The Crown's Game Part 29

Pasha watched the countryside fly by. Occasionally, villagers would come out at the sound of the approaching horses, and when they saw the double-headed eagle on the carriage, they would fall to their knees in the gra.s.s and the dirt. Children chased after the coach. Gavriil tossed coins for them onto the road as the coach rambled away.

When they were almost back at the outskirts of Saint Petersburg, Vika's head rolled on Pasha's shoulder. He caught her gently before she slipped down, and he repositioned her so she could continue to sleep. For a moment, he thought about kissing her, maybe just on the top of her head as she slept. But then he scowled at himself for even thinking of doing it without her permission.

And then Vika's hair fell to the side and exposed her bare skin.

Pasha gasped. She writhed as something glowed orange on her collarbone. Two crossed wands, searingly bright as if they were the tip of a branding iron. Nearly invisible wisps of smoke floated up from the wands, and a faint hint of smoke that Pasha had not noticed before lingered in the air.

The wands were the same as the ones in his book.

So it really is true, he thought. And for a second, Pasha grinned as if he'd shot a hundred partridges in one day. Nikolai had not wanted to believe him, but Pasha had been right. For once, he'd known something Nikolai hadn't: the Crown's Game was real.

But then beside him, Vika gritted her teeth, and as the scar glowed brighter, she thrashed as if she were caught in the throes of a diabolical dream. How long had it been her turn-how long had it been burning-that it hurt her like that?

Reality rushed at Pasha, and he saw Vika through a whole new lens. One in which she was actually fragile. Because if the Crown's Game was real, it meant Vika truly could die at any moment.

He didn't want to lose her.

"I'll find a way to end the Game," Pasha said aloud. "I swear on my mother's throne, I will."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR.

The Magpie and the Fox was crowded as usual, but Nikolai had sent word earlier of Pasha's request to meet at the tavern, and Nursultan had reserved their table in the back. Nikolai arrived first-it happened on occasion when Pasha had to take an alternate route to evade his Guard-and Nikolai sipped on his beer while he waited.

He had just begun to take a bite of bread and smoked salmon when Pasha slipped into their booth. He was clean shaven this time, almost entirely himself but for the spectacles on his nose and the Wellington hat on his head. He promptly removed both as he settled into the darkness of their corner.

"I saw her today," Pasha said.

"h.e.l.lo to you, too." Nikolai set down his bread and picked up the cold bottle of vodka Nursultan had left on the table. "Saw whom?"

"Vika. Her father pa.s.sed away, and Ludmila asked me to comfort her. I took her on a carriage ride."

Nikolai paused mid-pour and missed the shot gla.s.s, and vodka spilled and dripped onto his trousers. He didn't move. Sergei had died? Was this why Vika hadn't taken her turn?

"When did it happen?" he asked. The calmness in his voice was 100 percent pretense.

"The drive?"

"No. Her father pa.s.sing."

"A fortnight ago."

Exactly when Vika had fainted. And lost her bracelet. They had to be related. Nikolai poured a new shot of vodka for himself. He didn't even stop to pour one for Pasha or mumble a perfunctory toast; he just gulped it down and chased it with half a stein of beer.

"What's gotten into you?" Pasha said.

"Nothing."

Pasha shook his head, as if shrugging this off as another of Nikolai's brooding episodes. "I also confirmed she's part of the Crown's Game." Pasha pushed aside the platter of bread and fish and shoved his copy of Russian Mystics and Tsars onto the table. Did he carry that encyclopedia with him everywhere?

Nikolai considered drinking straight from the bottle. And yet he took Pasha's bait and asked the question he knew Pasha wanted him to ask. "How?"

Pasha flipped open the book to a page he had marked with a length of gold ribbon. There was an ill.u.s.tration of two wands crossed over each other. "Because the enchanters are branded with this when the Game begins. And when Vika fell asleep on me-"

"She fell asleep on you?" Nikolai clenched his fists, and the gla.s.ses began to rattle.

Pasha glanced up from the book. The gla.s.ses stopped shaking. He furrowed his brow. "Er, yes. She fell asleep on me in the carriage. She had her head on my shoulder, and when her hair moved, it exposed her collarbone. . . ."

Nikolai closed his eyes, as if doing so could undo everything Pasha was saying.

"And right there on her skin was this mark of the wands." He tapped the book. "Glowing orange and actually burning, no less."

Nikolai leaned against the high wooden back of the booth.

"Amazing and horrifying," Pasha said.

There was nothing but the noise from the tavern. Men singing a bawdy drinking song. Shouts to Nursultan to bring more pickles. A fistfight at one of the tables.

"Come now, Nikolai. You honestly have no comment? I spent the afternoon consoling the girl I'm in love with, and I confirmed that she might die as well. At least congratulate me on my detective work, or offer your condolences, I don't care. Something."

"I congratulate you on your sad lot."

"Oh, don't be such a curmudgeon." Pasha poured himself a shot of vodka and gulped it down. He bit off a chunk of bread to take off the vodka's astringent edge. "I thought you'd be more supportive. Or are you jealous? You're not interested in Vika, are you? You danced with her only once at the masquerade."

"I'm not jealous." Nikolai had lost track of how many lies he'd told Pasha by this point. He knew only that he was buried deep in them, and he was suffocating.

"I implore you again to help me stop the other enchanter. You're resourceful. Surely you can think of some way out of the Crown's Game."

Nikolai squeezed his fists tighter. His nails dug into his palms. "I told you before. There is no way out."

"How can you be so sure? I've told you only the abridged version of the Game. There are many more details. There's so much you don't know."

"I already know too much, Pasha!" Nikolai picked up the vodka bottle and smashed it over the book. Gla.s.s shattered and flew across the table, several shards embedding themselves in Pasha's sleeve.

Pasha gasped. "What are you-"

But he stopped talking as the pieces of gla.s.s quivered, then slid across the table and back onto the book, where they rea.s.sembled themselves into the shape of a bottle. The shards in his arm wrenched themselves free and rejoined their gla.s.sy brethren. Even the liquid on the book cover converged into a small pool, then traveled up the side of the bottle in a clear stream before trickling back through the bottle's mouth and back inside.

He gaped at Nikolai.

Nikolai squinted at Pasha's arm. "I'm sorry. Did the gla.s.s cut you? Or is it only your sleeve?" There was concern in his words, strictly speaking, but his tone belied very little of it.

Pasha glanced down but was unable to speak.

"Just the sleeve then. Much easier." Nikolai's tone was more derisive than he'd intended to let on, but he couldn't shake it, because Pasha had pushed him too far. Nikolai snapped his fingers, and a needle and thread appeared. They dipped down to Pasha's shirt and began st.i.tching the tears the broken gla.s.s had left.

"You're the other enchanter," Pasha whispered.

Nikolai kept his face an unfeeling mask. "I'm afraid so."

"You made the benches."

"And refaced Nevsky Prospect and conjured the Jack and ballerina. The Masquerade Box was mine as well."

"All this time . . ."

Nikolai sighed, and his mask dissolved. Now actual remorse began to flow. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"You let me go on and on about the Crown's Game like a fool." Pasha stared at his sleeve, where the needle had finished its work, and a pair of scissors was snipping the extra thread.

Nikolai shook his head. "You're not a fool."

"But you made me out to be. I don't even know who you are."

"I'm the same person you've always known."

"No." Pasha rose from the booth. "You're not."

"Pasha."

"You've known this about yourself your entire life. And that means you've lied to me for the entirety of our friendship."

"It's only a small part of my ident.i.ty. I'm so much more than this."

"Perhaps. But what else have you hidden from me?"

"Nothing!" Nikolai slapped the table.

"Did you befriend me for your own ambitions, to become closer to the tsar so you could win the Game?" Pasha's ordinarily angelic face contorted into something uglier. Something harsher. Something that looked like his father or his sister.

"No. I didn't even know the details of the Game until a month ago."

"Did you enjoy listening to me ramble about mysticism, then laugh behind my back?"

"I would never."

"And what about Vika? How will you finish the Game? Will you kill her so you can be victorious, so you can finally be somebody?"

"No! Pasha, what are you saying?" Nikolai jumped from his seat. "I could never hurt her, I love her, too."

"You what?" Pasha's mouth hung open.

d.a.m.n. Was it true? Renata had accused him of falling for Vika, but Nikolai hadn't fully admitted it to himself until now. Not actually being in love. The confession left him feeling both as if the floor had been pulled out from under him and, at the same time, made more firm.

The two boys glared at each other from opposite sides of the booth. Anywhere else, their argument would have attracted attention. But in the tavern, it was business as usual. At a nearby table, another bottle smashed against the wall and the men there began to yell.

"I love her, too," Nikolai said quietly as he sank back into his seat.

Pasha, however, did not sit. He towered over Nikolai. "So you lied to me about that as well."

Nikolai could do nothing but nod. He could argue that it was an omission, not a lie, but such technicalities shouldn't matter between friends. It was deception nonetheless. One of so many deceptions.

Pasha scowled. "You were the one who said I couldn't love Vika, because I hardly knew her. How is it possible, then, for you to love her? Do you know her so much better than I?"

"It's different. We're enchanters."

"And what is that supposed to mean? That you're somehow better than me because of it?"

"No! Just . . . we understand each other. There's no one else like us."

"So if we are only to fall in love with someone exactly like ourselves, I suppose that means I need to find a woman who is in line to inherit an empire, who has also been betrayed by her best friend."

Nikolai wilted on the table.

"I could have my Guard arrest you, you know. I could accuse you of kidnapping me tonight. I could have a firing squad on you by morning."

"I know you could."

"I could, but I won't, because in another version of this life, you were my best friend. And I wouldn't want that boy's blood on my hands."

"Pasha-"

"Why do you have to steal Vika?"

Nikolai sat up again. "What? I'm not. I said I love her, not that she loves me."

"She'd choose you over me, though. You've always had everything, and now you have to take Vika, too." Pasha stabbed a knife into the center of the loaf of bread.

Nikolai yanked the knife out. "How could you possibly believe that? You're the one who has everything. I'm an orphan with not a drop of n.o.ble blood in my veins and not a ruble or kopek to my name. All I have is my magic, and all that's going to lead me to is death."

"Not true. Do you not see what you have, Nikolai? You're better than everyone at everything, and you don't even try. You're a better dancer, a better swordsman, a better scholar. Girls fall at your feet, and you don't seem to care. You excel at everything, whereas I'm only adequate. The only thing I've got is that I was born to be heir."

"You're more than that." Nikolai dropped the knife on the table.

"Tell that to my father. Or don't. He probably already likes you better than me anyway. After all, he's the judge of the Game, isn't he? So he knows all about you. He knows more about you than I do." Pasha jabbed at his book on the table.

"Please. Calm down. Let's be rational. I can explain."

"You've had years to explain. It's too late now. From this moment on, I want nothing to do with you or your kind. Keep your magic to yourself." He s.n.a.t.c.hed the knife and stabbed it straight into the center of Russian Mystics and the Tsars. "And stay out of my life." Pasha glowered. Then he stormed toward the Magpie and the Fox's back door.

"Pasha, wait!"