Page 73 of The Crown's Fate
With Vadim and Kostya out running errands and the cook downstairs in the basement kitchen, Nikolai could use magic without hiding it. He flicked his wrist, and the furniture in Galina’s room cleared. With a flick of his other wrist, the shelves and books in his own room migrated down the hall past the Zakrevsky portraits, marching like awkward soldiers, and settled where Galina’s canopy bed used to sit.
Nikolai turned back to his own room and exhaled. It was nearly empty now, other than the desk, and that had originally been his, so it could stay. He shifted it a few feet over to where it belonged near the farthest window, but that was the only change.
Soon thereafter, he conjured a wooden bed frame stained in black, its posts intricately carved with curlicues and feathers. Atop it lay a fine mattress and fluffy pillows and a black blanket stitched at the edges in gold. Gold, after all, was the color of the tsar.
Next came an armoire, in carved black wood to match the bed, and gold feather detailing on the handles and hinges. The feet he conjured in gold with talons, like garuda claws.
If only it weren’t empty,Nikolai thought as he opened the armoire doors. He could conjure clothes, but conjured clothing was always inferior to what he tailored himself, for nothing could compare to meticulous measuring and remeasuring, and cutting the cloth by hand. Well, perhaps not “byhand,” but his scissors under the direction of his magic were as good as extensions of Nikolai’s dexterous fingers.
No one had cared what a shadow wore, especially since he’d tried not to be seen. But his new facade required decent clothing, and in all honesty, “decent” wouldn’t suffice for Nikolai’s pride.
I’ll need to acquire several bolts of wool, and needles and bobbins of thread, and pretty much everything else required to tailor a new wardrobe.Nikolai frowned at the vast black emptiness of the armoire. He’d send Renata to Bissette & Sons as soon as she arrived back here to work; he could trust her to pick fabrics and buttons that he’d like.
Nikolai conjured a pad of paper and pencils and began to sketch furiously a design for a frock coat he had in mind. It had notched lapels... . No, no, that wouldn’t do, he was the grand prince, and formality dictated that his lapels be decidedlyunnotched. He laughed to himself. Galina would have liked to witness this; she’d always disdained his penchant for notched lapels.
He tore out the sheet of paper, crumpled it, and started anew.
An hour later, he had a design he was satisfied with. But as Nikolai looked at it, he saw the futility in it. What was the point of a new coat if he had nowhere to wear it to? It was like being a debutante in a gown without an invitation to a ball.
I need to secure the crown once and for all,Nikolai thought. Then he’d have plenty of places to be in his fine clothes. Not that that was the reason he wanted to depose Pasha. But it was an amusing one. He laughed under his breath.
His head ached, though, and he didn’t have any ideas forhow to attack Pasha next. What Nikolai wanted was an evening to regroup. And something to eat. He suddenly craved bread and smoked fish, and the dark corners of a tavern.
The Magpie and the Fox, then,he thought, pushing back from his desk.That’s exactly what I need.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
An evening storm blasted Ovchinin Island with snow, and Vika huddled inside her cottage by thepech. She wore her thickest sweater, a scarf, and a hat Ludmila had knit for her years ago. On top of that, she’d wrapped herself in Father’s favorite blanket, a fraying thing he’d brought back from one of his scientific expeditions to the Kamchatka Peninsula, and it seemed that the memory of Sergei was one of the only things that kept Vika from shivering to death.
The storm grew angrier and shook her house. Its bitter wind suddenly found every exposed crevice in the walls and howled its way in. Without thinking, Vika snapped her fingers to seal the cracks near the windows.
The bracelet immediately seared her skin.
“Agh!” Vika crumpled on the floor, clutching her arm while also calling off the enchantment on the house. The cuff stopped burning.
But because she could not use magic to heal herself, Vika didn’t stop hurting. Tears streamed down her face as pain continued like hot irons on her skin. She curled on the rug,teeth clenched as she tried to bear the lingering heat.
I’m just an ordinary girl now.Vika nearly choked on the thought, and she curled more tightly on the rug, attempting to hold herself together.
And the pain wouldn’t go away. She hugged her singed arm against her chest and sucked in short breaths through her teeth.
“Vee-kahhh!” Ludmila’s singsong call cut through the storm outside. “I brought you supper, my sunshine.” Her ruddy face, wrapped in a fur-lined hood, peered in through the window. “Oh my goodness—!”
The baker shoved open the front door and rushed to Vika on the floor. She tossed aside the parcel she carried and gathered Vika into her bosom. “What happened?”
“Burnt ...” Vika forced herself to release her arm from her chest and show Ludmila her wrist. It was covered by the bracelet, but Ludmila would know what she meant.
Ludmila cradled her arm. “Did you cool it with water?”
Vika shook her head. Cool it with water? Was that what normal people did?
The horror of being ordinary slammed into her again, as viciously as the storm pummeled everything outside. She slumped.
“Wait here.” Ludmila gently laid Vika on the rug, grabbed a large mixing bowl off the counter, and hurried out the front door. A minute later, she returned with a bowl full of snow, which she set on the floor at Vika’s side. She added some water from the pitcher on the kitchen table. “Now give me your wrist.”
Ludmila plunged her arm into the bowl. The icy water rushed all around Vika’s singed skin. She gasped at the cold.
But slowly, the pain gave way to a chilly numbness, andshe could breathe more fully again.
