Page 77 of The Crown's Game
He hovered. He could sit next to her, and perhaps join her. He didn’t know if each person had their own separate dream, or if you shared the same vision on the same bench. Of course, if he sat down, it might surprise her, and he had been attempting to avoid that all along.
“It’s a tad eerie of you to stand there and watch me sleep,” Vika said, her eyes still closed.
Pasha jumped. Ironic that he had been the one trying not to startle her.
She opened her eyes and smiled.
Pasha recovered himself and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Vika.”
“And you as well, Pasha.”
He straightened. “How did you know I was here?”
“I have a knack for sensing anomalies in my magic.”
“Ah. So I am an anomaly. And the benches are yours, not the other enchanter’s.”
She laughed. “Oh, goodness, no to both. You’re an anomaly only to the extent that you are not my magic, and thus, I can feel when you—or anyone—is there, if I so choose. And the benches are not mine. The island, yes. But the benches . . . I couldn’t create something so magnificent.”
“I would venture to say the island itself is quite magnificent.”
“Thank you.” Vika stood and straightened her skirt. “I’m rather pleased with it myself.”
“Is that your leaf at the dock?” Pasha pointed in the direction from which he’d come.
“Yes, I’ve been experimenting with different modes of transportation. Do you like it?”
“Very much.”
“I could make one for you.”
“I think Gavriil would die of fright.”
Vika tilted her head. “Gavriil?”
“The captain of my Guard. He doesn’t like it when I try new things. A boat made of a leaf, I think, may push him to the limits of his tolerance.”
“You may assure him it is entirely safe.”
“I have no doubt. Perhaps I ought to send him out on the leaf first, to prove its sturdiness.”
Vika laughed, and Pasha did, too. She sparkled like the lanterns under the moonlight.
“Have you tried the benches?” she asked.
“No. Gavriil wouldn’t let me when so many people were around during the day. Have you been through all the dreams?”
“Yes, and some more than once. They are all astounding.”
Pasha glanced over his shoulder at the benches he had passed on his way to Vika. “Which is your favorite? Besides the obvious?” He dipped his head toward the Ovchinin Island bench on which she sat.
“The steppe,” she said without pause.
“Interesting. I have a friend who is originally from the steppe. You met him, actually, at the ball. Nikolai. He was the harlequin.”
Vika paused, and for a moment she seemed as frozen as her dress had been that night. But then she was herself again. “Right. The harlequin. I think I remember him. Remarkable dancer.”
“Indeed. He is always popular with the girls at balls.” Pasha watched her closely for her reaction.
