The Crown's Game
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Only Vika knew for certain that it had been true. And she would get her revenge.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The stone sparrow glided onto Nikolai’s arm as he sat on the steps in front of the Zakrevsky house. He’d been watching the barges chug by on Ekaterinsky Canal and eavesdropping on passersby as they chattered about their morning errands on Nevsky Prospect. Most had been pleased that the once renowned boulevard had been restored to its former grandeur. And everyone assumed it was the doing of an overnight crew of painters hired by the tsar, despite the fact that no one knew a single painter in the city who’d worked on the street. Nikolai was unsurprised. For a people who were so religious, Russians had an awfully difficult time seeing the otherworldly even when it was laid out before their eyes. “What do you have for me?” Nikolai asked the sparrow. He rested his hand on the tiny thing’s head. Its feathers were rough from being cast of rock, but they were impressively realistic in appearance. At least, Nikolai thought, from a distance.
The bird cooed and nuzzled against his fingers. Nikolai closed his eyes, and a stream of images rushed to him from the statue, as if Nikolai had been on Nevsky Prospect to see the series of bird’s-eye views himself. It was a quiet picture, the undisturbed moments just after dawn. No shoppers carrying brown paper bundles out of the butcher shop or gentlemen emerging from Bissette & Sons, the tailors for whom Nikolai delivered packages. No one strolling out of the clockmaker’s with a shiny new pocket watch dangling out of his waistcoat, or servant girls leaving the bakery with stacks of boxes full of cakes. Just a lone street sweeper and his thin, worn broom.
And then . . . there was the girl, leaving an apartment building.
His stone birds paused, high above her, all of them turning to her in sync. A moment later, they attacked.
Merde! Nikolai winced at the bloody, rocky battle that ensued.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the sparrow, as if a statue could feel grief for his shattered friends. Or perhaps Nikolai was saying it for the actual birds who’d died. Or the girl herself. Regardless, he stroked the sparrow’s stone wings.
It cooed, then flapped away, as light as if it were made of the breeze. Nikolai returned his gaze to the canals and barges floating by, although he might as well have been seeing the stone bird’s images replaying again and again.
Nikolai sagged against the steps and exhaled.
The girl still lived. The Game continued.
But at least he wasn’t a murderer today.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The tsar sat on one side of the open-air carriage with the tsarina, while Pasha and Yuliana sat facing them on the opposite velvet bench. It was a fine autumn day, crisp and cool without a cloud in sight, and since it was mere days before Pasha’s birthday, the tsarina had decided the city ought to have the benefit of admiring her son. They had been parading around Saint Petersburg in their coach for nearly an hour now, and the crowds showed no signs of thinning.
“Pavel Alexandrovich! Happy birthday!”
“Your Imperial Highness, Your Imperial Highness, over here!”
“Best wishes, dear prince, to you and your family!”
Pasha beamed and waved to each and every person who called to him from the streets and the windows and balconies above. The tsar and the rest of the imperial family sat around him but did not steal the limelight. It was the tsesarevich’s afternoon.
That did not stop Yuliana, however, from unrolling a map.
The tsar shook his head affectionately. Of course she’d brought a map.
“Missolonghi is at a crisis point,” Yuliana said, attempting to update her brother on the recent meeting of the Imperial Council, which he had again skipped. “The Ottomans have besieged the city, and although the Greek rebels have managed to break the blockade several times for supplies, it is not long before the noose is tightened. And while the Ottomans are facing increasing political unrest from their subject states, it doesn’t make them weaker. It only aggravates them and calls them to stronger arms, which in turn is a rising threat to Russia, for they’re nipping at the land we took away from them. And . . . Pasha! Are you listening?”
Pasha turned from a mass of children who were giggling and shrieking his name. His smile carried over as he looked at Yuliana. “Of course. You were talking about . . . England?”
“Ugh!” Yuliana shot the tsar an exasperated glare, as if to say, Why can’t he be more like you and me?
At that moment, a man in a tattered farmer’s hat shoved his way through the crowd and charged at the carriage. “You sit on your gilded thrones while our people toil to their deaths in the fields!”
The Tsar’s Guard pounced on the man before the tsar could even react. The man continued shouting as the Guard dragged him away. “You promised us equality! We fought side by side with your noblemen against Napoleon! But you lied! We died for you, and you lied!”
The tsar winced inside but did not show it. He knew he’d reneged on his earlier promises. But it was better for Russia this way. The principles he’d once believed in his youth had been tempered by experience and age.
One of the guards hit the man with the butt of his rifle. The man went silent.
The tsarina stiffened beside the tsar. Across the coach, Yuliana looked with indifference at the man being taken away. Pasha, on the other hand, watched them, then waved a guard to the carriage.
“See to it that that man is given medical attention,” Pasha instructed. “And then take him home. I’m pardoning him. Tell him I know we all get a little carried away sometimes on birthdays.”
Yuliana frowned at her brother. The tsar did, too.
Pasha had too soft a touch. And with the empire fraying both at the edges—from the Ottomans and the Kazakhs—and within—from men like the fool who’d charged the coach, the tsar realized more than ever how right Yuliana had been. He needed an Imperial Enchanter. For the country and Pasha’s sake.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The other enchanter wasn’t the only one who could have spies. Vika had watched as the last stone sparrow flew away, and she’d sent a jackdaw after it. The jackdaw discovered where the other enchanter lived, and Vika had tailed him for the two days since he’d attacked her. It turned out the enchanter liked taking walks along the Neva River.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The stone sparrow glided onto Nikolai’s arm as he sat on the steps in front of the Zakrevsky house. He’d been watching the barges chug by on Ekaterinsky Canal and eavesdropping on passersby as they chattered about their morning errands on Nevsky Prospect. Most had been pleased that the once renowned boulevard had been restored to its former grandeur. And everyone assumed it was the doing of an overnight crew of painters hired by the tsar, despite the fact that no one knew a single painter in the city who’d worked on the street. Nikolai was unsurprised. For a people who were so religious, Russians had an awfully difficult time seeing the otherworldly even when it was laid out before their eyes. “What do you have for me?” Nikolai asked the sparrow. He rested his hand on the tiny thing’s head. Its feathers were rough from being cast of rock, but they were impressively realistic in appearance. At least, Nikolai thought, from a distance.
The bird cooed and nuzzled against his fingers. Nikolai closed his eyes, and a stream of images rushed to him from the statue, as if Nikolai had been on Nevsky Prospect to see the series of bird’s-eye views himself. It was a quiet picture, the undisturbed moments just after dawn. No shoppers carrying brown paper bundles out of the butcher shop or gentlemen emerging from Bissette & Sons, the tailors for whom Nikolai delivered packages. No one strolling out of the clockmaker’s with a shiny new pocket watch dangling out of his waistcoat, or servant girls leaving the bakery with stacks of boxes full of cakes. Just a lone street sweeper and his thin, worn broom.
And then . . . there was the girl, leaving an apartment building.
His stone birds paused, high above her, all of them turning to her in sync. A moment later, they attacked.
Merde! Nikolai winced at the bloody, rocky battle that ensued.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the sparrow, as if a statue could feel grief for his shattered friends. Or perhaps Nikolai was saying it for the actual birds who’d died. Or the girl herself. Regardless, he stroked the sparrow’s stone wings.
It cooed, then flapped away, as light as if it were made of the breeze. Nikolai returned his gaze to the canals and barges floating by, although he might as well have been seeing the stone bird’s images replaying again and again.
Nikolai sagged against the steps and exhaled.
The girl still lived. The Game continued.
But at least he wasn’t a murderer today.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The tsar sat on one side of the open-air carriage with the tsarina, while Pasha and Yuliana sat facing them on the opposite velvet bench. It was a fine autumn day, crisp and cool without a cloud in sight, and since it was mere days before Pasha’s birthday, the tsarina had decided the city ought to have the benefit of admiring her son. They had been parading around Saint Petersburg in their coach for nearly an hour now, and the crowds showed no signs of thinning.
“Pavel Alexandrovich! Happy birthday!”
“Your Imperial Highness, Your Imperial Highness, over here!”
“Best wishes, dear prince, to you and your family!”
Pasha beamed and waved to each and every person who called to him from the streets and the windows and balconies above. The tsar and the rest of the imperial family sat around him but did not steal the limelight. It was the tsesarevich’s afternoon.
That did not stop Yuliana, however, from unrolling a map.
The tsar shook his head affectionately. Of course she’d brought a map.
“Missolonghi is at a crisis point,” Yuliana said, attempting to update her brother on the recent meeting of the Imperial Council, which he had again skipped. “The Ottomans have besieged the city, and although the Greek rebels have managed to break the blockade several times for supplies, it is not long before the noose is tightened. And while the Ottomans are facing increasing political unrest from their subject states, it doesn’t make them weaker. It only aggravates them and calls them to stronger arms, which in turn is a rising threat to Russia, for they’re nipping at the land we took away from them. And . . . Pasha! Are you listening?”
Pasha turned from a mass of children who were giggling and shrieking his name. His smile carried over as he looked at Yuliana. “Of course. You were talking about . . . England?”
“Ugh!” Yuliana shot the tsar an exasperated glare, as if to say, Why can’t he be more like you and me?
At that moment, a man in a tattered farmer’s hat shoved his way through the crowd and charged at the carriage. “You sit on your gilded thrones while our people toil to their deaths in the fields!”
The Tsar’s Guard pounced on the man before the tsar could even react. The man continued shouting as the Guard dragged him away. “You promised us equality! We fought side by side with your noblemen against Napoleon! But you lied! We died for you, and you lied!”
The tsar winced inside but did not show it. He knew he’d reneged on his earlier promises. But it was better for Russia this way. The principles he’d once believed in his youth had been tempered by experience and age.
One of the guards hit the man with the butt of his rifle. The man went silent.
The tsarina stiffened beside the tsar. Across the coach, Yuliana looked with indifference at the man being taken away. Pasha, on the other hand, watched them, then waved a guard to the carriage.
“See to it that that man is given medical attention,” Pasha instructed. “And then take him home. I’m pardoning him. Tell him I know we all get a little carried away sometimes on birthdays.”
Yuliana frowned at her brother. The tsar did, too.
Pasha had too soft a touch. And with the empire fraying both at the edges—from the Ottomans and the Kazakhs—and within—from men like the fool who’d charged the coach, the tsar realized more than ever how right Yuliana had been. He needed an Imperial Enchanter. For the country and Pasha’s sake.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The other enchanter wasn’t the only one who could have spies. Vika had watched as the last stone sparrow flew away, and she’d sent a jackdaw after it. The jackdaw discovered where the other enchanter lived, and Vika had tailed him for the two days since he’d attacked her. It turned out the enchanter liked taking walks along the Neva River.
