Page 113 of The Crown's Fate
He looked at the death surrounding them. At the soldiers who stood silently, obediently, waiting for their commands. “Blazes, what have I done?”
Nikolai closed his eyes and scrubbed at the back of his neck. But then he nodded again. “You’re right. All I ever truly wanted was to belong—to Saint Petersburg. To a family. To you.”
Pasha’s heart leaped into his throat. For more than one reason.
Vika turned to face him next. “Pasha, forgive and pardon Nikolai. He wasn’t himself, and the Decembrists had already plotted against you and your family ages ago. Nikolai was merely a convenient means to an end for them.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Pasha saw Nikolai flinch at Vika’s description of his role, belittled. He may have been humbled, but he still had plenty of pride.
It was that very pride that had blown up and propelled Nikolai to pursue the throne. To try to kill Pasha, twice. Could he forgive so easily?
And yet, look whatnotforgiving had led them to. Pasha had essentially sentenced Nikolai to death at the end of the Game. Then Nikolai had returned the favor.
It was not the most natural thing in the world to forgive your brother for attempting to murder you. But Nikolaiwas willing to swallow a great deal of pride to forgive Pasha. Pasha could do the same.
“We’ve both made mistakes,” he said. “Enormous ones.”
Nikolai scrubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, we have. I am eternally sorry. Words do not suffice.”
Pasha had to lean on Yuliana, so great was his relief. “I am sorry, too. For the end of the Game. For everything.”
“Mon frère,” Nikolai said.
Pasha smiled.“Mon frère.”
Yuliana touched Vika’s shoulder, and Vika stepped back, leaving space between Pasha and Nikolai.
Pasha crossed the short distance and pulled Nikolai into an embrace.
Nikolai tensed for a moment. Then he threw his arms around Pasha, too.
Together, they were whole.
Around them, the soldiers began to murmur their confusion over what the princes’ reconciliation meant.
Nikolai released Pasha from their embrace and said, “I fear I’ve slashed open a wound in Russia’s side with this coup.”
Pasha shook his head. “Yes, but at the same time, it would have happened, one way or another, as Vika pointed out. If our father hadn’t died, the Decembrists had been planning to rise against him next summer anyhow. They only moved sooner because they thought we wouldn’t be organized enough to counter them. But they didn’t account for Vika and Yuliana.”
“Or you,” Nikolai said. “I underestimated you, as well.”
Vika smiled at them and took Nikolai’s hand. They glowed again as if the sun shone down on them with particular favor.But this time, Pasha didn’t wince. He would get used to it.
“Now that you have all made up,” Yuliana said, “what shall we do with the Decembrists?”
Pasha looked at the square. Bodies lay splayed on the cobblestones, eyes wide but empty. His men had begun rounding up the rebels who were still alive.
He thought he recognized Ilya in the distance, near the Neva, arms up in surrender. Perhaps Pasha was wrong. But he was quite certain he wasn’t.
His stomach turned. Yet he didn’t let the nausea take over. As tsar, there would be many more difficult moments like these. He forced himself to look away.
“Pasha?” Yuliana asked.
He took several breaths. “Bury the dead with all the proper rites. Send the police to arrest those who’ve fled.”
“And then?”
And then what?Pasha looked at Ilya once more. He’d been a good guard. A friend, almost. A veil of sadness descended upon everything Pasha could see.
