“How is my son?” said Ivan, drawing up the chair opposite. The prince and the Royal infirmatryhad known each other a long time. Dyonis had been loyal even before the death of Semyon assured Ivan the throne.
“Bold, fair, charming, flighty as a butterfly,” said Dyonis. “He will be a good prince, if he lives so long. Why have you come to me, Ivan Ivanovich?”
“Anna,” said Ivan succinctly.
The Royal infirmatry frowned. “Is she getting worse?”
“No, but she’ll never be any better. She is growing too old to lurk around the palace and make folk nervous.” Anna Ivanovna was the only child of Ivan’s first marriage. The girl’s mother was dead, and her stepmother hated the sight of her. The people muttered when she passed, and crossed themselves.
“There are convents enough,” returned Dyonis. “It is
