The Crown's Fate
Page 46

“Aizhana Karimova. She’s apparently Nikolai’s mother.”
“Hmm.” Yuliana straightened the ribbon on her robe. “And how do you know this?”
“Nikolai told me. But he had no knowledge of or part in it,” she added hastily. “And I’ve taken care of him.”
Yuliana rose. “How?”
“I confined him,” Vika said as unfeelingly as possible, even though leaving Nikolai imprisoned had felt like harpooning her own heart—it hurt terribly, especially since she was still tethered to him, the rope jerking at the harpoon’s barbs embedded inside her. “I trapped him in an egg.”
Of course, Yuliana didn’t flinch. Again. She wasn’t human; she was iron in the shape of a girl.
“Fine,” she said. “Leave him for now. Arrest his mother. We’ll hang her later this morning.”
Vika’s mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon?”
“Has the work of being Imperial Enchanter taken a toll on your hearing?”
“No, I just . . . isn’t she supposed to have a trial?”
Yuliana crossed her arms. “The tsar is dead. The murderer is mother to the enchanter trying to destroy my brother. There is talk of treason and revolt underfoot. So no, I think we shall bypass a ‘fair trial’ and simply execute her. There are times when justice takes the form of swift action. That time is now.”
“But—”
“If you wanted mercy, you would have gone to Pasha with this information. But you came to me, so don’t grow cowardly now, Vika. Tell my guards outside to have the gallows prepared. Arrest Aizhana and keep watch on her until the hanging in the morning.”
Vika stood in the middle of the anteroom. Imperial Enchanter . . . I ought to be dubbed Imperial Jailer.
Or Jailer of Karimovs.
For a second, she thought of what Nikolai had offered: if he were tsar, she wouldn’t have to do what Yuliana or Pasha said. I could be tsarina, and Nikolai and I could rule Russia together, with magic in the open and no one to challenge or defy us.
Vika inhaled sharply. She could be a jinni, unleashed, no longer confined to the walls of a bottle. Magic sparked inside her, exploding like miniature fireworks, and without meaning to, she started to levitate.
But then Yuliana tapped her slipper on the floor, and the bracelet heated around Vika’s wrist.
Vika snapped out of it and landed back on the ground.
“What are you waiting for?” Yuliana asked, although it was clear she did not want an answer.
Vika answered anyway. “For the day I can create my own destiny.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t worry. Today is not yet that day.” Vika shook her head to rid herself of the tainted thoughts of ruling the empire. For what Nikolai offered was not what she wanted, not the way she wanted to forge her fate. She wasn’t convinced it was what he truly wanted, either. The magic inside her actually sparked again, as if in agreement.
So Vika gritted her teeth, because there was a more immediate task at hand. Nikolai had been captured. Now his mother needed to be arrested as well. And then perhaps they could resolve this and bring the city some peace.
At least, that was the plan.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Vika returned to the Black Moth, but as expected, Aizhana had fled. There was, however, a lopsided set of footprints in the snow, as if one of her feet was heavier or slower than the other. Vika followed the trail. She was well trained in tracking injured animals, healing them often involved finding them first. Then again, the way Aizhana had sprung at the window of the Black Moth when Vika had come for Nikolai indicated that Aizhana was no wounded creature. But at least her uneven steps made her easier to trace.
The tracks ended in a particularly ill-lit corner of Sennaya Square, in an alleyway littered with broken crates and smashed bottles, echoes of lost fights and drowned sorrows half-buried in dirty snow.
The magic inside Vika thrummed, eager to be let out. But her heart had also risen to her throat, for she was about to arrest Nikolai’s mother, who was a monster, but his mother nonetheless.
Vika tried to swallow her heart back into its place. It budged just enough to allow her to make an official proclamation.
“Aizhana Karimova, you have been sentenced to death by hanging for the murder of the tsar,” Vika said, even though Aizhana wasn’t visible. She was here somewhere, hiding behind stacks of debris or inside one of the ramshackle buildings. “It’s inevitable that I’ll catch you, so you’d save us both some trouble by surrendering without a fight.”
There was a small shift in a trash bin to Vika’s left, and she spun to face it.
A white rat scurried out and to her side.
“Ah, Poslannik, of course it’s you.”
Poslannik climbed up Vika’s leg, onto her arm, and to her shoulder. He squeaked in her ear what he knew: Aizhana was behind the door of the second building on the right, which was guarded by a barricade of bottle shards jutting out of the snow, like teeth in the mouth of the legendary Arctic yeti.
Vika petted Poslannik’s head. He squeaked once more, then leaped back down to the snow, getting out of her way for the scuffle that was likely to ensue.
She could evanesce to surprise Aizhana, but evanescing was risky when Vika didn’t know where she was going. There were always a few moments of disorientation as her essence came back together, and in this situation, that meant she’d lose the element of surprise.
There was also the small part of her that didn’t want to surprise Aizhana, that wanted to give Aizhana a chance to prove herself harmless and worth sparing.
So Vika tiptoed slowly toward the door. There was a lone, grimy window along the building, and she charmed an extra layer of dirt to spread across it, much like crystals of frost, only made of frozen mud, blooming like flowers of filth to obstruct the view.
She glided over the barricade of broken glass and pressed herself against the door. Then she pushed it open a sliver while simultaneously casting a ball of fire inside to light the room or hall into which she was entering. She held her breath, her magic and her pulse both pounding anxiously through her veins.
It was a storeroom of some sort, piled high with more crates—these intact—a few of which had lids pried open to reveal the bottles of vodka and beer within. Vika’s fire flitted around the room, leaving small flames in each of the corners to illuminate every recess.