Page 25 of The Crown's Fate
With the sun rising behind her, Vika stood at the edge of the island’s forests, looking across the frozen bay at Saint Petersburg in the distance. She was supposed to report to the Winter Palace to meet with Pasha and Yuliana. And yet the string that tethered her to Nikolai pulled insistently.
Where are you, Nikolai?She closed her eyes and tried to feel his magic. But there was nothing, not even a hint of his silken warmth. Vika sighed as she opened her eyes. He must have a barrier shield around him.
She shouldn’t be wanting him anyway. Sergei had raised her better than to turn her back on the tsardom so easily. Father had been Russian through and through, all balalaika music and borscht and rustic saunas full of birch branches and leaves. The same love for Russia infused Vika’s soul, and she knew in her blood that what the country needed was not a vengeful shadow as tsar, but a boy who had grown up in the imperial family, learning the history of the people and the art of ruling the empire. Vika might have loved Nikolai and loathed Pasha, but that didn’t mean Nikolai was right for the throne. Not at all.
I suppose I must go,she thought.Even though I don’t want to.
Duty called.
So Vika evanesced into the former tsar’s study in the Winter Palace.
Her head spun as she rematerialized; stars actually flickered at the edges of her vision. She seemed to arrive more quickly than it ordinarily took to cover the distance from Ovchinin Island to the city, as if the magic she commanded was more potent this morning, like drinking five or six cups of tea instead of one. How bizarre, especially considering that Nikolai was now sharing in Bolshebnoie Duplo’s power. It took a moment for Vika to shake the stars from her head.
The young guard at the door—Ilya, she thought his name was—gawked at the space Vika occupied, where there hadn’t been a girl a few seconds before. But there was no point in hiding her comings and goings. With the secret of magic out, everyone knew what she was.
When her vision cleared, she took in the study. A painting of Saint Petersburg hung behind the desk, and a portrait of Catherine the Great graced the wall to Vika’s right. Theentire room was decorated in royal blue and gold, from the crown molding to the trim around the floor-to-ceiling windows to the Persian rug upon the floor.
Yuliana sat at the late tsar’s desk, naturally, and Pasha paced in front of the windows. He’d clearly been doing so since before Vika arrived; he’d worn a groove into the carpet with his boots. But why did Vika even care? She might have intended to defend his right to the crown, but it didn’t mean he shouldn’t suffer. Pasha had brought this stress—arguably, this entire turn of events—upon himself.
Yuliana cast a withering look at Vika. “You couldn’t have put down the statue more discreetly?”
Vika scowled right back at her. “Next timeyoutry your hand at taming a bronze tsar-come-to-life. We’ll see how discreetly you manage it. Besides, you’re not the one the entire city wants to roast on a stake, so I think I’m the one with a right to complain if anyone can.”
Pasha groaned. “Enough. Bickering won’t solve anything. Some believe the statue was one of the four horsemen portending the apocalypse. People have already begun to flee the city. And the black market in Sennaya Square is overrun by those who can’t afford to leave, seeking wards against evil spirits.”
“Oh,” Vika said, but only partially in response to what Pasha had just said.
“Oh, what?” Yuliana asked.
“I just understood something. Belief begets more magic.” Vika recalled the stories Father used to tell her about when Russia and other countries believed more openly in magic. “That’s why it was easier for me to evanesce. Before today, only a handful of us knew about magic. But after Nikolai’sstatue, tens of thousands of people suddenly believe—or fear—magic, and that, in turn, stokes Bolshebnoie Duplo’s ability to generate more.” She held up her hand, which sparked visibly at the fingertips. She jittered as she tried to stand still on the carpet. Vika had never been one who could be easily contained, but this surge in the power gave new definition to the word “irrepressible.”
Yuliana scrunched her nose. “However, it also means that not only areyoumore powerful, but Nikolai will be as well.”
The sparks at Vika’s fingers snuffed out, the momentary thrill of all that power suffocated by Yuliana’s insight. There would likely be enough magic now that there would be no more hitches, real or dreamed. But it also meant bigger and more dangerous enchantments.
Vika crossed the study and sank into one of the pair of blue-and-gold chairs in the center of the room, angled to face the tsar’s desk.
Pasha dropped his head against the window frame with a resignedthunk.“Quel désastre.”
“Agreed, itisa disaster.” Vika leaned into the backrest of her chair. “We have to save Nikolai.”
Pasha came and sat in the chair next to her. He made a miserable attempt to smile, which said quite a lot, because Pasha could always smile. His inability to do so made something inside Vika twinge, even though she was still furious at him for both the end of the Game and the asinine command to conjure him a midnight snack.
“Save Nikolai from what?” Pasha asked.
Vika shook her head. “I don’t know. But it’s obvious the boy from last night was not the same one who sacrificed hislife for me at the end of the Game. Whatever is influencing him—or whatever change has taken root because he’s a shadow—must be undone.”
Yuliana laughed caustically. “I don’t care if it’s the devil himself who’s possessing Nikolai. He made an outright threat on the tsesarevich’s life.”
Of course Yuliana knew everything. Pasha had undoubtedly shared every detail as soon as Vika had evanesced him back to the palace last night.
“That’s treason,” the grand princess continued. “There is no option to save someone like that. Nikolai must be arrested and executed.”
“But he’s done nothing wrong!” Vika said.
“You call threatening to usurp the throne ‘nothing wrong’?”
Vika squeezed the armrest of her chair and took a deep breath. “Those were words spoken out of hurt. Perhaps he can be convinced to change his mind. He hasn’t actually tried to take the crown.”
