Her gown grew suddenly heavier. The swirling flurries of snow in her skirt began to melt, and the snowflakes transformed to icy raindrops. Vika shivered as her gown shifted from blizzard to sleet, soaking through her petticoats. Weighing her down. Chilling her through and through.

At the end of the next song, she curtsied hastily to her partner and rushed off the dance floor, retreating to the side of the ballroom into the curtains. "Off," Vika said as she ran her hands frantically over her gown. "Get off." She could feel Nikolai's magic on her, fine invisible threads everywhere, as if she were covered in cobwebs. "No more dances. I can't. I can't do this. Get off."

His magic tangled and clung to her. She slapped and swiped at it. It was too much. He was too strong.

And then her fingers found a loose tendril, and another and another. His enchantment's edge.

Oh, thank goodness.

Knowing where it began and ended, Vika could push it away. She gathered the threads of Nikolai's charm and flung them all aside. Her feet were free. She recast her own shield. And she hurried off to find Ludmila.

"We have to leave," Vika said, pulling Ludmila away from a conversation with a tuxedoed brown bear. Out of the corner of her eye, Vika could see Nikolai rising from where he'd been sitting in the cafe. There was concern on his face. Or so she thought. Was it possible to read his emotion even though he wore a mask? Regardless, Vika didn't want concern.

"Why do we have to go?" Ludmila asked.

"We just do." Vika flew up the stairs and out the doors of the ballroom, with Ludmila panting to catch up behind her. Vika didn't even bid farewell to the imperial family. She certainly did not look back at Nikolai.

For it was too cruel of life to bring him to her now, only to remind her that one of them would soon be taken away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.

"What in the tsar's name is wrong with you?" Galina asked, as she brought a steaming bowl of borscht to Sergei's bedside. He lay on the mattress with his eyelids barely open, his book on medicinal herbs splayed on the pillow next to him but untouched in the last day.

"I'm . . . tired."

"You had better not have a contagious disease while I'm locked up in this cabin with you." Galina helped prop her brother up against the wall. It was like lifting two hundred pounds of deadweight. If it weren't for her magic, she would not have been able to manage. "Here, at least eat something." She scooped up a spoonful of the dark-red borscht and lifted it to his mouth.

Sergei opened and swallowed the soup. He screwed up his face. "What is that?"

"Borscht."

"It absolutely is not."

"Well, I tried my best!" Since Sergei had been in bed the last two days, Galina had had to do the cooking, which was a near-impossible task, seeing as she had a full kitchen staff at home and had never lifted a paring knife in her life. Add in the fact that most of her meals were French in nature, so she had forgotten what a proper Russian beet soup ought to taste like. She had attempted to make the borscht herself, but she couldn't figure out how to get the hairy little roots off the beets, and the beets stained her hands and rolled off the cutting board onto the floor. In a huff, she had finally resorted to conjuring the dish, even though she knew Sergei despised conjured food. Still, she had made an effort.

Sergei pushed her hand and the bowl away and slumped back onto the mattress. His bare wrist hung off the edge of the bed.

That was when Galina remembered the leather bracelet that had been there at the oath. "Mon frere . . . what exactly did you give Vika that day in Bolshebnoie Duplo?"

"A bracelet," he muttered.

"But not any bracelet. It was charmed, wasn't it?"

"Of course it was. I'm sure the dagger you gave Nikolai was also enchanted."

Galina set the soup bowl on the nightstand. "I would be a fool if it wasn't. But the bracelet is the problem. It must be. What is it? What is it doing to you?"

Sergei grumbled and turned away from her to face the wall.

"Sergei!"

He rolled back and scowled. "What does it matter?"

"Because I need to know how to help my brother." Whether he knew it or not, she did actually care about him. She remembered how much it pained her when they were children, when she watched him trying to keep his pet chinchilla alive and suffering with each failure. It died at least five times, surviving a month in their home only because Sergei kept half succeeding in resurrecting it by siphoning some of his own energy into it. The chinchilla just had not had much will to live. Finally, after the sixth death, their father had ordered the chinchilla be left in peace, partly in pity for the poor beast, but mostly because every resurrection left Sergei weakened and susceptible to pneumonia or other illness. He had always been so attached to animals.

Which was precisely the problem now, wasn't it? Sergei was too attached to Vika. Because she'd come into his life as a helpless baby, she must have seemed more like one of his gentle forest animals than the preening people of Saint Petersburg society he so despised. And his current fatigued state must have very much to do with that bracelet he'd given his adopted daughter.

"You're giving her your energy, aren't you? The bracelet is a magical conduit you've created?"

Sergei sighed. "She's strong, but this way, she'll have even more stamina."

"Oh, Sergei. Is there a limit?"

"No."

Galina sank to her brother's bedside. "So if the Game continues for much longer, she could drain your entire life away."

Sergei shrugged. "If she wins, it will have been worth it." His eyelids drooped, and he buried his face into the rough pillow.

"But the problem is, she won't win."

Sergei didn't answer. Instead, he sang himself a wistful lullaby that their mother had sung to them when they were children.

Na ulitse dozhdik, S vedra polivaet, S vedra polivaet, Zemlyu pribivaet.

It is raining, outdoors, As if from a bucket.

Pouring from a bucket, Rain is settling dirt down.

Galina stirred the borscht, around and around, with no intention of eating it. She stayed by her brother's bed until he fell asleep.

The fact was, she did not care a mite about the girl. Nikolai, whom she had trained to be a fighter, would ultimately prevail. But for Sergei's sake, she hoped the Game ended sooner rather than later.

The snow kept falling endlessly outside.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

Nikolai slept the entire day after the masquerade. When he woke thirty or so hours later, he was groggy and felt as if he could sleep another day more. But his scar throbbed, and the realization that he was still in the Game-that the dance with Vika had changed everything and yet changed nothing at all-catapulted him out of bed.

He had thought, during the mazurka, that they'd had something. Their touch had both frenzied and frozen the ballroom. Their breathing had synchronized, heatedly. And then they'd had all the dances afterward, where she'd let him charm her feet and he'd felt as if they'd spent the entire evening wrapped around each other, the warm silk of his magic against the strangely comforting chill of her dress, their magic and their bodies moving as one.

But then she'd suddenly run away without so much as a "Thank you for the dances" or even "I'll see you again in the Game." It was as if the mazurka had never happened at all.

And now Nikolai's scar burned again. She had already made her move. But how? How could she have the energy to play the Game after the exhausting night at the ball? He splashed cold water on his face. Of course, it had been his powers used during her dances, but conjuring those two dresses-the blizzard and the chocolate gowns-would have been enough to take Nikolai out completely. How had she managed not only to create them, but also to appear so fresh-faced at the ball, full of wit and vibrance? And then to follow it up with a move in the Game? He shook his head at his reflection in the mirror.

He was getting dressed when Renata knocked and said through the door, "You have a message from the tsesarevich."

Nikolai hopped into his trousers, unbolted the locks, and flung open the door without even tucking in his shirttail.

Renata stood in the hall, her hair neatly braided, as always. She seemed to have grown an inch, and grown prettier, since the ball. But he didn't have time to dwell on that.

"What does he say?"

"I didn't open it." She held out the envelope in her hands.

Nikolai took it and tore it open. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"I tried, but you didn't answer. I've been pounding on your door off and on for the last hour."

"Oh." Nikolai glanced at her and had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry."

She stepped into the room and leaned over his arm so she could see as he unfolded the heavy stationery.

N- Come quickly. There is a new island in the bay.

-P "What?" Renata said.

"Vika's third move."

"But-"

"I have to go."

Nikolai ran to his wardrobe and threw on a waistcoat, shoved his feet into his boots, and s.n.a.t.c.hed a frock coat that didn't match. Then he slid down the banister and was out the front door before he realized that, like Vika the night before, he'd run off without saying good-bye.

Nikolai saw Pasha pacing the dock before he even saw the new island. Not that the island was far from the sh.o.r.es of Saint Petersburg. But Pasha's pacing was so frenetic, it was hard to focus on anything else. From the looks of his hair, Pasha had been pacing for quite some time. There was probably a path already worn onto the wood planks beneath him.

Pasha glanced up and caught sight of Nikolai. "Gavriil!" he hollered to the captain of his Guard. "Ready the ferry." Then he bounded down the pier to meet Nikolai.

"What took you so long?" Pasha asked when he reached his friend.

"It's not even eight o'clock in the morning. I was asleep."

"How could you sleep when a new island has cropped up in the middle of the night?"

Nikolai twisted his mouth. "Because in my slumber, I was unaware that a new island had cropped up in the middle of the night."

Pasha laughed and slapped him on the back. "Fair enough. Besides, you're here now. I was about to give up on you, although I vastly prefer doing this together." He started down the dock. "Come on. I forbade anyone to land on the island before we had a chance to explore it."

Nikolai hung back. "Are you sure it's wise for you to be the first? We know nothing of this island." Which was true. It could very well be dangerous. But it was also true that a selfish part of Nikolai wanted Vika's magic to himself, even though she'd left him at the ball. He didn't want the experience of her new island spoiled by anyone else, even if it was Pasha.

"I doubt that the enchanter, whichever one it is, would be so bold as to build a trap for me. It would be suicide to harm the tsesarevich." Pasha grinned, as if he were amused with himself for actually admitting that he was the heir to the throne.

But Nikolai hardly heard the last part of what Pasha had said. "Did you say 'the enchanter, whichever one it is'?"

"Indeed. Can you believe it? The lightning girl is not the only one. She didn't mean for it to slip out, but I caught it. I gather enchanters are rather protective of their ident.i.ties." Pasha hopped onto the ferry.

Nikolai bit on his knuckle. Then he followed Pasha, although Nikolai didn't hop. He almost tripped on a rope snaking across the deck. One of Pasha's guards caught him and helped him onto the ferry. The rest of the guards clambered on right behind him.

So Pasha knew there was another enchanter. But he didn't seem to suspect Nikolai at all. Still, Nikolai's stomach lurched, and he leaned over the railing. d.a.m.n seasickness. Except Nikolai never got seasick. And they hadn't even left the dock. Which meant it was the guilt of lying to his best friend that was making him feel this way. Splendid.

A few minutes later, the ferry pushed off from sh.o.r.e, leaving behind the throngs already ama.s.sed along the embankment, gawking both at the island (they'd managed to convince themselves that it was an artificial one, installed overnight as a birthday gift from the King of Sweden) and at the sight of the tsesarevich in their midst. They didn't know Pasha often walked among them in disguise. To the people of Saint Petersburg, Pasha was a rare snow leopard who kept to his gilded cage in the palace.

Pasha waved jauntily as he and Nikolai sailed into the bay, and a few onlookers waved and blew kisses back. Then he strode to the ferry's bow.

Nikolai took several deep breaths and pulled himself together. He took one more breath for good measure-what he'd do if the river tried to rope him in and drown him again, he didn't know-then he followed Pasha, and the two watched the new island as they approached.

The island was a small one, perhaps a half mile squared or a little more, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in appearance. Its banks were composed not of sand, but of low granite ridges, sparkling in the sun. Bright flowers freckled the sh.o.r.eline, and trees reached halfway up to the clouds. It was also very green with all those trees. Unnaturally green for this time of year, Nikolai thought, when the leaves ought to be turning shades of red and gold.

"It reminds me of the Summer Garden," Pasha said.

Nikolai nodded. "Except the summer here is eternal." He wondered if the island, like the Summer Garden in the city, was also full of rare flowers and plants and marble statues and fountains. But regardless . . . Vika had created an entire island. Nikolai's chest tightened as their ferry sailed closer.

They arrived not long afterward. However, the ferry master could not find a place to bring the boat to sh.o.r.e. Nikolai frowned. It would have been easy for Vika to create a natural dock, an extension of land or an outcropping of rock. It wasn't as if she were unfamiliar with ferries and ports; she lived on an island herself.

Unless she did it intentionally, to make it harder to approach. But why? Why would she go to all the effort of conjuring something as magnificent as an island, only to make it difficult for anyone to come ash.o.r.e?

"You're already building it, aren't you?" Pasha asked.

Nikolai jumped. "What?"

"I wager you're already mentally calculating how to construct a dock or a bridge to the main part of Petersburg," Pasha asked.

"Oh, right." Nikolai forced a smile. "Yes, it would be possible to erect an iron bridge, perhaps like the one in Coalbrookdale in England. Although more recently there has been talk among engineers of truss systems, such as the Gaunless Bridge that was just finished, also in England . . . Why are you laughing?"

Pasha shook his head. "I don't understand that brain of yours. It's unfair, really. How is it possible for one person to know so much?"

Nikolai shrugged. "I just like bridges."

"All right, well, if you ever find you don't need all that genius for yourself, I'm happy to take some off your hands. And when it comes time to build a bridge, I'll be sure our corps of engineers consults with you. But for now"-Pasha turned to the ferry master-"we'll take the skiff." He pointed to the small vessel kept on board as a lifeboat.

"Yes, Your Imperial Highness." The ferry master shouted to his crew to prepare the boat. "One of my men will row you to sh.o.r.e."