I insisted we sleep in separate berths, for I was terrified that the train would be stopped and boarded by the imperial guards or that our families would find us.

George was more concerned about the lich tsar. He insisted on sleeping in the berth below mine. I'd never slept so close to a boy before. Just knowing that he was lying beneath me, listening to his breathing all night long, filled me with fear and excitement. I was terrified and anxious for what the morning would bring. And I wondered and fantasized about our sleeping arrangements the following night.

The rocking of the train lulled me to sleep much faster than I'd expected. I dreamed of the lich tsar and his wife, Princess Cantacuzene. She was laughing at me and telling me that my time was up.

I awoke to bright sunshine and the sound of George coughing. Immediately, I pulled on my robe and slipped out of my sleeping berth. I needed to find him something to drink.

"Katiya?" His voice was weak as he emerged from his berth. "Did I wake you?"

"Of course not," I lied. "Let me ring for the porter. I'll get you a glass of water."

He reached out and touched my sleeve. "No, don't. I'll be fine in a moment. It's always like this in the mornings." He looked up at me and grinned boyishly. "I hope you can get used to it."

I couldn't help blushing, even though his breathing worried me. "How long have you had this cough?"

"Since the duel," he said grimly. He took my hands in both of his. "I am putting my faith in you, my lady doctor."

I kissed his knuckles. "I swear I will find a way to make you well."

The train's whistle blew and the engine lurched as we sped through the dark green forests of Latvia. We would soon be in Riga. "Hurry up and get dressed, Katiya. We've got a priest waiting on us."

I scrambled into the dressing closet with my baggage and paused. What should I wear today to be married in? Not the blue satin or the brown walking suit I wore to see Dr. Badmaev. And certainly not my imperial court dress, which I would have worn if I were getting married properly in St. Petersburg. I shook out the white linen dress I'd worn to the last ball I'd been to in the Crimea.

Even though it was slightly warmer here than it had been in St. Petersburg, it was still chilly, and I realized Maman would never forgive me for wearing linen in October. Even if she did forgive me for eloping. I finally decided on my soft gray blue silk gown, the one that matched the color of George's eyes. I had little difficulty putting my hair up without a maid's help. But I missed Anya all the same.

George was waiting for me in the dining car. "We do have time for a short breakfast," he said as he took a sip of coffee. "The tea is tolerable and the bread is fresh, but we will have better provisions once we reach Paris."

But I couldn't eat. I was sipping my tea impatiently when the train finally rolled into the station in Riga.

George began coughing again and stood up, patting his coat pockets. "I think I've misplaced my handkerchief."

"I'll get it for you," I said, rushing back to the sleeping car. I looked in his berth and was shocked to see drops of blood on his pillowcase. Horrified, I snatched up a clean handkerchief and returned to him. "George, you're bleeding!"

"I cough it up sometimes." He frowned. "It's nothing."

"It could be tuberculosis," I pointed out.

"Or it could be a Vladiki poison that infected me when I fought the crown prince."

I wasn't sure which option frightened me more.

We stepped off the train, arm in arm, and George hired a carriage to take us to the chapel. He squeezed my hand comfortingly. I smiled, trying to be brave. I couldn't help thinking he was making the worst mistake of his life. But if he was willing to risk so much for me, it would have been cowardly of me to back down. Together, we would face the brunt of our families' ire. After the lich tsar was defeated and George was healthy.

The young and extremely nervous black-bearded priest refused to marry us before he'd heard both of our confessions. I could not imagine what George had to confess. But I was terrified of speaking to the young man. I had brought dead people back to life. Would it be better or worse for my soul if I lied during my confession? He would surely throw us both out of the chapel if I told him all the terrible things I'd done.

I sat on a wooden bench, twisting my hands, my stomach a mass of knots while I waited for George to finish. All I could hear from the confessional were low, soft male voices. George was taking forever. Mon Dieu, how many sins did he have to confess? My nerves could not handle it anymore, so I stood up and stepped outside for fresh air.

I looked up at the brilliant sky on that golden autumn morning and took a deep breath. The air was crisp, and I could detect smoke from some nearby fireplace. But leaving the chapel was the worst mistake I'd ever made.

A black cloth was placed across my face with a sickeningly sweet and vaguely familiar odor. The last thing I heard as I quickly slipped out of consciousness was a voice, also sickeningly familiar: "We've found you, my love."

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