I am happy to announce that the final book of my Shattered Crowns trilogy will be available in Kindle format tomorrow.
Here is a brief excerpt from the book. In this scene Tsar Nicholas meets his brother, Misha, for the last time before his enforced departure to Siberia:
...Nicholas pushed
open the door of his study and, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed
it to the corner of his eyes. The room, in which he had spent so many hours for
the past twenty-three years, felt bare and devoid of life. Stripped now of his
dearest possessions, it took on a sepulchral atmosphere and, as he ran his
fingers over the desk and ledges, he felt like a ghost from another era,
unwelcome and out of place in this present age. There was nothing left to do
here but to strengthen himself to ensure that neither his captors nor his children
should see him cry. It had been easier earlier in the day when he had been able
to continue the routine of strenuous manual labour, chopping logs and tending
the gardens, which he had adopted since the beginning of his captivity. Now, in
the stillness of the study the full tragedy of his situation overwhelmed him.
Determined not to let his tears fall for fear that, if they did, he should not
be able to stop them, he set about searching for any meaningless employment to
occupy his hands and his mind.
A stack of
books, which had been left untouched for years, caught his eye and he took them
one after another from the shelf with a view to returning them in alphabetical
order. Dust floated from their pages – something that would have been
unthinkable prior to his abdication when servants were forever busying
themselves to keep everything pristine – and, as he blew a cobweb from a cover,
a photograph fell from the pages and floated down to the carpet. Stooping to
retrieve it, he smiled sadly at the faces looking back at him: a happy scene of
a family holiday in Denmark several decades earlier. His father, proud and
strong, stood beside his mother whose face shone with the radiance of joy and
pride in her loving family. There were Nicholas’ sisters, Xenia and Olga –
then, still a baby, and now, he reassured himself, safe in the Crimea. Georgy,
his late brother, looked so young and healthy in his white sailor suit, smiling
and happily unaware that his life would be so brief. Beside him stood Nicholas,
though he barely recognised his own youthful features which the pressures of
his reign had now aged prematurely; and there, sitting cross-legged on the
ground by his father’s feet, sat Misha.
A hundred
regrets stormed through Nicholas’ mind as he murmured, “Dear Misha…”…such an innocent, open face displaying the childlike
spirit that even the horrors of war could not diminish. Now that everything had
fallen to pieces, it seemed to Nicholas that the years of his brother’s exile
had been so pointless, bringing nothing but unnecessary pain. At the time of
Misha’s banishment, of course, it had been the Tsar’s duty to put family
feeling aside to uphold the traditions which had sustained the dynasty for
almost three centuries. It would have been incorrect to have granted his
brother permission to marry the non-royal divorcee who had stolen his heart. As
Head of the Orthodox Church and head of the family, Nicholas had no alternative
but to send him away. Now, though, as he stared more intently at the
photograph, those years of separation tore at his heart.
He gazed more
intently at the image on the photograph and recalled, with no trace of
bitterness, that their father had always viewed Misha as a more suitable
successor than Nicholas would ever be.
“Papa was
right,” he murmured and, in the lonely silence of the study, was convinced that
his younger brother – so cheerful, so brave and popular with the troops – would
have handed everything so differently.
He might even have saved the dynasty and prevented the chaos which now
engulfed their beloved country.
“It would have
been better,” he whispered to the image, “if I had never been born, and you had
succeeded as Tsar Mikhail II…Oh, Misha, I am so sorry…”
The door creaked
open and suddenly there he was, tall, handsome, and dignified, looking every
inch like a Tsar.
“Misha,”
Nicholas mouthed, too overcome by emotion to speak.
Misha stood in
the entrance to the study, gazing directly into Nicholas’ violet-blue eyes; so
soulful they were, and so tender, that Misha felt like a drowning man, being
drawn deeper into a whirlpool and watching his life flash before him in a
myriad of disjointed images. First he was a tiny child, looking up in
admiration at the elder brother whose cheerful kindness endeared him to
everyone. There had never been any arrogance about Nicholas; no pride in his
position as the eldest son and heir to the throne. He had simply been one of
the family; respectful of his parents, attentive to his siblings, and gifted
with that rare combination of inner strength and outer gentleness which enabled
him to set everyone at ease. Throughout his childhood, Misha had always felt
safe in his elder brother’s presence and even later in life, when their father
died and Nicholas ascended the throne, Misha had been so sure of his brother’s
ability and devotion to duty that had never imagined that his reign could end
in such an abrupt tragedy.
Kerensky, who
had pushed past him into the study, was wittering about the limited time
available for the visit. As irritatingly as a wasp, he buzzed around the room,
before taking a book from Nicholas’ desk and settling in a chair. There he sat,
flicking through the pages and pretending to read while obviously remaining
alert to whatever might pass between the brothers. Nicholas paid him no attention.
His eyes remained fixed on his brother and his anguished expression was filled
with such sorrow that Misha felt that his heart would break. He longed to fall
to his knees with a litany of apologies and regrets but his grief was so great
he could not utter a word.
Would all this
have happened, he wondered, if he had been more supportive throughout Nicholas’
reign. Time and again, from his first failed attempt to elope with his sister’s
lady-in-waiting, to the scandal of his affair with Natasha, the wife of one of
his officers, he knew had brought nothing but disappointment. He trembled to
think of how deeply he must have wounded Nicholas when, despite all his
promises that he would do nothing without the Tsar’s permission, he had reneged
on his word and married Natasha in secret, only informing the family of what he
had done when everything was signed and sealed. Even worse, he thought now, was
the explanation he had given for his actions: little Alexei, the Tsarevich, was
suffering from such a severe episode of haemophilia that the doctors doubted he
would live. If the boy died, Misha knew his position would change dramatically
as he would become Nicholas’ heir. Then it would be impossible to ever marry
Natasha. He would be obliged to find a more suitable wife who would one day
become Tsarina.
Looking now into
Nicholas’ eyes, he understood the great disparity between his brother’s
selfless devotion to duty and his own selfish pursuit of satisfaction. Nicholas
had no desire to be Tsar but he had sacrificed his personal wishes to dedicate
himself to the role, and the least he could have expected in return was the
loving and staunch support of his family. Repeatedly, Misha knew, he had failed
to give that support and his spirits sank to the depths as he thought of recent
events and how, once again, he had failed to accept responsibility. He thought
of what anguish Nicholas must have suffered at his abdication, and he
understood now that his last hope of saving the dynasty had been to pass over
his haemophiliac son, and name Misha as his heir. Had he accepted that role,
Misha wondered, would he have been able to prevent this ignominy by ensuring
that Nicholas and his family could enjoy a dignified retirement in Livadia or
some other country estate? But he had
failed. He had refused to accept the crown without the support of the Duma and,
since that support was not forthcoming, he had allowed the dynasty to fall into
decay.
“Misha,”
Nicholas said softly and it wounded him even more deeply to realise that there
was no malice or recrimination in his tone. If anything, Nicholas appeared even
more apologetic than he was as though he somehow considered himself to blame
for this tragic turn of events.
To be greeted
with such humility and kindness in the face of his failures was more than Misha
could bear. Were it not for Kerensky’s unwelcome presence, he should have
fallen to floor to beg forgiveness but instead he heard himself ask a series of
trite and ridiculous questions.
“How are you,
Nicky?”
He heard
Nicholas swallow.
“And how’s
Alix?”
“Bearing up, you
know?”
He nodded, “The
children?”
“The same.”
“Good. That’s
good.” The tension was unbearable. “Have you heard from Mama?”
“She’s quite
safe in the Crimea with Olga and Xenia.”
And so it went
on – meaningless chatter to prevent an intolerable silence which would compel
them to face the magnitude of what was occurring – and all the while Misha
could only pray that, beneath the inanity of their words, Nicholas understood
how deeply he felt and how much he longed to communicate.
All too soon
Kerensky stood up and, dropping the book onto the desk, pointedly looked at his
watch. Biting his lip to restrain his tears, Misha nodded, and was about to
whisper some final words when a shuffling behind him distracted him. He turned
to catch a glimpse of Alexei peeping in from behind the door.
“May I see the
children before I leave?”
The question was
intended for Nicholas but Kerensky answered abruptly, “That won’t be possible.”
He looked again at his watch, “It is time to go.”
Unable to
restrain himself any longer, Misha threw his arms around Nicholas’s neck and,
kissing his cheek, whispered, “Nicky, I’m so sorry.”
Nicholas held
him so tightly he might have been clinging to him for life, “I love you, Misha.
God bless you. God bless you.”
Kerensky coughed
and Misha, choking, tore himself from his brother’s arms and, without looking
back, followed Kerensky from the room, pausing only to tousle Alexei’s hair as
he passed and wondering whether he would ever see Nicholas or his family
again.
Posts
