That night, after the ball, I dreamed about hundreds of moths, fluttering through my bedroom window and down the dark hallways with their gray paper wings. One slipped into each room, landing on the mouth of the sleeping girl inside. What they were doing on all those girls' lips, I could not tell.

I woke up to a cold room, my breath visible in the gray light of early morning. The last remnants of the strange dream faded away as freezing air shocked my lungs. Someone had opened our window again in the middle of the night. I tiptoed across the icy floor and shut it before anyone became sick.

Dariya suspected Elena, who shared our room, but I believed it was the headmistress, who insisted night air was beneficial for young girls' growing lungs. I could never find any medical studies proving her theory. I felt a little rebel ious closing the window against Madame Tomilov's wishes. But I hated waking up with frost on my quilt.

The following week, everyone swarmed around Elena with a thousand questions about the tsarevitch. The teachers were just as curious and excited as the girls were. Madame Tomilov asked her to lead the younger girls in the mazurka during dance lessons. At tea, the servants gossiped with her about the tsarevitch's favorite foods. Elena enjoyed the attention.

I tried to put the ball out of my mind. Especially everything Princess Militza had said to me. She had called me a necromancer. It chilled my heart to think of it-especially since I knew it to be true. Even more

terrifying, I was not sure of the scope of my abilities. I'd never wanted to experiment. It frightened me to imagine what I might be capable of. What I'd done at the ball was horrible. I'd resurrected a dead insect. But there were certainly worse acts I could have committed. A thousand times worse. It wasn't as if I'd meddled with a human soul. Deep in my heart, though, I feared that I had the power to do so.

The last time I'd purposely used my powers, I was ten years old, and I'd believed it was for a noble cause. I resurrected Maman's poor cat Sasha.

I'd found him in our garden, his neck broken from a fall from a tree. I knew that the loss of her beloved Sasha would break my mother's heart. Not wanting Maman to be sad, I wished Sasha back to life. Maman never noticed the subtle difference in him afterward. Not the dull look to his eyes, nor the way he hissed every time I came near. Even at that age, I'd known what I'd done had been terribly wrong. I'd sworn I would never do such a thing again. But I had.

I was traveling down a dangerous and dark path. I had to stop myself.

But I knew that if faced with the same choice again, I'd do exactly the same thing. I wasn't sure if that meant my soul was at risk or my all egiance to the imperial family was such that I'd gladly brave the worst to save them.

Maybe I was just hopelessly stupid.

I focused on reading the Latin book Madame Orbel ani had given me.

She knew my dreams of studying medicine, and without the headmistress's knowledge, she had begun to encourage me. She'd seen me struggling with the medical books I'd liberated from my father's library.

Even though I was supposed to be reading Pushkin and Tolstoy, she found me a musty-smelling textbook of beginning Latin. She told me stories about the first Russian women to receive medical degrees, in the 1860s, Maria Bokova and Nadezhda Suslova. As a young girl, Madame Orbel ani had idolized them as pioneers in women's higher education.

Elena did not forget about my invitation to Montenegro, much to my dismay. She cornered me several weeks after the ball. "You made quite the impression on my older sister," Elena whispered as we were passed by several Browns. "She told me that you have some ... unusual talents."

"Princess Militza is imagining things," I managed to say, my heart beating hard. I did not want Elena to think I had anything in common with her.

"Don't worry," she said. "Your secret is safe with me, of course. Militza has written to our mother and Mama is anxious to meet you. She is also sending a letter to your mother to formally invite you to our home in Cetinje for Christmas. I know my brother is eager to meet you as well!"

"Your brother?"

Elena smiled ominously. "Yes. Danilo. He is nearly eighteen, very handsome, and is Papa's heir. Very exciting, no?" She pulled a golden locket out of her bedside table drawer and handed it to me. Inside was a portrait of a dashing young man with dangerously black eyes.

"There's ... a strong family resemblance," I said, nearly at a loss for a reply. I had no desire to know any more of her wicked royal family. It was bad enough that they were plotting to steal my uncle George Maximilianovich for Princess Stana.

Now Elena wanted me to meet her brother. I had to come up with an excuse to remain at home for Christmas. If Maman found out about the handsome crown prince Danilo, she would no doubt ship me off to Cetinje with my wedding trousseau already packed.