Anyanka only to continue to stay close at hand.

Anyanka had granted a wish or two during her time in Saint Petersburg. There were always wronged women and they were her specialty, of course. In fact, just this past week Anyanka had come upon a young woman, a lady’s maid at a neighboring estate, crying her poor heart out. She had been led a merry dance by the children's tutor, given him her heart and the comfort of her bed. She had foolishly expected him to marry her in time. He was but a servant, too, after all.

He had been livid to find her pregnant and expecting him to wed her. He had reminded the little maid that while a servant, he was of good blood and it was unthinkable that he would marry such as her. Besides, she was a loose woman to let a man sleep with her, BE with her without marriage. Who knew if he were the only one and the child his?

The poor girl was in shock, filled with grief and remorse. She even contemplated aborting the baby and ending her own life. Anyanka offered solace, sympathy and gently led her to another solution. Now all she had to do was formulate the wording of her wish and justice could be done.

Anyanka knew the REAL problem, aside from the obvious one that all men are pigs. This feudal system where people placed themselves in high positions based on birth, not hard work. Where peasants worked and starved and froze only to be tossed aside like the little maid. Meanwhile the idle rich grew fatter and more callous daily. Yes, Anyanka knew what the little maid truly wished. She only hoped the girl had the good sense to phrase it properly when the time came. THIS could be Anyanka's finest moment as a vengence demon!
~~~

Cecily went to bed more depressed than she could ever remember. Ann had commiserated over Ezra's continued coldness towards his daughter and grandson. Somehow talking about it only made it hurt more this time.

Cecily idly played with the stone she purchased from the gypsy all those years ago. She still had the habit of holding it at night as she thought of all the things she MIGHT yet wish for. This practice usually led to pleasant dreams where Cecily was loved and happy and home.

Tonight she could only think of her father and how he had never shown her one ounce of real affection. How he had known the hurt he caused. How he had withdrawn from her when she displeased him. How NOTHING she had ever done had won his approval for long.

He should be on the receiving end of THAT for a change, she thought. "I just wish father would know what it is like to always come up short. To always be left wanting more and have those around you withhold what you crave the most," she spoke aloud. Cecily did not even realize she HAD spoken aloud until she felt the same odd sensation from the gypsy rock ...heat and movement.

Good grief, what had she done now? "Oh, please don't let me be out of wishes!!"

Suddenly before her stood a man. No, not a man. A man-like being with strangely pointed ears and horns on his hairless grey head. He had piercing eyes and a wispy beard. He called her by an odd name. Clearly he was addressing her as she was quite alone when he appeared with a poof before her. He introduced himself as a Lord D'Hoffryn from a kingdom he called Arashmaharr, wherever that was. He said that she was Halfrek and they had been waiting for her for a long, long while.