Zoya

“He's asleep.” She only nodded then and hurried down the familiar stairs to her grandmother and the Tsar and Tsarina waiting in the main hall. Feodor was already outside, with two of the Tsar's best horses hitched to the old troika in which they had come. It was all almost more than she could bear as she walked toward them on leaden feet. She wanted everything to stop, wanted to turn back the clock … to run back upstairs to her friend … she felt as though she were deserting all of them, and yet she was being torn from them unwillingly.

“Is she all right?” Alexandra looked worriedly into Zoya's eyes, hoping that Marie hadn't been able to discern the raw agony there.

“I told her we were going back to St. Petersburg.” Zoya was crying openly now, and even her grandmother had to fight back tears, as Nicholas kissed her on both cheeks and held her hands tightly in his, his eyes brutally sad but his lips still wearing a dignified smile. Although Evgenia had heard his sobs in his wife's rooms the night he returned, there was never any evidence of his grief to the rest of them. He staunchly encouraged everyone and was always charming and calm, as he was as he kissed her goodbye.

“Safe journey, Evgenia Peterovna. We shall look forward to seeing you sometime soon.”

“We shall pray for you all every hour, Nicholas.” The old woman gently kissed his cheek. “Godspeed to all of you.” And then she turned to Alix as Zoya stood by with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Take care of yourself, don't exhaust yourself too much, my dear. I hope the children will all be well soon.”

“Write to us,” Alix said sadly, just as Marie had said to Zoya only moments before. “We will be anxious for news of you.” She turned to Zoya then. She had known her since she was born, her baby and Natalya's born only days apart and such fast friends for all their eighteen years. “Be a good girl, listen to your grandmother, and take great good care of yourself.” And then without a word, she held her close to her, feeling for an instant as though she were losing her own child.

“I love you, Aunt Alix … I love you all so much … I don't want to go …” She could barely speak through her sobs, and then she turned to Nicholas, and he held her close as her own father would have done, if he were still alive.

“We love you too, and we always shall. We shall be together again one day. Be certain of it. And God's blessings on both of you until then, little one.” He pulled her gently away then, with a small smile. “You must go now.” He led her solemnly outside as his wife took her grandmother's arm and they helped them into their sled as Zoya cried. The last of the servants had come to say good-bye to them and they were crying too. They had known Zoya since she was a child, and now she was leaving them, and soon others would be leaving too. And it was frightening to think of never coming back. It was all Zoya could think of now, while Feodor slowly lifted his whip and touched the Tsar's horses for the first time. The troika sprang to life and in the gray gloom they suddenly pulled away from Alexandra and Nicholas, who stood waving at them. Zoya turned, clutching little Sava close to her. The puppy suddenly whined as though she also knew that she was leaving home never to return again, and suddenly Zoya buried her face in her grandmother's arms. She couldn't bear seeing it anymore, those two with their brave faces standing there, waving at them, the Alexander Palace seen for the last time, and suddenly Tsarskoe Selo itself disappearing in a distant haze of snow as Zoya wailed in agony, thinking of Mashka … Mashka … her best and only dearest friend … her brother … her parents … everyone gone … She clung to her grandmother and cried as the old woman sat stoically in the sleigh, her eyes closed as icy tears rolled down her cheeks, a lifetime left behind, all she had ever known, a world they had all loved … gone like the snows, as Feodor drove them on, and Nicholas's horses carried them far, far from home, and away from everything and everyone they had known and loved.

“Adieu, chers amis …” Evgenia whispered into the falling snow … Good-bye, dearest friends … They had only each other now, a very old woman and a very young girl, fleeing from a lost world and the people they had loved there. Nicholas and his family were history now, never to be forgotten, always beloved, and never to be seen again by any of them.

Paris

CHAPTER

8