became wrapped up in extraordinary events. Thus my life has been the vehicle for much larger forces,
what Vladimir used to call the forces of history and what I call simple human stupidity. My role was
but a small one, and my losses have meant little in the scheme of things. And yet I feel them
profoundly. I have lost everything to the Nephilim. I hate them with the pure, well-considered hatred
of a woman who has lost all that she loves.”
Nadia finished her tea and set the cup on a table.
“Tell us,” Bruno said, taking Nadia’s hand. His gesture was filled with tenderness and patience.
“Perhaps my life would have taken an altogether different turn if it hadn’t been for Angela, who
made me her assistant. Without Angela Valko, I would not have met Vladimir, the man whose love
changed my life, and I would never have learned how vital my parents’ contribution had been to the
cause of angelology.”
The image of Dmitri Romanov’s collection of wings appeared in Verlaine’s mind. “They were
involved with the Romanov family?” he asked.
“Before the revolution, my father and mother worked in the household of the last tsar of Russia,
Nikolai II, and his wife, Tsarina Alexandra. My mother was one of the many governesses for the
tsar’s daughters—Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia. She had come to Russia from France at
eighteen years of age and met my father, a stableman who cared for the horses of the tsar’s military
regiment, the Yellow Cuirassier, soon after. My parents fell in love and married. They lived and
worked in Tsarskoye Selo, where Nikolai and Alexandra took refuge from the more festive life of the
royal court in St. Petersburg. The imperial family preferred to live a quiet, domestic existence, albeit
one filled with luxuries that ordinary people could hardly imagine.
“My mother—who had been born and raised in Paris—taught the grand duchesses French. She
once recounted her memory of assisting the girls with an introduction to the children of a high-ranking
French diplomat. The meeting was unusual—the children of kings rarely met the children of diplomats
—but whatever the reason for the introduction, my mother was summoned to the dining room and
asked to stay near the grand duchesses, to assess their language skills and observe their manners. My
mother remained with the duchesses, listening to them speak. She was impressed with the girls’
social graces, but she was even more taken by the treasures displayed throughout the room. Of
particular interest were the jeweled Easter eggs given each year to the tsarina by her husband.
Positioned in primary locations, they glittered in the sunlight, each one unique but retaining a uniform
opulence. She could not have known at the time that in a number of years Nikolai would abdicate and
their life at Tsarskoye Selo would end. Not in her wildest dreams would my mother have believed
that a number of these eggs would end up in her care.”
Verlaine stole a look at Vera, wondering how all of this was striking her. It seemed that her
dubious theories about Easter eggs and royal egg births could be supported by the tsarina’s
collection. But Vera’s expression was as impassive as it had been upon his arrival at the Hermitage
in the hours before dawn. Her feelings were stored away behind the cold pose of scholarly expertise.
Nadia didn’t appear to notice their reactions at all. She continued, her gaze focused upon something
in the distance. “The revolution of 1917 and the murder of the royal family in the village of
Ekaterinburg on July 17, 1918, turned my parents’ world upside down. In the brief window of time
between the tsar’s abdication in March 1917 and the revolution in October and November of 1917,
the tsarina, knowing that they were in danger, endeavored to hide some of her more precious
treasures. The jewels stayed with the family until the end—indeed, when the family was gunned
down, the bullets lodged themselves between diamonds and pearls—but the larger treasures stayed
behind. My parents were simple people, hardworking and loyal to the Romanovs, qualities much
admired by Alexandra. And so the tsarina entrusted the location of the hidden treasures to my
parents.”
“But the palace at Tsarskoye Selo was pillaged,” Vera said, cutting Nadia off. “The royal treasures
were confiscated by the revolutionaries and brought to warehouses, where they were photographed,
cataloged, and often disassembled before being sold outside of Russia in an attempt to raise capital.”
“Unfortunately, you are correct,” Nadia said. “My parents were helpless to protect the tsar’s
belongings, and so they took what they could carry and fled the country, traveling to Finland, where