She pulled the fur high under her chin and sat up in bed to watch the moon. Perhaps if she focused on that clear, bright light, it might help her to understand what had just happened, why she was here in a forgotten palace, lost in a vast, empty country with people who behaved so strangely. She was confused, unmoored, like a small boat bobbing out to sea with no hope of finding her way back to shore, prey to the tide, the current, and the wind.
The clock ticked on, the moon slipping behind the shutter as if no longer able to support its enormous crystalline weight.
Sophie waited. There would be, she knew with calm certainty, a single, lonely howl. She would recognize it now, the way it slid around the higher note. She put her fingers to the piece of glass around her neck. It was as warm as her skin. She knew she would not sleep until she had heard it: the heartbreaking cry of that wolf.
No one came to fetch them. No clothes had been laid out. Delphine unpacked the rest of her suitcase, placing piles of skirts and vintage silk blouses on a chair.
“I forgot my ballet flats,” she said, sounding cross.
Sophie looked down at her own now rather crumpled clothes, then pulled on the Volkonsky silversarafanover her jeans. Delphine smiled her approval.
“What should we do?” Marianne asked. “Should we go and find someone?”
Sophie rubbed a circle on the frosted window and looked out onto the park below. She let her eyes relax and felt the morning twilight seep into her mind. She thought about last night. Dmitri’s hand … was he all right? And his sister, Masha. The image of them sitting next to each other, shoulders touching. And their story of the last, lost Volkonskys.
But there was something else about the way they talked whenever the princess was mentioned. Surely they should have been pleased a Volkonsky had once more returned to the palace? They didn’t like the princess — that was clear. And what did they mean about respect for the wolves? She thought about how the princess had reacted at the lake when Sophie had shouted “wolf”…“The wolves have been taken care of … You saw nothing.”Why would she deny their existence?
“I’m starving,” Marianne said, sighing. She looked around for the supper tray, but it had gone. “Who takes the things away?” she asked, blinking. “We never see anyone, do we?”
Sophie was about to tell them about the Under Palace, but felt, suddenly, that it would sound ridiculous. Later. She would tell them later.
“Ivan seems to do most of the stuff.” Delphine shrugged, checking her reflection. She had twisted her hair into two yellow coils on either side of her head. “Oh, let’s go and find someone!” she said. “We can’t sit around here all day. Are you going out like that, Marianne?”
“Don’t start!” Marianne snapped. Her hair was unbrushed, and she was wearing scuffed loafers. Her shirt hung out beneath her sweater. Her cheeks flushed and she glared at Delphine.
“I’m just saying …” Delphine looked flustered.
“I don’t care what I look like!” Marianne pulled her sweater down. “Can’t you get that through your head? And no one else cares, either. It’s justyou…”
“Marianne …” Sophie took her arm, gently.
Marianne sat down on her bed and took off her glasses. She rubbed her eyes. She looked as surprised by her outburst as the others. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You look lovely, Delphine. It’s just … I’m not interested in the same things as you.”
“I know,” Delphine said quietly. “I think when I’m nervous … I get more anxious about what I’m wearing.”
“Look, I’ll brush my hair,” Marianne said and, picking up her brush, gave it two quick strokes. Hair floated up with static. “Thing is,” she said, putting on her glasses, “whatever I do, I always look the same!”
In the corridor, everything was quiet.
“Do we even know where to go?” Marianne asked.
“They’ll have left food for us in the White Dining Room.” Delphine sounded confident. “Like yesterday.”
The princess was seated at the far end of the table. She was dressed in an elegant blue skirt and high-necked voile blouse, an enormous fur draped over the back of her chair. She was wearing red lipstick, and her mouth looked as full as a peony. Her head rested in her hand as she stared straight ahead.
She pulled the fur stole around her shoulders as if she were cold, picked up a small cup stained with lipstick, stood up, and came toward them. Close up, she had dark circles under her eyes and Sophie could see tiny grains of powder on her nose. She had painted two thin black lines on her upper lids, the ends flicked up. But they seemed to have interrupted the fine dimensions of her face, making her look less remarkable.
The princess passed a hand across her forehead. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “So much paperwork!” She looked frail, not like the day before. “And we have a guest arriving today! A very important guest. His name is General Grekov.”
“Princess!” Ivan appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of bread rolls.
“Ivan?” Sophie saw the princess hastily try to control her expression.
He carried the tray toward the sideboard. His hair was unkempt and he had left several buttons on his jacket undone. He didn’t meet the princess’s gaze. Instead he busied himself arranging plates, putting glasses on the table.
The princess jumped when he dropped a handful of cutlery, and spoke to him sharply in Russian. He bent down to pick up what he had dropped, and Sophie saw that his hands were shaking.
The princess sat down. She asked for more coffee, then just stared at the walls, as if imagining paintings that no longer hung there.
