Princess Elena caused a stir when she opened the ball with the tsarevitch Nicholas Alexandrovich, the heir to the throne of Russia. She looked like an angel gliding across the marble floor in her white dress. We all looked like angels, all in the same virginal white with our hair coiffed perfectly in braided chignons.

"It's heaven on earth!" Dariya said with a sigh.

Boys from the Corps des Pages, the elite military academy, lined up in chairs directly across the cavernous ball room from the girls of Smolny Institute. They looked very smart and very handsome in their black military uniforms. Dariya had spent the entire sleigh ride to the palace considering which of these cadets were foreign princes and which ones were the most suitable to marry. As Elena and the tsarevitch finished the opening polonaise in the enormous Nicholas Hall, the young men rushed toward us to claim our hands for the next dance. The meat market had opened for business.

Rumors flew from one end of the room to the other, from the youngest Smolny maid to the oldest lady-in-waiting, about a possible engagement between Princess Elena and the tsarevitch. Her father was the King of Montenegro, and a close ally of the tsar, but there were many more princesses of larger and more important countries for Russia to make all iances with. As coldhearted as it may sound, this match seemed improbable to me. But Elena already looked like she was in love.

I kept my eye on Elena throughout the night, even as I danced one tedious set after another. A grim-looking, pale young cadet was my first partner. He barely spoke two words to me when I tried to be polite and ask about his lessons at Vorontsov Palace. But our dance was over soon, and with a quick, halfhearted bow, he slipped back into the crowd.

Another cadet replaced him, and then another. Their faces blurred together in the wild crush. It was not much different from dancing with my fell ow students during our lessons. The ball room was a flurry of white dresses and black uniforms, all of us twirling under the bright lights of the glittering chandeliers. It grew hotter and stuffier with each dance, and the petticoats under my gown became sticky and damp.

The entire ball room had begun to smell of sweat. The heavy colognes and perfumes everyone wore did nothing to disguise it. I wished I had a fan to keep the stench away from my nose. I settled for a glass of lemonade.

The dance master called for the mazurka and Dariya squealed. "This is my favorite! Oh, Katiya, I don't know why I was worried about tonight. I never dreamed the ball would be so wonderful!" She blushed when a handsome blond cadet took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. I smiled, happy for my cousin.

The tsarevitch did not dance the mazurka but stood beside his mother, the empress. Elena danced with the pale and grim cadet I'd partnered with earlier.

"Duchess, would you do me the honor?" I spun around to see the tsarevitch's younger brother the grand duke George Alexandrovich standing before me.

I placed my gloved hand in his. "The honor is mine, Your Imperial Highness."

He led me onto the dance floor and bowed as the music started. Like all the other girls, I curtsied deeply in response to my partner. Then he put one hand lightly on my waist and we were off.

Dancing with the grand duke was nothing like dancing with fell ow students in Madame Metcherskey's class. Very conscious of his hands touching me, I felt a strange light-headedness as we promenaded around the ball room.

I must confess: like Dariya, I'd always been fond of the mazurka. The boys stamped their feet and the girls kicked their heels and it was so much livelier than the other dances. And the music the orchestra played was by Glinka, one of my favorite composers.

The grand duke did not speak as we completed our circuit of the ball room. He did not speak when we crossed hands and turned clockwise.

There was no need for us to make polite conversation. As he got to one knee with one hand on his hip, the other barely holding my fingertips as I pivoted around him, the grand duke looked up at me, his eyes sparkling under the brilliant lights. The faintest hint of a smile was beginning to form on his lips. He was having fun after all.

I smiled back.

It grew even hotter in the ball room at that moment. I could feel myself blushing.

I completed my circle around the grand duke, and he stood with a click of his heels. A hundred pairs of boot heels clicked together at once as the mazurka ended.

With one last gracious bow and a polite smile, the grand duke excused himself to join his brother. I needed to catch my breath. Another glass of lemonade would be nice as well, I thought.

Dariya pushed through the crowd and swung me around, squeezing my hands. "Mon Dieu, Katiya!" she gushed. "This has been the best night of my life!"

I smiled and squeezed back. The night was not quite as terrible as I'd feared either.

We sat down to dinner at half past ten, right after the mazurka. Elena's two older sisters met us in the grand dining room. All the Montenegrin princesses favored each other: tall, with raven-black hair, eyes just as dark, and strong noses.

"You look beautiful," Elena's sisters said to her. "Papa and Mama would be so proud of you!"

I'd heard sinister tales about Elena's sisters. Even though they were rumored to be witches, they were still the toast of St. Petersburg society, coyly appearing at all the smartest balls and card parties. Princess Militza was engaged to the grand duke Peter Nikolayevich, cousin of the tsar on his father's side and also my cousin on his mother's side. Another sister, Princess Anastasia, known as Stana, had her eye on my uncle the Duke of Leuchtenberg.

As we were shown to our seats, I was shocked to see the tsarevitch and his brother being seated at my table-next to Elena.

I whispered to Princess Militza, "To what do we owe such an honor?"

"It is the tsarevitch who is honored tonight, dining with daughters of King Nikola," she answered. Militza tended to think the universe revolved around her father's tiny kingdom of Montenegro.

"Oh. Then I am honored as well," I said with a reverent bow of my head to her. She nodded regally, oblivious to my sarcasm. On the other side of me, Dariya snickered softly.

The food had been prepared under the direction of the empress's French chef. The soup was excellent, the fish not so much. I discreetly pushed it around on my plate, certain no one would concern themselves with what a silly Smolny student ate or did not eat. The empress was entertaining her Danish relatives at her own table, the tsar having already returned to his private quarters after a brief appearance.

Besides, I knew all uneaten food would be given to the beggars outside at the end of the ball. I believed I was doing my part to help them by leaving more food for the poor. I just hoped they liked fish more than I did.

I glanced around our table, where Elena was laughing and batting her eyelashes at everyone. She caught my eye and winked. The tsarevitch was talking to a young officer to his left. Elena turned to his younger brother the grand duke George Alexandrovich, on her other side, and whispered something.

He looked toward my plate and nodded. "Not fond of the salmon, Duchess?"

All eyes at the table were suddenly on me. The devil. Elena winked at me again as she slipped something out of her locket and sprinkled it over the tsarevitch's plate. Was that the charm my maid had seen her with earlier? With a dead moth? She had deliberately diverted everyone's attention toward me. Was she really trying to cast a spell on the tsar's son?

Mon Dieu!

I couldn't let the princess harm a member of the imperial family. The tsarevitch was a kind young man. He did not deserve to be bewitched.

I stared at my own dinner plate with a cold, clammy feeling in my stomach. I took a sip of wine, knowing there was one way I could ruin her spell. For as long as I could remember, I'd had a terrible curse. I'd never told my parents about it, even though I sometimes wondered if I'd inherited it from my mother. I was too ashamed to ask her.

I hadn't purposefully used the curse since I was ten. But I suspected that there was something dead on His Imperial Highness's plate, so I knew I could ruin Elena's spell. There was no other way to stop her.

The tsarevitch laughed at something his brother had said, and lifted his fork again. I had to hurry. I focused my attention on his dinner plate, hoping no one would notice.

And that God would forgive me.

As I concentrated, the dead moth crawled out from under the tsarevitch's fish.

"Good Lord!" he said. As he moved to poke the insect with his fork, it flew up at Elena, who shrieked. A mortified servant whisked the tsarevitch's dinner plate away.

Dariya, who discreetly hid her face behind her napkin, looked startled at first, then tried very hard not to laugh.

The grand duke George frowned at me with his mysterious blue eyes before turning to his brother. "Didn't fancy the fish either, Nicky?"

"To be honest," Nicholas said, "it did have a queer taste." He laid his napkin on the table.

"Yes, it certainly did, now that you mention it," Princess Militza said, glancing at her sister.

Elena grew unhappy. She would have to find another way to charm the tsarevitch. He would think me insane if I told him what had happened, if I warned him about the Montenegrins.

The servants finished clearing the rest of our dishes from the table and brought out fruit compotes. still slightly nauseated, I picked at mine. Elena ate her compote glumly, smiling only when someone spoke to her.

It was not long before the empress had finished dining and risen from her table, signaling a return to the dancing. Militza grabbed my arm and hissed in my ear, "Walk with me, Katerina Alexandrovna. You must see the beautiful fountain in the winter garden. It's just at the other end of this hallway."

An icy chil slid down my spine. I was terrified that someone would discover what I'd done. Especially one of the Montenegrin princesses.

The garden was in a large two-story glass room, full of heavily scented flowers and lush greenery. In the center, an enormous multitiered fountain babbled soothingly.

"Can you keep a secret, my dear?" Militza asked as her cold and perfectly manicured hands clutched mine.

"I've been known to keep them before," I replied, still shaky from what I had done to the moth. Years earlier, I'd promised myself I would never do such a horrible thing again. It was unnatural.

"I believe there is an evil presence here at the ball tonight." My heart pounded. "Evil?"

"Yes. Evil. Nothing else could have disrupted Elena's spell," Militza said, watching my face very closely.

"A spell!" I gasped at her recklessness, wondering why she would admit to such a thing. "Elena could be exiled for witchcraft!" I added.

"Not if the Romanovs do not find out. And I know you will not tell them, Katerina Alexandrovna."

"Why should I protect her? She was casting a spell on the heir!"

"Because your magic is far more terrible than ours. The tsar holds my father in high esteem. And you would not want the tsar to discover your nasty little secret."

My mouth went dry and my palms began sweating inside my white kidskin gloves. "You must be making fun of me," I said, trying to be as lighthearted as possible. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Come now." Militza narrowed her eyes. "Several people in that dining room could sense that something deliciously wicked had just happened.

Especially the empress." She paused and seemed almost gleeful at the look of horror on my face. "You are fortunate there are so many witches and other ... creatures present tonight. It will take weeks for the tsar's men to discover it was you, an innocent-looking viper." I was speechless. The Montenegrin princess could see the fear in my eyes.

Militza smiled. "Necromancy is the most vile, the blackest of the black arts, Duchess. Certainly you cannot think the tsarina could allow one such as you to remain under her roof? Or indeed, even to continue attending Smolny?"

She had me trapped in her web. "What do you want from me?" I whispered.

She smiled once more and put her arm through mine, leading me back toward the ball room. "I want you to meet the rest of my family. My mother would put your talents to good use. Come home with us for Christmas holidays."

I tried to pull away from her. "But my parents-"

"Will be very shocked and disgusted if they discover what their clever daughter has been doing. Unless they already know? Do your parents know how to raise the dead as well?"

"Of course not!" I felt the panic rising in my body. "And they know nothing of my problem."

"Problem?" Militza laughed. "In my family, it would be considered the greatest gift. You'll see."

As soon as we returned to the ball room, Militza joined her fiance for a waltz. I retreated to the pretty winter garden. I had no desire to dance anymore. I just wanted the night to be over.

I stood in front of the fountain, lost in my own thoughts, and did not know anyone else was in the garden until a voice whispered in my ear,

"Whatever spell you are casting now, I promise you it won't work." I spun around to see Grand Duke George Alexandrovich glaring at me.

My heart dropped to my stomach as I curtsied feebly. "Your Imperial Highness, I can assure you-"

"Your aura is tainted with the blackest magic. You have been doing something sinister and I know my brother's dinner was involved." I squirmed under his intense gaze. I wanted to tell him that I'd just saved his brother from the clutches of the Montenegrins, but I was terrified they would come after my family.

Nor did I want my parents and brother to incur the tsar's wrath. What had I gotten myself into? And how did the grand duke know the color of my aura?

There was a power struggle, subtle but deadly, within the aristocracy of St. Petersburg. There was a Light Court and a Dark Court, each presided over by a powerful faerie. Everyone within the nobility aspired to be claimed by one of these ladies. One could be loyal either to the empress or to the grand duchess Miechen, but everyone was loyal to the tsar. The Romanov dynasty had traditionally been aligned with the Light Court, even though none of the tsars had ever married a faerie until Alexander married Dagmar of Denmark in 1866. His brother shocked the entire Romanov family by marrying the Dark Court faerie Miechen in 1874.

All that was known of the faeries was that they were ethereally beautiful and tended to read minds. No one knew the full extent of their powers. The superstitious lower classes knew only that our tsar was incredibly strong, and that our empress looked as young and beautiful as she had when she'd married the tsar.

And who knew what mysterious gifts the tsar's son standing in front of me had inherited from his mother? "Your Imperial Highness, please forgive me. It ... it was nothing more than a schoolgirl dare."

"A dare? Meddling with magic? Against my brother?"

"It was extremely foolish. We ... I mean ... I meant him no harm." If he did not see the auras of the Montenegrins and recognize Princess Elena for the witch that she was, I would not be the one to enlighten him.

He glared at me as I tried to remember how old the grand duke was.

Seventeen, perhaps? A year older than me, but surely not as old as my brother. He certainly made a handsome faerie. His soft brown hair fell down into his eyes, which, although not as kind as his brother's eyes, were quite attractive. Mon Dieu, where had that thought come from?

He took my gloved hands in his as I tried in vain to stop trembling. "Black magic is punishable by exile," he said.

"And any attempt to cast a spell on a member of the imperial family is punishable by death." He stared at me, no doubt seeing much more of me than I wished him to. "I am certain this will not happen again." Punishable by death? I felt weak and nauseated and realized he was holding me up. "Never again, Your Imperial Highness."

"Very good, Duchess." With a click of his boot heels, he made a sharp bow and left me. Of course he did not offer to escort me back to the ball room. We did not want to start any more rumors that evening.

I wondered about the auras he claimed to see. The popular author Marie Corel i wrote romantic novels in which pulsing bodies of energy surrounded all living beings. The grand duke might have been able to see auras as well as Princess Militza, but I saw something much more ominous surrounding everyone.

The light I saw was not life but death. A cold light that seemed to grow stronger as a person drew nearer to the end. When a person died, sometimes the cold light was all that remained: the ghost of an individual.

Perhaps it was the doppelganger I had read about in my cousin Dariya's German romances. Perhaps it was an aura that I saw detaching itself from a dying body. Everyone has a cold light. Little by little, we are all dying every day.

I used to sneak out of my bedroom and watch my mother conduct seances at her parties. Spiritism may have been fashionable, especially among Maman's friends, but reanimation of the dead was another thing entirely. What I had done tonight was unholy. I swore to myself I would never do such an abominable thing again.

I might have saved the tsarevitch from a malicious love spell, but from the moment I had used my terrible power, the cold light of everyone at the Winter Palace had grown brighter. Death was now closer than before.

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