As soon as it was cooked, he cut chunks of flesh and doled them onto plates Maria had brought along. The fish was white and delicate flavored, the skin crisp and scented with woodsmoke. Never had Maria savored a meal as much as she did this one, eaten beneath a starry expanse of winter sky.

When they had finished, Peter heaped snow onto the embers and they rose to walk back to the farm. Just at that moment, a beam of light appeared through the trees, coming toward them, and they saw Svetlana standing behind it, her features distorted. Maria tried to kick snow over the fishbone that lay on the ground, but Svetlana saw and bent to pick it up.

“This is the thanks you give us for our hospitality!” she said. “I followed your steps because I thought it odd you should all go out so late, and now I discover your secret.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter began. “It was for the children. Their health is failing and I only caught one small fish today.”

“It’s the dishonesty of sneaking out here that I detest. I’m guessing this is a regular outing, and that you have been making fools out of my husband and me.” Her fury was increasing as she spoke, and the children cowered against Maria. She scooped them up, balancing one on each hip.

“This is the only time it has happened, I give you my word,” Peter said. “Your husband knows me for an honest man. Look how often he has trusted me to get the best price for his stock.”

“Perhaps he was mistaken. No doubt he will change his mind when he hears of your betrayal.”

Maria hadn’t spoken yet, but now she begged Svetlana. “Please forgive us this one mistake. You must understand that it’s hard to watch the children suffer. I promise you with all my heart that we won’t do it again.”

Svetlana rounded on her. “Why should I take your word for anything when you have lied to me all along? I know you’re a Romanov. Why don’t you go and fetch some of your millions and we can all dine richly tomorrow?”

“What do you mean? I’m not a Romanov,” Maria stuttered, at the same time as Peter said, “I think you must be mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken,” Svetlana hissed. “I overheard you talking about it some weeks ago. Now, you both know I am no lover of the Bolsheviks, but neither am I a lover of the last Tsar and his wife. I will tell my husband what has happened this evening and we will discuss what should be done. He has a great respect for you, Peter, and I hope that will make him look favorably upon you.”

“Please . . .” Peter began. He gestured toward the children in Maria’s arms. “Think of the innocents.”

Svetlana turned on her heel and marched off through the snow.

* * *