Page 39 of The Crown's Game
“Indeed,” Ludmila said. “And when you grow up in a circus, you learn early on how to distinguish what is real and what is made of smoke and mirrors. I’ll tell you that most feats in the circus are pure trickery. But you and your father have something about you that cannot be hidden from those who know there is more to this world than what we see.”
Incredible. Vika shook her head. She’d gone her entire life concealing who she and her father were, when right in front of her, every single day, someone else had known. She and Father hadn’t even bothered to cast shields around themselves when they weren’t actively using magic; they’d assumed no one would be the wiser.
Ludmila crossed the kitchen and wrapped Vika in her arms. “I know it’s quite a lot to take in, dear. And I’m sorry I said nothing earlier, but I didn’t think you or Sergei wanted your true natures known. Now, however . . . well, you’ve decided to put your magic on display for all to see. And with Sergei absent, wherever it is he’s gone, I thought you might need a mother. Or a friend.” Ludmila kissed the top of Vika’s hair. “I am lucky to have you, sunshine.”
But Vika only patted Ludmila on the back. Maternal affection was unfamiliar territory.
After a minute, Ludmila released her, smiling from icing-covered ear to icing-covered ear. She hadn’t seemed to notice that Vika had been hesitant to return her embrace. “The facades on the buildings outside are lovely,” Ludmila said.
Vika laughed. She loved that her magic was being seen by others, but she couldn’t take credit for something that wasn’t hers. “It’s true that I’m an enchantress. But the paint on Nevsky Prospect is not my doing.”
Ludmila tapped her spoon against her chin, leaving sticky jam prints on her skin. “Really? There is yet another . . . what did you call yourself? Enchanter? How fascinating.”
Vika nodded, and now she wanted to hug Ludmila. What a gift it was to have someone else know what Vika was, and what she could do.
And then it occurred to her: she could tell Ludmila about the Crown’s Game. She would not have to bear it on her own.
But no. One glance at the baker’s jolly mood and she dismissed the idea. Vika couldn’t burden Ludmila with the knowledge that she was walking a tightrope to her death. And why spoil what she’d only now acquired, a confidante for her magic?
No, she would not tell Ludmila about the Game. Having her here, knowing that she knew what Vika could do, was enough.
So instead, Vika stood and walked over to the counter. Ludmila had brought a glass pumpkin with her from the island, and Vika picked it up and turned the iridescent sculpture in her hands. “Well then, since you know what I can do, it makes setting up your new bakery a great deal more fun. How do you feel about selling pastries from another enormous pumpkin?”
That afternoon, a team of men wheeled two large boxes—both a yard long on each side—into Palace Square. One of the boxes was plain red with a large metal crank sticking out of its side. The other was royal purple and decorated with scenes of ballet dancers on every face. There was no explanation given for the appearances of the boxes, nor did the crew that brought them know any more than the crowds that gathered around them.
An albino rat scampered onto Vika’s kitchen windowsill. She recognized him as the rat she’d fed a piece of blini to the other day, on her way back from the river. Vika circled her pinkie over its head to translate its chattering.
“Two boxes in front of the Winter Palace?” Vika asked. The rat’s red eyes glowed brighter in confirmation. “I wonder what he’s up to.”
“Your mystery enchanter?” Ludmila said. “We should go right away.”
Vika sat at the windowsill and fed a few scraps of leftover pastry to the rat, who tore at them greedily. The boxes could be a trap. Instead of cheese to snare a rat, it would be boxes that served as bait to catch an enchantress. Palace Square was immense, and her opponent could hide in the crowds. If Vika went, he could attack and kill her unseen.
Ludmila wiped her hands on her apron and tossed it onto the counter. “What are you waiting for? This is why I came to the city, because it’s more exciting than the routine at home.”
Vika tried to smile. But if she died in Ludmila’s arms, or worse, if Ludmila died in Vika’s arms, it would not be exciting at all.
Ludmila stood by the door of the kitchen, icing still smearing her cheek. “You know I’m going, with or without you, don’t you?”
“Well, if you put it like that . . .”
There was no way Vika would let Ludmila around the other enchanter without her.
Besides, Vika refused to be the type of girl who hid from danger. And she needed to see what her opponent’s move was, so she could best him again. Because if he didn’t kill her outright, the tsar always could. Her death sentence was as simple as the tsar declaring her opponent the victor. It didn’t matter that she technically still had four turns.
Vika walked over to wipe the smudges of frosting from Ludmila’s face. Then she tossed the rat one more scrap of pastry before she grabbed her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, casting a shield around herself and Ludmila at the same time.
“All right.”
“Hurrah, an adventure!” Ludmila said as she launched herself through the apartment’s front door.
Yes, an adventure. But hopefully not a fatal one.
Even though Vika had walked by the Winter Palace every evening since she’d arrived in Saint Petersburg, its grandeur hadn’t ceased to amaze her. It was a pale-green-and-white Baroque masterpiece, its three stories lined with proud columns and arches and almost two thousand gilded windows. On one side of the palace was the Neva River—she hoped the imperial family had a clear view of her fountain, her first “gift” to the tsesarevich for his birthday—and on the other, Palace Square, where the two peculiar boxes sat and a crowd of several hundred now gathered.
Ludmila fought her way to the front, using her girth and her elbows to clear a path for Vika to follow. A short fence of sorts had been erected quite some distance from the boxes, but instead of wood, the fence was constructed of woven silver ribbon, each piece as wide as Vika’s hand. There were no posts that supported it, and yet the ribbon remained cordoned in place, as if set through invisible stakes.
Having made it to the ribbon, Vika scanned the square for obvious danger. Nothing, other than a larger-than-usual contingent of the Tsar’s Guard, likely owing to the sudden appearance of the boxes. And there, bobbing along the top of the palace roof, was the albino rat. He had very quick feet for a creature with such tiny legs. If he ever came back to her, she would give him a name. Perhaps Poslannik. Messenger.
