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  I was struck by the openness of Anton’s face. His expression, unlike Yakov’s, was not made to mock me. Rather, he was just as curious as I was. I remembered my earlier experience with Yakov. I remembered his cold eyes, uninterested manner, and overall snide behavior. He had insulted Masha and me without a second thought. Anton was the first person I had spoken to all night who bothered to look into my eyes. I wondered what kind of questions he had.

  What was going through his mind?

  He paid no mind to my status, and my title meant very little to him. Just as his lack of one meant very little to me. Anyone else would have frowned upon his casual demeanor, since most of the men I knew were proud, calculating, and stiff. Anton had a simplicity about him; where Yakov was the roughened sketch of a Russian noble, Anton was a soft oil painting.

  “Truly, I insist,” Anton persisted with a polite nod. No man had ever encouraged me to ask questions, except for Uncle Drosselmeyer.

  “If you’re sure,” I said softly. Behind us, I could feel my uncle watching us with intrigue, though I was sure he was pretending to keep the fire. “Are you from the same village as Uncle Drosselmeyer?”

  “Is that all you wanted to ask?” he asked with a chuckle. I spied the shadow of a dimple as his lips curled. There was even a hint of a sparkle in his eye as he slid a hand through his blond hair. I wasn’t sure if he was simply amused by my simple question, or if he was teasing.

  Had he wanted me to ask something more?

  “Yes, I’m from the same village,” Anton replied. “I’ve lived there for most of my life.”

  “How did you come to work for my uncle?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  “My family has been friends with Drosselmeyer for some time. I’ve wanted to learn his trade since I was a young lad. When I was finally permitted to leave my family, Drosselmeyer welcomed me to work for him as an apprentice. I’ve learned much since I’ve begun.”

  I found myself wondering why his family had not allowed him to leave. Wasn’t it traditionally a son’s duty to learn a trade and tend to his family’s needs?

  “So you help to create his toys and inventions?” I pressed.

  Anton pursed his lips as he studied me closely. “A little,” he murmured. “I mostly help him research the methods by which he can automate what he makes.”

  “Fascinating. I’m sure you’ve dabbled and tinkered some as well?”

  His eyes lit up like the lights on the tree. “How could I not?”

  “I should like to see his workshop someday, if I am ever able.” I clasped my hands before me, hopeful as ever, though I knew better.

  “If you do, I will be there to give you the grand tour!” Anton proclaimed. “I could show you our ideas, sketches of the toys we have been planning—"

  The sound of my father’s voice cleared the room of conversation. I jumped, looking to him.

  “Is this where the two of you went off?” my father asked as he stepped into the study.

  “It seems that we have been found, Clara,” Uncle Drosselmeyer said as he rose to his feet. “Is it time already?”

  “The guests are eager for your surprises,” my father replied with a smile before he turned his attention to me. “Clara, Lord Yakov has asked for a dance.”

  My stomach turned miserably.

  Lord Yakov? A dance?

  I felt my cheeks begin to flush and my body flinch, remembering his earlier tactics. I quickly dashed a glance back in Anton’s direction, who was staring at me, his blue eyes searching and soft, if not a little saddened by the sound of another man’s name. Yet, I was sure I could have been reading him entirely wrong.

  “But father—”

  “It is impolite, Clara. Besides, we must give Uncle some time to prepare!”

  I felt myself looking for an answer in Anton, who nodded and bowed. “Please, attend to your guests. I’m sure we will find one another again.”

  “And you can tell me more about your work with Uncle?”

  “Of course.”

  “Until then,” I curtsied and followed after my father back into the party where Lord Yakov waited.

  Chapter 3

  As I emerged from the study and crossed into the ballroom, I spied Masha and her fiancé sipping on champagne. She laughed as Lord Andrei leaned in to speak over the noise, all the while tantalizingly pressing her fan against her lips. A twinge of jealousy took hold of my stomach; a feeling I didn’t quite understand. I didn’t want what she had, did I?

  Even as I crossed the dance floor, I couldn’t seem to look away from the two of them. I’d heard enough stories around the city about women marrying to help their families reach a better social standing. Though they had succeeded in securing their interests, it occurred to me that their husbands had never grown to love their wives. Their marriages were comparable to the icy winters in Russia—dark, dismal, and deadly.

  I hoped that perhaps Masha’s marriage would be an exception.

  They held one another’s full attention, and they seemed compatible enough. Masha was enamored, and I thought Lord Andrei looked like a man who had fallen twice over in love. My only true comparison for the two came from the years I spent watching my parents. When Papa looked at my mother, he often had the same look in his eyes that Lord Andrei did now as he looked at Masha. I knew then that Masha’s marriage would be happy, but only because she was so happy herself.

  I found Lord Yakov caught in the center of several other men. They were, all of them, a colorless painting; devoid of anything that would or could make them interesting. I watched Lord Yakov gulp down the last half of his brandy, urged on for another by the other men. I felt afraid then. What would come of this dance? Would Papa see us dancing and tell Mama what a smart match we would make?

  Lord Yakov’s expectations, if he had made any, might mean a future like Masha’s. But I was certain mine would be less bright than hers.

  My mind spun with the idea of my marriage to Lord Yakov. I could see our dull nuptials and stiff reception, because my mind was cruel. I had too many unanswered questions, and I would only have my answers at the conclusion of our dance. I wanted to run away then, back to a time when my life was not yet led by the decisions my father could make for me. Masha might have told herself she had a choice, but we both knew that our lives were dictated by something greater than our personal desires.

  So much was at stake. And if I didn’t go. . . if I denied Lord Yakov, what would my father say?

  As if on cue, Lord Yakov’s eyes met mine.

  He excused himself from his companions and set his sights on me. The start of a new song picked up where the other had ended, and my heart began to pound harder than it had before. I did not like Lord Yakov—I knew that much already—but I knew then and there that I did not want to marry him. I could not marry him. Every step that brought him closer to me, brought me even closer to losing everything I wanted.

  Freedom.

  But just as Lord Yakov would have cornered me, a loud pop filled the space. A stream of gold and silver glitter rained down over all of us. The music stopped abruptly. Once again that night, I was saved by Uncle Drosselmeyer and his tricks.

  “There seems to be magic in the air,” he called out with a grin.

  Uncle caught the guests of the party in respite of their dancing. They gasped, all in complete awe of the man in a plum suit standing atop a chair with his arms lifted high above his head, and the sparkling glitter continued to float in the air. There was something more wild and fascinating about him as I took in the sight of him; the black patch over his eye, and the curious gleaming smirk on his lips.

  Unable to resist the urge, I smiled as I began to maneuver through the crowd toward the large two boxes from earlier. From the corner of my eye, I saw Anton standing beside the boxes, his arms crossed as though he were waiting for a silent cue from Uncle Drosselmeyer. I wanted to move to stand beside him, but something gave me pause. I had not seen it earlier because he had hidden it so well before.

&
nbsp; But I could see it now. Just there, in the depth of his eyes.

  He was sad. To think that the happiest time of year had not reached him made my own heart ache. I could feel his longing, his loneliness, resigned to the shadows of my uncle’s performance. I knew the look on his face because I was certain I had felt the same upon learning about Masha’s engagement.

  More than anything—more than all the silly questions in my head—I wanted to tell him that I too knew what it was like to watch from the outside-in.

  “There you are.” The feel of a warm hand on my elbow startled me and caused me to turn. I suddenly met the gaze of Viscount Yakov. His eyes narrowed as he pulled me closer beside him.

  “I was waiting for you,” he murmured.

  He brought my hand to rest on his arm while he slid his fingers over my wrist; it felt possessive, as if he were claiming me. I hadn’t recalled agreeing to be his yet, if at all. Thinking quickly, I tugged my arm free and began to adjust the sleeve of my gown. Yakov lifted a brow, as though I were some strange creature he hardly recognized. In that moment, I wished I were.

  “I didn’t want my gown to wrinkle,” I lied.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please gather ‘round,” Uncle Drosselmeyer said aloud as he lifted his hands into the air with eagerness. “I have spent this year creating a new, tantalizing invention that will not only delight your hearts and minds, but your imaginations as well! In all the places my traveling as taken me, I have seen many strange and wondrous things: palaces made of pure, white marble, ancient pyramids of long-ago kings, and a great wall, an entire length of a great and mighty country. Some of which, are said, to be only explained by the power of God.”

  Strands from his long, wispy, white hair slipped from the black ribbon as he moved around the large boxes before him. They were nearly his height. With a chuckle, he began to untie a bright red ribbon, which was wound around one of the boxes.

  “But I’m here to prove that we possess the same power, if only with a little illumination.”

  Pressing his palm against the box, Uncle Drosselmeyer grinned. He opened the side of the box, exposing a tall form hovering in the shadows. I lifted myself to the tips of my toes in hopes to have a better chance to see what exactly was hiding inside. It appeared to be a large doll of sorts. She was bent over at the waist, her pale arms hanging just beside her legs.

  “A ballerina,” Uncle Drosselmeyer said as he flashed a smile before he lifted her over his shoulder and gently placed her back onto her feet before us. She was so very beautiful; unlike any doll I had ever seen.

  “Like you and I, she is very much alive,” he explained as he began to wind the back of the doll with a large, golden key. And then, just above her head, a set of glowing orbs hovered and bounced delicately above her crown. They moved when she did, dancing playfully around her arms and legs. What were they? The crystal-like light floated gracefully, following the ballerina’s precision.

  As I gazed around the room, it seemed to me that no one else had taken notice of them—much like they had not taken notice of Anton earlier.

  At the front of the room, the dancer slowly began to rise to the tips of her toes and extended her arm out gracefully. The crown I had noticed before was small and thin, wrapped around the knot her dark hair had been twisted into. It was gold, with colorful stones inlaid to the frame. It reminded me of brightly-colored candies, like cherry cordials and gumdrops. Uncle Drosselmeyer had outdone himself with the ballerina, I thought. She had been adorned with a traditional tulle tutu and a sparkling leotard. She was vivid and lively with her purples, blues, and greens; a kaleidoscope of colors.

  I had seen the Russian ballet countless times before, but I had never seen a ballerina as impressive as Uncle Drosselmeyer’s doll.

  The glowing orbs circled around her arms and legs, and then dispersed amongst the giggling children in the crowd. They touched their rosy cheeks, igniting their laughter and excitement. It was hard to watch the ballerina and the orbs all at once, but it seemed to me that the more the children laughed, the better the doll danced.

  The doll paused in front of Uncle Drosselmeyer and pressed her lips to the curve of his cheek, but below his patch. The crowd responded in kind, many of them amused by the doll’s forward behavior. Among them, I could hear my father’s booming laughter. Then the dancing doll turned and faced the crowd once more; her features were almost too real. As she came closer, I could make out a pair of warm, hazel eyes and a mouth like a small bow.

  The dancing doll began to turn her head back and forth, her eyes blinking as though she were truly alive. Slowly, her arms lifted and her feet began to move again. Without any support, she lifted herself and executed a perfect pirouette in passé.

  I was in a complete state of wonder.

  My eyes shifted from the doll to Anton, who was watching the scene carefully. Did he see the orbs? But nothing on his features indicated that he did. I wondered if he felt a sense of pride in watching their invention dance around the floor so magically. The doll finally lowered herself back to the soles of her feet, and crossed her arms in front of her torso before she ceased to move.

  The room erupted into a thunderous applause.

  “Uncle Drosselmeyer! Uncle Drosselmeyer!” Fritz’s voice broke over the crowd, breaking my gaze away from Anton and the doll. Fritz was pushing his way through the guests until he was beside our uncle.

  “Do you have a soldier in one of those boxes, Uncle Drosselmeyer?”

  As a ten-year-old, my brother was obsessed with anything to do with war, horses, and soldiers. Fritz dreamed of Russian glory, aspiring to be like my father and other great men of our society. I didn’t understand their resolution—the glory of starving and dying men in long wars that never seemed to end. What honor could be found in the loss of so many of our own friends and family?

  “Yes, yes, Fritz,” Uncle Drosselmeyer pressed as he moved Fritz aside. “Patience.”

  “A soldier! Papa, did you hear that? Uncle Drosselmeyer brought a soldier!”

  Lord Yakov squeezed my elbow gently as he leaned toward my ear. “It seems we might have a future Captain of a Russian regiment in our midst.”

  Of course, what family wouldn’t encourage their son to join the army and bring pride to their name? Such a thing was a great honor. But I couldn’t share the same view. No matter if it meant Fritz would serve the Tsar himself or not.

  “I hope not,” I muttered, sucking in a breath. Fritz deserved a long and happy life, even if he was irritating at best. He did not need to die on a battlefield to bring his family notability. There were many honorable things a man could do to be just as illustrious.

  “It would bring your brother honor and privilege,” Lord Yakov replied sharply.

  “His life is more valuable to us than an honorable memory beneath a granite slab in some far off corner of a cemetery,” I retorted.

  I hoped my tone was curt, because he did not press the issue further.

  In the short time Lord Yakov distracted me, Uncle Drosselmeyer had revealed the second box to be exactly what he promised Fritz: a soldier. He began to wind him up just as he had with the ballerina before. And just like the ballerina, he too had wandering balls of light hovering around his form. He marched through the main foyer, lifting his wooden rifle to rest on his shoulder. Fritz’s eyes were wide with wonder as he and his friends marched behind him; a small, private army of their own forces. The only reminder to his true form was through the shiny golden key spinning on his back.

  As the automation’s movements suddenly ended, the orbs dissolved away into the air. Many of the on-looking guests surrounded Uncle Drosselmeyer, commending him for his successful Christmas delights. I wanted to understand what I had just seen. What were those things? Had Uncle Drosselmeyer seen them too? So many questions infiltrated my mind.

  “Marvelous, Drosselmeyer,” Boris Pavlychev said as he extended his hand out to him. “Truly. I’ve never seen an invention quite like this before.”


  “They were nothing but mere children’s toys,” Lord Yakov mumbled beside me and turned on his heel, bored. He crossed the room to the table filled with refreshed glasses of champagne. His dismissal served as an opportunity for me to go to my uncle once more. I wanted to know what I had just seen. . . the bright and beautiful balls of light erupting from each moving doll. As I approached him, I watched with a smile as the children of our guests gathered around him, tugging at his pockets eagerly.

  “Candy, sir!” they begged with giggles.

  Masha and I had once done the same as young girls.

  After Uncle Drosselmeyer gave his gifts to the party guests, he would spoil the children with candy sticks and sweet and dark chocolate alike. But I was no longer the little girl who would come to his side with beckoning hands. The children followed Uncle Drosselmeyer to the parlor where he gathered his large toy bag and found a seat. One by one, he revealed a new toy and passed it along to their eager little hands. There had even been a new soldier for Fritz in the bag. Another Colonel or Officer to join the rankings of Fritz’s make-believe regiment. He and his friends would often pretend to hold great battles in our house. They would startle the maids by rolling balls down the main staircase, and lighting off toy cannons with flames from the fireplace. Fritz had once chased Father’s hunting dogs through the house, claiming to be leading them into battle. The hounds had left trails of mud so thick, there were still specks of it on the walls.

  As the last of the smaller toys were handed out to the crowd, Uncle Drosselmeyer turned to me with an arm’s length box, adorned with a red, satin bow. His smile was wide, his eyes bright and mischievous.

  “For you, moya devushka…”

  A gift? For me? I was elated, having thought I was too old by now to receive anything that was not a dress I had picked or a pair of gloves mother had ordered. For the moment, my mind let go of the questions it had been eager to ask. Christmas was a time for miracles, and Uncle’s toys were nothing short; if not better.