The Crown's Fate
Page 69
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Also, Nikolai thought, Peter’s Square is personal. Because that was where he had first told Pasha he would take the throne. It would be perfect to actually make good on his threat on the same site.
If Nikolai weren’t wearing a facade, his silhouette would have shaded a bit darker.
“All right,” Ilya said. “I’ll inform the major general and colonel of your wishes to march on Peter’s Square.”
“Twenty thousand men, you say?”
“Yes. And the remainder of the Imperial Army is far-flung on the Kazakh steppe and near Missolonghi and elsewhere. Therefore, we ought to meet little resistance. The tsesarevich and grand princess will have only their guards. Minus me, of course.”
And they’ll have Vika, Nikolai thought. Surely Pasha would renounce his edict when Nikolai’s coup arose. Vika would be allowed use her magic again. But Nikolai didn’t bring that up. Let the Decembrists worry about ordinary men, and he would worry about enchanters.
“Tell the troops to prepare for a snowstorm,” Nikolai said.
Ilya looked at him, with a question in his eyes.
Nikolai shrugged and looked back over the ice-jeweled water. “I have a feeling the weather may be especially fierce that day.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Vika couldn’t hear Nikolai and Ilya’s conversation, so Poslannik had scuttled back and forth on the bridge, between the boys and where Vika hid, in order to tell her what was happening. She’d had to cover her mouth with both hands to avoid exclaiming during the entirety of their conversation. Even after Nikolai and Ilya left the bridge, she pressed herself into the interior corner of the pavilion where she’d stashed herself. If I tell Pasha what I overheard, he and Yuliana will find a way to crush Nikolai.
But if I don’t report this, Nikolai will ruin them.
Everything around her seemed to move in half time, including Vika’s ability to process what to do.
Her bracelet didn’t burn because there was no direct order that she disobeyed. This would have to be Vika’s decision, and her decision alone.
It was the freedom to determine her own fate that she’d yearned for.
Vika lingered in the pavilion a few minutes more. Then she hurried off the bridge, hugging her coat closer against her to fight off the cold, and turned away from the river toward the Winter Palace.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
The sun was long gone, but Pasha liked the challenge of shooting in the dark. Well, nearly dark, for Gavriil would not allow the tsesarevich to practice at the archery yard—or anywhere, for that matter—without any light, both because it was a danger to Pasha (it made it impossible for the Guard to protect him if they couldn’t see) and because it was a danger to any poor soul who wandered into Pasha’s line of fire. Not that anyone would do that. And not that Pasha would miss his targets, even if he couldn’t see them. Archery might not have been a necessary skill for war anymore, but it didn’t stop Pasha from being one of the best archers in all of Europe. He knew this for a fact. He’d triumphed in many a challenge—for sport, of course—by princes and military officers across the continent and in England whenever he’d gone abroad or hosted them here in Russia’s court. And Pasha did not mean to ever give up his place in those elite ranks.
He nocked an arrow against the bowstring in the swift motion of someone for whom the weapon had become a natural extension of his own body, and he released the arrow just as quickly, listening to it streak through the air and hit an icicle on a nearby tree in a satisfying shatter of crystal. Pasha didn’t need the torchlight to let him know his arrow had landed on its intended icicle, even though the branch was lined with them. He already knew by feel what the arrow’s trajectory had been, and by sound the precise distance it had flown.
He also knew by feel and by sound when Vika approached the archery range, not only because all the guards shifted slightly, standing a bit taller at the presence of a woman, but also because the wind seemed to blow a little more fervently.
Pasha’s hand, steady a moment ago, now shook. He hadn’t seen her since he and Yuliana had taken away her ability to use her powers.
The torchlight illuminated her. Vika’s features were pinched, and she glared at the guards, almost like Yuliana would. Pasha handed his bow and quiver to Gavriil and walked slowly (he wasn’t eager to be yelled at) to meet Vika in the middle of the range. His boots crunched on the fresh snow.
“Send them away,” she said, eyeing the guards.
Pasha frowned. He hadn’t expected to jump straight into whatever business was at hand.
Vika kept looking at the guards.
“Gavriil,” Pasha said, turning to his captain. “A moment, please. All of you.”
Gavriil hesitated but then bowed, and the guards moved to the outer perimeter of the archery yard. Still watchful, but out of earshot.
Pasha turned back to Vika. “What happened? Are you all right?”
She scowled at him for a moment.
Of course she wasn’t all right. He’d taken enchanting away from an enchanter. “I’m sorry,” Pasha said. “I know it’s difficult—”
“I’m not here to discuss that. Well, not yet.” Vika inched closer to Pasha and angled her chin to speak into his ear.
“Oh. Then what is it?” He bent slightly to get closer to her. He exhaled at the same time, relieved that she wasn’t here to protest the edict.
“Nikolai is planning a coup, to take place in two days.”
All the tension that target practice had released now came rushing back into Pasha’s body. “What? How?” From what Pasha had learned in the barracks, the talk had been about blocking his coronation next month. Not an imminent revolt.
“I overheard him and your guard Ilya Koshkin talking about a group called the Decembrists. They supposedly have twenty thousand men already committed. They’ll refuse to take the oath of allegiance to you and instead install Nikolai on the throne.”
That familiar spiral in Pasha’s stomach began again, caused by Nikolai, making Pasha pay for what he did. And now Ilya, one of his best guards, betraying him as well. Had Ilya been one of the constitutionalists all along? Was there no one upon whom Pasha could rely?
Vika looked up at him. “So what are we going to do?”
If Nikolai weren’t wearing a facade, his silhouette would have shaded a bit darker.
“All right,” Ilya said. “I’ll inform the major general and colonel of your wishes to march on Peter’s Square.”
“Twenty thousand men, you say?”
“Yes. And the remainder of the Imperial Army is far-flung on the Kazakh steppe and near Missolonghi and elsewhere. Therefore, we ought to meet little resistance. The tsesarevich and grand princess will have only their guards. Minus me, of course.”
And they’ll have Vika, Nikolai thought. Surely Pasha would renounce his edict when Nikolai’s coup arose. Vika would be allowed use her magic again. But Nikolai didn’t bring that up. Let the Decembrists worry about ordinary men, and he would worry about enchanters.
“Tell the troops to prepare for a snowstorm,” Nikolai said.
Ilya looked at him, with a question in his eyes.
Nikolai shrugged and looked back over the ice-jeweled water. “I have a feeling the weather may be especially fierce that day.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Vika couldn’t hear Nikolai and Ilya’s conversation, so Poslannik had scuttled back and forth on the bridge, between the boys and where Vika hid, in order to tell her what was happening. She’d had to cover her mouth with both hands to avoid exclaiming during the entirety of their conversation. Even after Nikolai and Ilya left the bridge, she pressed herself into the interior corner of the pavilion where she’d stashed herself. If I tell Pasha what I overheard, he and Yuliana will find a way to crush Nikolai.
But if I don’t report this, Nikolai will ruin them.
Everything around her seemed to move in half time, including Vika’s ability to process what to do.
Her bracelet didn’t burn because there was no direct order that she disobeyed. This would have to be Vika’s decision, and her decision alone.
It was the freedom to determine her own fate that she’d yearned for.
Vika lingered in the pavilion a few minutes more. Then she hurried off the bridge, hugging her coat closer against her to fight off the cold, and turned away from the river toward the Winter Palace.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
The sun was long gone, but Pasha liked the challenge of shooting in the dark. Well, nearly dark, for Gavriil would not allow the tsesarevich to practice at the archery yard—or anywhere, for that matter—without any light, both because it was a danger to Pasha (it made it impossible for the Guard to protect him if they couldn’t see) and because it was a danger to any poor soul who wandered into Pasha’s line of fire. Not that anyone would do that. And not that Pasha would miss his targets, even if he couldn’t see them. Archery might not have been a necessary skill for war anymore, but it didn’t stop Pasha from being one of the best archers in all of Europe. He knew this for a fact. He’d triumphed in many a challenge—for sport, of course—by princes and military officers across the continent and in England whenever he’d gone abroad or hosted them here in Russia’s court. And Pasha did not mean to ever give up his place in those elite ranks.
He nocked an arrow against the bowstring in the swift motion of someone for whom the weapon had become a natural extension of his own body, and he released the arrow just as quickly, listening to it streak through the air and hit an icicle on a nearby tree in a satisfying shatter of crystal. Pasha didn’t need the torchlight to let him know his arrow had landed on its intended icicle, even though the branch was lined with them. He already knew by feel what the arrow’s trajectory had been, and by sound the precise distance it had flown.
He also knew by feel and by sound when Vika approached the archery range, not only because all the guards shifted slightly, standing a bit taller at the presence of a woman, but also because the wind seemed to blow a little more fervently.
Pasha’s hand, steady a moment ago, now shook. He hadn’t seen her since he and Yuliana had taken away her ability to use her powers.
The torchlight illuminated her. Vika’s features were pinched, and she glared at the guards, almost like Yuliana would. Pasha handed his bow and quiver to Gavriil and walked slowly (he wasn’t eager to be yelled at) to meet Vika in the middle of the range. His boots crunched on the fresh snow.
“Send them away,” she said, eyeing the guards.
Pasha frowned. He hadn’t expected to jump straight into whatever business was at hand.
Vika kept looking at the guards.
“Gavriil,” Pasha said, turning to his captain. “A moment, please. All of you.”
Gavriil hesitated but then bowed, and the guards moved to the outer perimeter of the archery yard. Still watchful, but out of earshot.
Pasha turned back to Vika. “What happened? Are you all right?”
She scowled at him for a moment.
Of course she wasn’t all right. He’d taken enchanting away from an enchanter. “I’m sorry,” Pasha said. “I know it’s difficult—”
“I’m not here to discuss that. Well, not yet.” Vika inched closer to Pasha and angled her chin to speak into his ear.
“Oh. Then what is it?” He bent slightly to get closer to her. He exhaled at the same time, relieved that she wasn’t here to protest the edict.
“Nikolai is planning a coup, to take place in two days.”
All the tension that target practice had released now came rushing back into Pasha’s body. “What? How?” From what Pasha had learned in the barracks, the talk had been about blocking his coronation next month. Not an imminent revolt.
“I overheard him and your guard Ilya Koshkin talking about a group called the Decembrists. They supposedly have twenty thousand men already committed. They’ll refuse to take the oath of allegiance to you and instead install Nikolai on the throne.”
That familiar spiral in Pasha’s stomach began again, caused by Nikolai, making Pasha pay for what he did. And now Ilya, one of his best guards, betraying him as well. Had Ilya been one of the constitutionalists all along? Was there no one upon whom Pasha could rely?
Vika looked up at him. “So what are we going to do?”
