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She could not say why she was skittish, so unwilling to be seen. Tatiana had lived within the
Winter Palace for the entirety of the time she had been married to Filip and had as much right to come
and go through these halls as anyone. The size and location of their private quarters was the result of
a single day, years ago, when Filip had taken a bullet in the side during some street fracas and thus
immediately risen in the tsar’s estimation. It took a man like Filip, bold and broad and very nearly
fearless, to earn a full apartment in a wing not far from the imperial family’s, to earn his wife a
position, even a lesser one, in the tsarina’s court of ladies.
Her feet followed the familiar path, turning corners and navigating the great rooms at the end of
each hall without thought, moving up and down staircases without the effort of the movement striking
her consciousness. The Winter Palace was grand only in appearance, pleasing to the eye with little
regard for the rest of the senses. In fact, as homes went, it was not even comfortable. It contained
antiquated plumbing, unpredictable lighting, primitive heating, and utterly ineffective ventilation,
resulting in the sort of daily inconveniences that would have been unthinkable in a European palace
and making it the least popular of the tsar’s three residences.
The significance of the place lay largely in the fact that its sheer size allowed it to function as a
contained city. In one direction, the Palace took up a huge expanse of shoreline along the Neva River,
with several pavilions leading down to individual docks, and on the other side it stretched the
equivalent of three city blocks. In the high season, somewhere between six and seven thousand
people lived within its walls, more than the entire population of the town where Tatiana had been
born. This was not the high season. As its name so obligingly indicated, the Winter Palace was the
tsar’s primary residence in the winter and the majority of the aristocracy, along with their staffs, spent
summers in their country homes or villas by the sea. In this particular summer the season was being
delayed until the conclusion of the Tchaikovsky ball.
The Winter Palace was not only the size of a city but was laid out like one as well, much in the
manner of the old fortress towns - or an egg, should one pause to think of it - with layers of protection
radiating out from a vital hub. The yoke of this particular egg was the lavish chambers occupied by
the tsar, tsarina, and their five children. Tatiana had never personally visited these quarters, but if
rumor was correct, the rooms there were awe-inspiring upon first glance but in reality just as
unsatisfactory when it came to matters of lighting and plumbing as the rest. The next layer contained
the extended family members of Alexander and his Danish-born wife - the minor royals, one might
say. Then came the halls where Tatiana and Filip lived. They belonged to the segment of the staff that
was considered elite, those who resided in the nether world between privilege and service.
Governesses, doctors, dancing masters, portrait artists, jewelers and dressmakers, musical directors,