"I'll keep you informed of my progress," Nikki offered, "and send back reports."
"When will you leave?" Lisaveta inquired politely, as though she weren't determined to accompany him, as though her mind weren't already organizing the provisions she'd require for travel in a war zone, as though her bland expression weren't hiding a tumultuous excitement. If there was the slenderest chance Stefan were alive somewhere between here and Istanbul, between here and hell itself, she intended to find him. In fact, when she'd first heard the startling rumor yesterday of the sightings, she'd smiled, as though the words alone had brought him back to life. Once her initial rush of joy had been mitigated by more logical realities and a flurry of questions to Militza, she'd cautioned herself against treacherous dreams, had reminded herself of the magnitude of the fire sweeping Kars. But her spirit had steadfastly ignored practicality and reason; her spirit had begun to hope. And now Nikki was here like a gift from God. Her guide, as it were, in her search.
"I'm leaving in the morning," Nikki replied in answer to Lisaveta's casual inquiry. "Militza's kindly offered the use of Stefan's stables."
"Cleo's back, you know." Her voice was mild but inside she was giddy with elation. Had Cleo's escape been a sign?
"Yes, I'd heard." Militza had taken him to see Stefan's horse directly after he'd arrived at the palace. Eyewitness accounts reported Cleo had been taken as a trophy when the Turks had overrun Stefan's forward position. She'd been hauled rearing and squealing from the scene only to return to camp three days later. And Nikki had thought on hearing the story, had Cleo known Stefan still lived that day? Animals had an affinity, a closeness to their masters beyond the understanding of man. Had she fought to stay with him and returned to his tent to wait for him? Even now she seemed restless and unquiet; she'd tried to break out of her stall twice, Militza had said. It wasn't the normal despondent behavior of a pet mourning its master's death.
"Stefan's been seen with a companion, I understand." Lisaveta's face was no longer pale but infused with vitality and the flush of health. Not only her wishful dreams were involved now. Nikki's presence here indicated a serious plausibility; he wouldn't have taken on this journey without some credible evidence. "Are the same stories circulating in Saint Petersburg?"
"I only heard of a companion once." Nikki didn't mention that the single fact of Haci's name had brought him south for fear of kindling impossible expectations. "The accounts have generally described him alone, in native dress. No mention's been made of wounds or illness, but surely he had to have been seriously hurt. If" Nikki carefully added, "the rumors have any substance at all."
"Thank you for taking on this… mission of verification," Lisaveta calmly said, sure her heartbeat could be heard pounding clear across the room. She studied Nikki for a cautious moment, fearful he'd noticed her agitation.
But her cousin seemed to accept her statement at face value. "If nothing else," he said quietly, wanting to make his own expectations clear, "the myth of resurrection will be nullified."
"Yes, of course," Lisaveta agreed, congratulating herself on her novice acting abilities, simultaneously deciding her fur coat was a necessity for the highlands' autumn climate. "Militza," she said by way of disassociation, "one of Stefan's coats will fit Nikki, don't you think? Perhaps the black marten." Did that sound suitably acceptant and passive?
"Why, yes, I'm sure it will," Militza said, concealing her relief at Lisaveta's apparent concurrence.
And the day progressed in preparations for Nikki's journey.
Lisaveta and Militza were up early the following morning to wish Nikki and his escort Godspeed. Provisioned for a month, they carried additional warm clothing, for snow had been falling sporadically in the mountainous heights near Kars since September, and November weather could be extremely cold at those altitudes. Nikki promised to telegraph each day so they could follow the direction of his search, and with his clearance from the Tsar, travel in the war zone should not present problems.
Lisaveta pleaded a headache after Nikki's departure, a complaint Militza viewed as reasonable after their busy schedule yesterday. She then retired to her room and swiftly changed into a serviceable leather split skirt and matching jacket made for fall riding. Into a knapsack she'd pulled from Stefan's closet she crammed an astrakhan jacket, one of Stefan's wool sweaters, a scarf, riding gloves, a knit cap, a change of underclothing and an extra blouse. Snapping the clasps shut, Lisaveta tossed the bag on her shoulder, and creeping silently down one of the servants' staircases, she exited the palace through a side door near the kitchen.
The grooms were startled by her request but obeyed without question, and in twenty minutes Lisaveta and two of Stefan's young grooms, hurriedly equipped for travel, were on Nikki's trail.
Chapter Twenty
They overtook his party shortly after midday because Nikki and his men had stopped to lunch and Lisaveta, counting on that eventuality, had pushed on.
"I suppose I'm not surprised," Nikki grumbled, waiting in the middle of the road for her to reach him, his gloved hands braced on his saddle pommel. He'd observed Lisaveta and her escort through his field glasses ten minutes before and, swearing a blue streak, had pulled his horse to a halt.
"I don't imagine I can convince you to turn around and go back to Tiflis," he growled as she cantered up. Each word was a blighting rumble.
"I won't slow you down," Lisaveta declared, full of cheer and unaffected by his annoyance, her cheeks flushed a healthy pink from her ride. "I promise." She was five hours out of Tiflis, perhaps five hours closer to Stefan, or at least, if nothing else, she was accomplishing something other than her aimless walking the past weeks through the great empty corridors of Stefan's palace.
"You might harm the baby," Nikki admonished, his black hair whipped by the wind coming down from the highlands.
"Native women ride until they deliver. I'll be fine."
"If you were a native woman," Nikki sardonically replied, "I wouldn't be concerned."
"I won't go back." Her terse statement was in the style of an imperial edict, and Nikki, married to a woman of singular independence, recognized the tone. Lisaveta's hair was tucked up into a scarlet wool cap and she looked very young in her green leather riding costume despite her air of royal prerogative.
"You will slow us down," he asserted, "if I'm allowed the last word." He was smiling now, very faintly, but smiling. He was familiar with assertive women, and he was damned, he thought, with a small resigned sigh, if he didn't admire her pluck.
"If it makes you smile, cousin Nikki," Lisaveta replied with charming acquiescence, "I'll always allow you the last word."
"Or near to it," he teased.
"Yes," she sweetly replied.
They traveled southwest for a week, climbing steadily out of the more temperate climate of Tiflis into the chill mountainous regions approaching Kars. Four days before they'd changed into their fur coats, and they were stopped more often now so Lisaveta could warm up occasionally at a camp fire and walk a bit to maintain the circulation in her feet. But they also halted often to question the native populace about Stefan.
The Kurdish nomads inhabiting the high plateaus around Kars were well acquainted with the Orbelianis, their liege lords until a scant two decades ago when Russia had nominally replaced the old feudal systems of authority. The individual tribes were still faithful to the Orbeliani interests over and above their employment as irregular cavalry to a variety of paymasters. If Stefan had appeared among them, even had their employer been the devil himself, they would have protected him.
But none of the tribes had seen him, neither as pilgrim nor wounded soldier, although all had heard the stories; not a single new scrap of information was gleaned from the natives on their journey upland. Last week the Turkish army had retreated yet again, they were told, and was moving now toward a last stand at the walled and fortified city of Erzurum, for with the fall of Kars the war had turned decidedly in favor of Russia.