His Majesty had moved back to his office on the ground floor, which still contained its familiar objects, its camp bed, and its old English lap rug. This was the narrow study where they had first met.

Outside the snow was falling in big flakes, just as it had that first time.

And like the first time, Jamal Eddin was chilled to the bone, overcome with sadness, anxiety, and fear of the future.

Back to the beginning.

Milyutin stopped in the waiting room. Lieutenant Shamil would see the czar alone.

Jamal Eddin stared at the familiar figure, standing in the alcove at the window in his usual pose, but he scarcely recognized him. No one had taken the trouble to warn him. Stooped, much thinner, his complexion leaden, and tottering on his feet, the czar was a ghost of his former self. He did not bother with dramatic effect and paused only briefly in the backlight before approaching the young man with that robotic step Jamal Eddin had noticed when they had met last year. The czar hugged him briefly. He seemed distracted, his mind elsewhere. He nonetheless made an effort to summon his habitually warm paternal tone.

“I expected you. I’m glad to see you, my child, very glad. We have so much to talk about. Sit down. I’ve brought you here so we could talk about your future, face to face. I understand you want to go home. Are you very sure?”

The czar said what he had to say, and his voice was affectionate. But there was no light in his eyes, no warmth in his words. He did not appear to differentiate his separation from Jamal Eddin from any of the others; he had seen too much tragedy, and for too long. The grand emotional displays that he usually enjoyed, the tears and embraces and effusions, were absent.

“I haven’t answered Prince Orbeliani and Prince Chavchavadze. I was waiting for you to confirm your intentions to me. You can still change your mind.”

Why was he putting on this show? The czar had given his consent long ago. Jamal Eddin had received letters from the two families thanking him for his agreement and begging him to hurry. Even Shamil knew he was planning to return.

The czar’s disingenuousness was obvious and added to the young man’s confusion, destroying what was left of his composure.

He stiffened.

“Your father has asked for the authorization to send emissaries to speak with you on his behalf. Would you like to talk to them and reserve your decision until after you have heard what they have to say?”

“I have no need to meet my father’s emissaries to be convinced, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“You do not wish to see them?”

“No, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“Your decision is final, you are returning? It’s irrevocable?”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“Have you informed the parents of your fiancée of your departure?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And have you told her?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“So she knows what you have chosen. And she accepts this? She understands?”

“For both of us, it is neither a matter of choice nor of acceptance.”

“But of duty. You are right. I would not have expected less of you, my child. We are alike, you know, and you are every bit my son. No doubt you think I am the most powerful man on earth. To all outward appearances, I can do anything I want. However, the truth is precisely the opposite: I’ve never done what I wanted to. If you asked the reason for this strange state of affairs, there would be only one possible answer: duty. For example, I did not want to ascend the throne. I was happy with my wife and my children. I didn’t want any other life. And yet, for thirty years, I have been obliged to reign.”

How many times had Jamal Eddin heard this speech? He’d listened to the czar tell it at intimate family gatherings, at formal balls, in moments of emotion and eloquence, to soldiers, ministers, children, and his wife. “The czar reigned reluctantly, the czar demonstrated the good example, the czar obeyed the will of God.” He used to adapt the speech to the circumstances. Today he hadn’t even the strength to modify it for the occasion. Sincere and sentimental, the words spoke themselves automatically, like the chorus of an old and often-repeated song. All that was left was the words—and the melancholy.

“Duty. For you and me, duty is sacred, and we are instinctively compelled to respect it. We must both sacrifice ourselves to duty to the death. That is what I have done all my life and what you are doing now. I want you to know, my boy, that I’m proud of you. And since I know you are courageous, I shall ask for an ultimate sacrifice on your part. I want you to give me your word of honor that you will not attempt to see Elizaveta Petrovna Olenina before you leave for the Caucasus.”

Jamal Eddin remained impassive.

“I will not give you my word on this point, Your Majesty,” he said firmly.

“Nonetheless, I am asking for it.”

“I have pledged my faith to Lisa Petrovna. I refuse to leave her without having exchanged a spoken word, ending it all with just a letter.”

He was not trying to convince the czar or to obtain his permission. He was not pleading his cause; he was flatly refusing to obey.

“But you must,” the emperor said softly.

“Her parents welcomed me as a son, Your Majesty. I must take my leave of the family that was to become my family in person.”

“I will convey your greetings to Piotr Alexeyevitch, in your name.”

“Your Majesty, I love Lisa Petrovna. She gave me her trust and her tenderness. I owe her an explanation. Do not deny me this moment with her.”

“I am denying you nothing. I am protecting you from yourself. Do you remember our agreement, in the glade at Peterhof? That evening, on the stone bench, you promised me you would return home and try to convince your father to make peace with me. Then you changed your mind and decided to stay in Russia. And now you’ve changed it again, and you have decided to go home. If you see your fiancée again, how do I know you won’t change it a third time? I am simply trying to spare you both needless suffering. I know how painful it is for you to give up this young woman. But God will ensure that your sacrifice is not in vain. In the Caucasus, you will accomplish the mission the Almighty created you for. You will end this fratricidal war between our two peoples and save thousands of lives by making peace. Do not give up hope, never give up. The Lord moves in mysterious ways. Who’s to say that one day you might not marry your Lisa?

“Come here, my child, let me bless you, let me embrace you. I shall not say farewell, but only au revoir for now. Send in General Milyutin. Then the two of you will go to see the empress. She has been very ill, you know, and she’s still in shock at this series of events. She wants to see you, but don’t stay long. Please spare her. And don’t forget to stop by the Potemkin manor as you leave the palace. Our brave nun is quite upset at the news of your departure. Now go outside and wait for a few moments, my son. May God protect you.”

Their parting embrace was as brief as their greeting had been.

He found the general seated among the secretaries waiting for an audience, cocked hat on his knees.

Milyutin occupied the same little gilt-trimmed chair that the amanat Shamil had perched upon so long ago. Jamal Eddin remembered sitting here in this antechamber, feeling almost happy, fifteen years ago. The Great White Czar had revived the sweet-faced image of his mother, Fatima, and it had floated in his mind’s eye, her expression carefree and full of love. At the time, he had been won over, overcome with gratitude toward the man who had returned his kinjal to him. This gesture of trust had marked the beginning of his Russian adventure. Now, in this same antechamber, the menacing specter of the imam Shamil, with his long, henna-tinted beard and his unforgiving eyes, loomed before him.

He thought of the mournful, glassy stare of Czar Nicholas, and the echo of his pompous voice uttering those same hackneyed phrases over and over rang in his mind. A puppet pulling the strings of all the other puppets, he was still trying to manipulate the marionette Jamal Eddin as he did all the other marionettes at his court. Had the emperor ever understood the meaning of his words?

Even their leave-taking today had been a setup. Why hadn’t the czar simply told him the truth?

Why hadn’t he admitted that he had to return to the Caucasus because there was no other way to save the princesses? Why this farce of choices made, this talk of fake freedom, these silly questions and this entire masquerade? It all served to bend him to his will and bind him to this decision. “I understand you want to go home. Are you very sure, my child?”

Did the czar think he was a fool?

Jamal Eddin flushed in anger and disgust.

Although there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt, even for a moment, that he must return to his father as soon as possible so that Varenka would be spared, he had plenty of doubts about everything else. He no longer trusted the czar, or his love, or his motives, or even the moments they had shared during the past fifteen years. He questioned his former impressions and even his own memories.

Had the emperor ever been honest with him?

Had the emperor ever done anything but mislead him?


Jamal Eddin sat down in Milyutin’s empty chair.

Milyutin took Jamal Eddin’s place in the study. The order he heard was not what he expected.

“Place him under arrest.”

Milyutin chose not to understand.

Too much responsibility weighed on the czar’s shoulders on the eve of this new year. He had endured too much strain and humiliation, and the vision of the world he had believed in all his life was about to crumble. Even he felt that he had failed in his mission on earth and was leaving a crumbling empire to his son. He knew he would have to answer for this before his creator.