puddled near her bed. She knelt by the tsarevna. “Be calm,” she whispered. “Be calm, and tell me what has happened.”
Before Elizavet could answer, someone hammered on the door. “Adrienne, it’s Veronique. I must see you, now.”
“Are you alone?” Adrienne called.
“Yes. Though I may not be for long.”
“Come in, then.”
The door swung open and Crecy stepped in. She, too, still wore her ball gown, EMPIRE OF UNREASON
but had thrown a sword belt over it. She carried a kraftpistole in one hand.
She took in the two of them and the room with a single glance, shut the door, and barred it.
“What in the name of God is going on?” Adrienne demanded.
“A coup,” Crecy said, simply. “Princess, are you well? Did they hurt you?”
“No. I mean, I’m well,” Elizavet said. She was still shaking, however, and Adrienne feared the girl had caught a chill.
“It’s the Dolgorukys and the Golitsyns,” Crecy explained. “They’ve taken the palace.”
“Menshikov?”
“Made prisoner. They waited until everyone was drunk. There was some fighting, but not much. Much of Menshikov’s guard was in on it.” She shook her head. “This isn’t good at all. I knew nothing of this, nor did Hercule. Nor any of our spies.” She nodded at Elizavet. “And they’re looking everywhere for her.”
“You’ve woken my guard, I presume?”
“Of course. They’ve already taken their positions. Hercule is on his way.”
“What can we expect from this?”
Crecy lifted her hands in an I-don’t-know gesture.
“Thank you, Veronique,” Adrienne said. “Go do what you must. I’ll join you soon.”
Crecy nodded and left.
When she was gone, Adrienne rang for her maid. The girl appeared a moment later, rubbing sleep from her eyes. They widened wakefully, however, when she saw Elizavet.
EMPIRE OF UNREASON
“Anna, fetch the tsarevna some clothes. I think mine will fit her—get one of my hunting dresses. And bring hot water.” The air in the room was already wanning, as the djinni excited the atmosphere at her command. “And bring my black gown, too.”
She stood with Crecy, watching the line of men falling into ranks around the house. The sky had lightened to gray.
“Those are the old Strelitzi uniforms,” Crecy remarked, “the ones the tsar banned.” She touched the glass. “You are certain of this window?”
“A cannon could not breach it,” Adrienne assured her.
Crecy rested her hand on the hilt of her broadsword. She had donned her own uniform—full-skirted coat, waistcoat, and breeches of Adrienne’s Lorraine guard. Her copper hair, unbound, flowed from beneath a black tricorn, and a cravat was wrapped tightly about her neck.
“Hercule seemed upset,” Crecy ventured. “And not about the coup.”
“He broke with me last night,” Adrienne told her.
“Really? What prompted that, after all this time?” Her voice rang with its accustomed mockery, but when Adrienne didn’t immediately answer, her tone softened. “Are you upset?”
“I—should not be,” Adrienne concluded.
“Well, no, not in a logical world. After all, you could have married him.” She cocked her head quizzically. “Why didn’t you—marry him? You never said.”
Adrienne wrinkled her brow. “Because I was not done .”
“What do you mean?”
The troops were shifting below, and both women watched carefully. Adrienne preferred that—she did not need to make eye contact.
EMPIRE OF UNREASON
“I think you know very well what I mean. A woman may accomplish something, if she does not marry. We two have proved that, haven’t we? With no false modesty, I can count myself the foremost female scholar in Russia—perhaps in Europe, given its sorry state. I have a personal guard, a fine house, students, things of my own. And you—how many openly female officers command troops? Marriage robs a woman of that. To marry is to become the appendage of a man, yes? His wife, the mother of his children. Veronique, I
Before Elizavet could answer, someone hammered on the door. “Adrienne, it’s Veronique. I must see you, now.”
“Are you alone?” Adrienne called.
“Yes. Though I may not be for long.”
“Come in, then.”
The door swung open and Crecy stepped in. She, too, still wore her ball gown, EMPIRE OF UNREASON
but had thrown a sword belt over it. She carried a kraftpistole in one hand.
She took in the two of them and the room with a single glance, shut the door, and barred it.
“What in the name of God is going on?” Adrienne demanded.
“A coup,” Crecy said, simply. “Princess, are you well? Did they hurt you?”
“No. I mean, I’m well,” Elizavet said. She was still shaking, however, and Adrienne feared the girl had caught a chill.
“It’s the Dolgorukys and the Golitsyns,” Crecy explained. “They’ve taken the palace.”
“Menshikov?”
“Made prisoner. They waited until everyone was drunk. There was some fighting, but not much. Much of Menshikov’s guard was in on it.” She shook her head. “This isn’t good at all. I knew nothing of this, nor did Hercule. Nor any of our spies.” She nodded at Elizavet. “And they’re looking everywhere for her.”
“You’ve woken my guard, I presume?”
“Of course. They’ve already taken their positions. Hercule is on his way.”
“What can we expect from this?”
Crecy lifted her hands in an I-don’t-know gesture.
“Thank you, Veronique,” Adrienne said. “Go do what you must. I’ll join you soon.”
Crecy nodded and left.
When she was gone, Adrienne rang for her maid. The girl appeared a moment later, rubbing sleep from her eyes. They widened wakefully, however, when she saw Elizavet.
EMPIRE OF UNREASON
“Anna, fetch the tsarevna some clothes. I think mine will fit her—get one of my hunting dresses. And bring hot water.” The air in the room was already wanning, as the djinni excited the atmosphere at her command. “And bring my black gown, too.”
She stood with Crecy, watching the line of men falling into ranks around the house. The sky had lightened to gray.
“Those are the old Strelitzi uniforms,” Crecy remarked, “the ones the tsar banned.” She touched the glass. “You are certain of this window?”
“A cannon could not breach it,” Adrienne assured her.
Crecy rested her hand on the hilt of her broadsword. She had donned her own uniform—full-skirted coat, waistcoat, and breeches of Adrienne’s Lorraine guard. Her copper hair, unbound, flowed from beneath a black tricorn, and a cravat was wrapped tightly about her neck.
“Hercule seemed upset,” Crecy ventured. “And not about the coup.”
“He broke with me last night,” Adrienne told her.
“Really? What prompted that, after all this time?” Her voice rang with its accustomed mockery, but when Adrienne didn’t immediately answer, her tone softened. “Are you upset?”
“I—should not be,” Adrienne concluded.
“Well, no, not in a logical world. After all, you could have married him.” She cocked her head quizzically. “Why didn’t you—marry him? You never said.”
Adrienne wrinkled her brow. “Because I was not done .”
“What do you mean?”
The troops were shifting below, and both women watched carefully. Adrienne preferred that—she did not need to make eye contact.
EMPIRE OF UNREASON
“I think you know very well what I mean. A woman may accomplish something, if she does not marry. We two have proved that, haven’t we? With no false modesty, I can count myself the foremost female scholar in Russia—perhaps in Europe, given its sorry state. I have a personal guard, a fine house, students, things of my own. And you—how many openly female officers command troops? Marriage robs a woman of that. To marry is to become the appendage of a man, yes? His wife, the mother of his children. Veronique, I
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