Page 94 of To Catch A Rogue
"Most of the Grigorievs were blond." Only she, Nikolai and their father had been dark of hair and feature. "And that's an interesting speculation from someone who wears a dead man's face. What does he make of you?"
"He knows where my loyalties lie."
"With yourself," she guessed.
Thick dark lashes fluttered through the mask. The faintest of smiles touched his lips. "You're certainly arrogant enough to be a Grigoriev, though that could have been trained into you, of course."
"I'm not a Grigoriev."
"No?" He swept her beneath his arm. "Of course not. That would be a dangerous proposition in this world."
"Yes, it would. And speaking of Grigorievs, what may I call you?"
"I am Nikolai Koschei."
An old Russian fairy tale in which Koschei separated his soul from his body and hid it, so he could avoid death. "The Deathless."
"Indeed."
"I think I have another name for you." She swallowed. Hard. "Nikolai Konstantinovich Grigoriev."
Those dark eyes sharpened upon her. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Only on Tuesdays."
A pair of other dancers swept too close to them, forcing her to concentrate on her feet.
"Nikolai Grigoriev died along with the rest of his family," he told her, his face next to hers so no one would hear it. "And he would like to keep it that way."
It was as direct a confirmation she was going to get.
Lark drew back, staring into his eyes breathlessly.
Did she dare...?
"If Nikolai Grigoriev lived," she whispered, "then perhaps he wasn't the only one."
This time it was his turn to stare.
"There are rumors the eldest brother survived," she murmured, as they swayed. She'd told herself a thousand times Obsidian wasn't her eldest brother, but a little hint of doubt remained. She needed to know what had happened that night.
"Dmitri." His grip on her tightened. "He wouldn't want to have."
"What do you mean?"
"Who do you think was responsible for the death of Konstantin Grigoriev?" Then he added. "And Nikolai?"
"Surely not Dmitri."
"He was lured into the Narodnik movement by his friends," Nikolai told her. "They wanted to overthrow the government, and there were rumors of a plot against the tsarina. If Nikolai Grigoriev lived, then perhaps he saw their faces when they turned the carriage over and dragged his father from it. Perhaps he saw Dmitri vanish in the crowd, never to be seen again. Perhaps there is a reason he limps."
"Dmitri was nearly fifteen," she retorted. "And he.... They say he was a quiet, studious sort despite his athleticism. He excelled at—"
"Everything?" Nikolai's twisted smirk wasn't pretty. "Yes. He was frightfully clever. Clever enough to remove those who might have thwarted his plans."
"What plans? If Dmitri was involved in the carriage ambush, then you should know he wasn't involved in the murder of his younger siblings, nor the palace fire."
"Oh? Then who was?"
