"Well, I'll tell you anyway." Pasha began, in a low voice, to relay the details of the contest between enchanters. He started at the beginning, in the age of Rurik, and wound his way through a catalog of past Games, his eyes lightening and darkening as he recounted the history. Nikolai held the table even tighter.

Only when Pasha had finished did the color seep back into Nikolai's hands. Pasha had not mentioned Nikolai's involvement in the Game. Yet.

Pasha poked the Russian Mystics book. "Have you nothing to say? Nikolai! I've just informed you that there's an ancient contest of magic taking place in our midst, and that the girl I almost kissed is in the center of it and might die."

Nikolai groaned and brought his head back down to the incomprehensible French poem. "You almost kissed her?" he asked into the table. Jealousy blazed inside him. So much for trying not to think of Vika in that way. "When? Where?"

"On the island, soon after the benches appeared," Pasha said. "I tried to kiss her, but she told me she wasn't 'in a position to fall in love.'"

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. But she promised I'd know if it changed."

Nikolai wanted to disappear into the table. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you sleep too d.a.m.n much and never come out with me anymore. But I'm telling you now, and you're flat on the table, falling asleep again." Pasha thumped his hand on the book.

Someone nearby shushed him, then made a fuss of standing up and relocating to a table much farther away.

"I'm not falling asleep," Nikolai muttered. It would have been impossible to. Pasha had (almost) kissed Vika. How could Nikolai have even thought he'd have a chance with her? Of course she would fall in love with Pasha. Pasha was the heir to an empire, and he was smart and dashing and could win a war with his smile. He was also not at risk of dying in the Game.

And that explained why she'd told Pasha she wasn't currently in a position to fall in love. She still didn't know how the Game would end. But if she won, then she would be in a position to fall in love. She would be Imperial Enchanter, and she would no longer fear commitment to Pasha, for she would know she could live happily ever after.

And Nikolai would be alone. No, dead. Exactly as his tea leaves had predicted.

Pasha knocked on Nikolai's head. "Then if you're not asleep, talk to me. You're my best friend. I think I love her, and she might die."

Nikolai peered up from the table. "You cannot love her. You hardly know her."

"If there were ever a girl a man could fall in love with without knowing, it would be Vika. I have to stop the other enchanter. Say you'll help me."

Were the library truly a ship, this would be the moment that it sank.

"Nikolai."

He shook his head.

"Say you'll help me."

Nikolai exhaled deeply. Why did Pasha have to get involved?

And yet, Nikolai had to respond. He couldn't hide against the table forever.

He pulled himself upright and charmed away the nausea and despair from his face, although it cost him what felt like the last of his integrity to do so. Instead, he put on the facade of being the same Nikolai he had always been, the practical one to Pasha's whimsy.

"I told you the first time we saw her, Pasha, that Vika is not the kind of girl you can give a gla.s.s slipper to and expect to turn into a princess. Likewise-a.s.suming this Crown's Game is not mere legend-you cannot interfere. She wouldn't want you to."

"But perhaps in this instance-"

"No. She would not want your help. And regardless, you would be of no a.s.sistance. What would you do? Murder the other enchanter? For what other way is there to stop him?"

"I don't . . . I admit I didn't think it through quite that far." He tugged on his hair, and the fisherman's cap fell off.

Nikolai picked it up and tossed it back at him. "I'm right, you know."

Pasha turned the fisherman's cap in his hands.

"Let it go," Nikolai said, as much to Pasha as to himself. "Forget about trying to control the Game, and let it take its course. It will end how it needs to end."

Pasha frowned. "I wish there were something I could do to change it."

Nikolai closed his eyes. "Me, too, Pasha. Me, too."

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO.

Vika sat on the floor of the apartment and stared at the Imagination Box. She had brought it inside the flat after the ball, a rash and likely imprudent carryover from dancing with Nikolai, and it had been there ever since. And unlike the Masquerade Box, the Imagination Box's magic hadn't been extinguished. Vika hardly blinked as she looked at it.

One panel was covered with the word Father carved over and over, followed by the words lies, lies, lies, lies, lies.

Father, Father, Father, she thought.

I miss you, Father. I'm sorry, Father. I didn't know, Father.

Lies, lies, lies.

I don't know my father. Or my mother. Was everything you ever told me a lie?

The other panel on the Imagination Box was covered with angry slashes, and the words the Game and Galina and Nikolai and blame.

It's your fault. Without you, without the Game, he'd still be alive. It's all your d.a.m.n fault.

Vika growled through her tears. Then she reached out and touched the Imagination Box.

She obliterated the words with a single, violent swipe.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE.

The bridge spanned the Fontanka River, composed of two stone arches with a wooden drawbridge in between. Four Doric pavilions housed the drawbridge mechanisms, and it was in the corner of one of these pavilions that Pasha stood, hiding. He'd grown out some of his blond stubble into a two-day-old beard, shadowed the rest of his face with a wide-brimmed hat, and donned a frayed coat over a common laborer's rough tunic and breeches. He'd even sewn lopsided patches onto the knees.

"h.e.l.lo, Frenchie," Ludmila said as she approached the opposite side of the pavilion.

He peeked out from under the hat. A grin spread across his bearded face. "Why, if it isn't my Aphrodite of the pumpkin. How did you find me here?"

"A hunch."

"Ah, it was Ilya, wasn't it?" Ilya was the youngest member of Pasha's Guard, but the best one at guessing his whereabouts. "I'll have to be slyer to outwit him. Though he doesn't inform the rest of the Guard, which I appreciate."

"He thought you'd be watching the boats."

"Indeed. I'm trying to work out the inefficiencies in the water traffic around the city. There are times when there is too much traffic, and others when there is none at all. The delays cause all manner of problems, from spoiled goods to missed connections to accidents while the boats wait in the queue."

"Ah, and here I thought Ilya meant you were merely watching the boats as boys do when they dream of becoming sailors." Ludmila chuckled. "Don't you have a harbormaster whose job it is to manage this?"

"I do, and the tsar has asked me to meet with him several times, but he knows nothing except what's written on his timetables. But that's just paper. And reality isn't paper, is it?"

Ludmila shook her head.

"So I came to see the situation for myself. Also, I just like looking at boats and dreaming of becoming a sailor." Pasha flashed his famous smile. "But you did not seek me out to discuss river traffic. What can I do for you today, Madame Fanina?"

"It's about Vika."

Pasha inched closer to where Ludmila stood. "I've been wondering where she is. There haven't been any new enchantments in a fortnight. I thought perhaps it was because the festivities for my birthday had concluded."

Ludmila hung her head. "Vika's father pa.s.sed away."

"Oh no." Pasha left the cover of the pavilion now and came out to the main part of the bridge.

"She received word two weeks ago. I haven't been able to convince her to leave the flat."

Pasha continued to stand still and steady, as a tsesarevich should in the face of tragedy, even though he wished he could fly to Vika's apartment that very instant to gather her in his arms. "What can I do?" he asked Ludmila.

"Will you talk to her? Invite her for a walk, or do anything to take her mind off her father for a short while? I realize it's bold of me to ask, and you have the boats to observe-"

"No. I'm glad you came to me. I shall send a coach for her straightaway."

His carriage pulled up to the Winter Palace, hopefully with Vika in it. Pasha had returned home to shave and put on neater clothes, and to have pity on his Guard and actually inform them of his location and intentions. Now, as he pa.s.sed Ilya in the courtyard, he patted him on the back and whispered, "The boats at Chernyshev Bridge. Well done. I'll best you next time." The guard laughed before he snapped his mouth closed and attempted to look stern again.

Pasha slipped into the carriage as soon as the coachman opened the door. Vika indeed sat inside, dressed in all black. She had even changed her hair so that it was no longer a single stripe of ebony, but an entire mantle of it. Her mien managed to darken even the white paneled walls and cream leather of the carriage. Good gracious, Ludmila had been right. This Vika was a different girl entirely.

"You requested my presence?" She hardly glanced up as Pasha slid onto the seat across from her.

"I heard you needed a change of scenery."

"The scenery in my room was fine."

"Ludmila said you've been staring at the face of an armoire with only an evil-looking rat as company. I don't think that qualifies as 'fine.'"

"His name is Poslannik."

"Pardon?"

"The rat. The rat's name is Poslannik. And he isn't evil."

"Ludmila is concerned about you."

The carriage started with a lurch, and the sound of horse's hooves-both those that led the carriage and those that belonged to the Guard-surrounded them.

"Where are we going?"

"I thought we might go for a ride in the country. I asked the coachman to take a scenic route to Tsarskoe Selo, my family's summer residence. No one is there now, so the gardens will be all yours. Perhaps the fresh air will do you good."

"My father is dead. Or the man I thought was my father. And my mother, whom I thought had died, apparently did not, but abandoned me instead. My entire life has been a lie. I doubt fresh air will do a thing to change that."

Pasha sat back in his seat and looked at her scowl. She was still beautiful, but with her expression as black as her hair, her beauty was of a fiercer kind. An almost frightening kind. After Vika's warnings about the danger of magic, Pasha wondered if he'd taken the recent enchantments too lightly, and if he'd fallen too easily under Vika's spell.

"I'm sorry." Vika sighed, and the furrow of her brow softened. "I appreciate you coming to see me. I shouldn't take my grief out on you."

"It's all right. It must have been quite a shock." His concerns about her ferocity fell away. Instead, he wanted to protect her. But that was foolish. A girl like Vika didn't need protecting.

"I didn't even know he was sick," she said. "Father had gone away on a trip, and I simply a.s.sumed he was safe. He was so strong, I never imagined him otherwise."

Pasha wanted to cross the s.p.a.ce between them and comfort her. But she would probably shift away. Wouldn't she? It was certainly a risk. But she'd come in the carriage. She could have declined. Pasha decided to take the chance.

He moved across the coach to the seat beside her, taking her hand. She startled and almost withdrew it, but then . . . she didn't. She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder instead.

A smile bloomed across Pasha's face. Even in her grief, Vika smelled sweet. Like flowers and warm spice. He tried not to move at all, so that she would stay nestled into his side.

"Father gave his entire life to me," Vika murmured. "But what was the point when he didn't survive long enough to . . ."

"To what?"

She shook her head against his shoulder. "I must make him proud. I can't let his death be in vain."

Pasha touched her arm gently. "I'm sure he was proud. It would be impossible not to be."

The roads grew rougher the farther they traveled from the center of Saint Petersburg, and the carriage b.u.mped along the dirt. Soon, they were outside the city limits, and the scenery gave way to more s.p.a.ce: fewer buildings, save for the small houses that sprinkled the landscape every now and then, and more fields and cl.u.s.ters of red- and gold-leaved trees. It was a good plan, Pasha thought, to head to Tsarskoe Selo. A walk through the gardens and woods really would do Vika good.

She didn't speak much. But Pasha was all right with that. She didn't need his words; she needed room to breathe.

He did not, of course, understand the full extent of her grief. But he knew the fear of it. He thought of the tsar and tsarina at the Sea of Azov. Pasha shuddered. Mother will be all right. She'll recover. She'll return.

As the carriage approached Tsarskoe Selo, Vika fell asleep against him, and Pasha was loath to wake her. Ludmila had told him of Vika's nightmares, the constant tossing and turning and unconscious wailing. So when the coachman slowed the carriage and inquired whether Pasha wished to stop, he commanded the coachman to continue onward. They would take a circuitous route around the nearby villages, then proceed slowly home to Saint Petersburg.