The Crown's Game Part 31

He scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. "I can end the Game, you know. I will punish you. I will declare Vika Andreyeva the winner."

"And murder your own son?"

The tsar shuddered.

"You will not declare the girl the winner. You will not be able to, for you shall not survive the journey back to Taganrog to inscribe the name of the winner onto the Scroll."

"I won't survive? What have you done?"

Aizhana shrugged. "Given you a parting gift, a token of my affection. However, you may not see it as such. You may see it as typhus."

The tsar clutched his mouth.

She laughed as she rose from the bed and strolled to the tent's entrance. "Good night, Alexander. May your eternal sleep be haunted by nightmares of your many sins."

The tsar sounded the alarm as soon as Aizhana swooped out of his tent. The remainder of his Guard rushed him into his carriage and onto the long road back to Taganrog. But fever and aches descended that night, with delirium following soon after. The journey back to the Sea of Azov was too far. By the time they arrived days later, Death was waiting at the bottom of the carriage steps. The tsar tumbled out of the carriage, and Death swung his scythe. It took the tsar's life just as he made it into the tsarina's arms.

Death took the tsarina soon afterward.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE.

Pasha let his sister take his hand. They wore black from head to toe, and no one stopped them as they wandered through the Winter Palace. When they arrived in the ma.s.sive hall, Yuliana pulled him through the hollow, deserted s.p.a.ce, past the towering white columns and crystal chandeliers, until they reached the front of the room.

There on a dais stood a lone, empty chair, gilded in too much gold and upholstered in red, with the empire's gold double-headed eagle prominent for all to see. It was surrounded by yet more red and gold, including an even more ostentatious double-headed eagle displayed on the red wall behind the chair. This was the tsar's throne.

This was where Pasha would sit from now on.

But he didn't touch it. For he could still see his father there, dignified and majestic in full uniform, amba.s.sadors and ministers bowing at his feet. He could see his mother enter the room, and his father rise to greet her and offer her this chair.

Then Pasha thought of everything else he'd lost. His best friend, who had lied and made him out to be a fool. And the girl he loved, who did not reciprocate, and who would probably pick the traitorous enchanter over him.

All this, while he stared at the throne.

But Yuliana had only so much patience. She pushed Pasha, and he collapsed into the chair. He winced as his arm touched the gold.

"You will be tsar," she said to him. "Whether you like it or not."

Pasha closed his eyes. He exhaled deeply as he sagged into the throne. Then he nodded. I will be tsar. Because it's the only thing I have left.

CHAPTER SIXTY.

Nikolai stood outside the Winter Palace walls. Barriers had been set up in the snow, and the Guard was five men thick. If only he could evanesce, then he could get in to see Pasha. Not that Pasha would want to see him. Nikolai closed his eyes. He wished he could take back what he'd done and said, so he would be by Pasha's side now, acting as both pillar and best friend, as he ought to have been.

The streets of Saint Petersburg roiled like a sea of black. It seemed as if every citizen of the city had poured outdoors, draped in their mourning clothes and covered in sorrow. News of the tsar's death had traveled quickly from Taganrog earlier in the week, and just this morning, another messenger had come with an announcement that the tsarina's heart had failed, and she, too, had pa.s.sed.

And so in Saint Petersburg, women wept openly and collapsed on the icy cobblestones. Men bowed their heads and occasionally dabbed their eyes with their handkerchiefs. The pews in the churches overflowed.

"What do you think is happening inside the palace?" Renata asked. She had insisted on accompanying Nikolai to Palace Square, even though he had wanted to be alone ever since Pasha lashed out at him two weeks ago at the Magpie and the Fox. Before news arrived of the tsar's death, Nikolai had attempted to apologize many times, waiting outside the palace and sending letters every day. But the Guard refused to admit him, and each of his messages was declined by the imperial secretary and returned to Nikolai unopened.

After the tsar's death, Pasha locked the palace down. Nikolai hadn't been able to think of anything but Pasha since then. He couldn't even focus on the Game, despite the fact that it felt as if the scar were about to char him straight through his skin to his collarbone.

"I haven't a clue what's happening in the palace," Nikolai said to Renata. "I imagine they are not only mourning but also making preparations for Pasha's coronation." Although it was widely accepted that Pasha would become the next tsar, his official coronation wouldn't take place until January, in Moscow. Tsars were always crowned in the old capital of Russia, but it took time to plan a coronation, especially an unexpected one. It was only the last day of November now. Nikolai slumped. He'd always thought he'd be one of the first invited when Pasha became tsar. Not so anymore.

"There is also a third item on the tsesarevich's agenda," a sharp but familiar woman's voice said behind them. Nikolai and Renata whipped around, and upon seeing Galina, Renata fell into a curtsy and almost tumbled into the snow.

Nikolai had a slightly better grasp of his composure and managed not to give away too much in his expression. Still, he could see a hint of victory in Galina's eyes at having caught him by surprise.

"I thought you were exiled until the end of the Game," he said.

"As did I," she said. "But the Game's whirlwind brought me back. Which is fine by me. I tired of Siberia. It was too cold." Of course, she didn't mention her brother's death. How like Galina. And yet, there was something different about her since the last time Nikolai had seen her. She was thinner, and the lines on her face were more p.r.o.nounced. Perhaps her brother's death had affected her in some way. Or perhaps it was just the black clothes, which were unflattering to her pale complexion.

"The tsesarevich has requested your presence," she said offhandedly, as if this were something that occurred on a regular basis. "Or is he the tsar now? No, I suppose not. He hasn't been made official."

"Pasha wants to see me?"

"Not for a hand of cards. Official business."

Nikolai crumbled inside. He had been so focused on his falling-out with Pasha, and then with the death of the tsar and tsarina, that he hadn't thought through the implications of the Game.

If Pasha was going to be tsar, then he would also inherit the role of final arbiter of the Game. He would be the one to decide if Vika and Nikolai lived or died.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE.

Pasha strode down the hallway of the Winter Palace toward his mother's former audience room. They were the same chambers in which he'd caught his breath during the ball, but today's purpose would be far different. Then, he'd just been an heir, training for a seemingly distant future. But now that future had come. There would be no hiding to catch his breath today.

Yuliana marched beside him, and the Tsar's Guard followed close behind. That was another difference to which Pasha would have to grow accustomed. He'd kept on a couple of his own men-Gavriil, his captain, and Ilya, the one with a knack for sensing where Pasha went when he needed to get away-but otherwise, these guards were his father's men. It made it even more clear that Pasha's life had drastically changed.

"Are you ready?" Yuliana asked, tilting her head at the wooden chest that Ilya carried behind them. The Russe Quill and Scroll had come back to Saint Petersburg with the rest of their father's and mother's personal effects. Immediately, Yuliana had urged Pasha to conclude the Game. There was too much unrest in the empire, and their enemies would take advantage of the transition in the tsardom if Pasha was not strong. He needed an Imperial Enchanter now.

"I'm ready." Pasha smiled on the outside. But on the inside, he laughed cruelly-sadly-at himself. How could he ever be ready to sentence people to their deaths? Especially people he'd once loved? For that was what he was about to do: demand the end of the Game, and in so doing, command either Nikolai's or Vika's death. If only his heart were made of stone rather than quivering humanity.

Yuliana touched him gently on his sleeve, as if she knew his smile was mere deception. But of course she knew. She was his sister, who knew all his flaws. She was his strength where he was weak. "I will be right there beside you," Yuliana said. "Remember, this is for something greater than the two enchanters. This is for Russia."

Pasha swallowed and nodded. And as they continued their march down the hall, he repeated it to himself. This is for Russia. This is no longer only about me.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO.

Vika arrived at the Winter Palace alone.

She had expected an opulent throne room, or perhaps a grand hall like the one that had hosted the masquerade. But instead, the guard escorted her to a small chamber with lilac walls and unembellished cream drapes, the room bare of furniture except for a desk and a few simple chairs. Vika relaxed a little. The unpretentious grace of the room seemed more like Pasha than a ma.s.sive hall lined with red and gold and double-headed eagles along the walls.

Nikolai and Galina Zakrevskaya were already there. Neither of them sat, but rather stood several feet apart, as if it were unbearable for them to stand any closer together.

As Vika entered, Nikolai gave her a cursory bow. She had desecrated his home, and she knew she deserved not even a nod of acknowledgment. It was all she could do not to fly across the room and beg his forgiveness.

Then another guard entered the room. He cleared his throat and announced, "The Tsesarevich Pavel Alexandrovich Romanov, and the Grand Princess Yuliana Alexandrovna Romanova."

As they all bowed and curtsied, Pasha marched in and stood behind the desk. He did not sit, and he didn't command them to sit either. The grand princess followed, although she halted on the side of the room and hovered by the window. Then a young guard appeared carrying a chest, the same one from the ceremony at Bolshebnoie Duplo. He set it down heavily on top of the desk. Their stiff formality would have suited an official throne room after all.

"You may all leave," Pasha said to the guards stationed around the room. He sounded less like himself and more like . . . his father. Vika shivered. The guards obeyed silently and closed the doors behind them. No doubt they positioned themselves immediately outside.

"I believe we all know why we're here." Pasha glanced at his sister, then pressed his fingers to the chest and lifted the lid. As he did so, the Russe Quill and Scroll floated out.

Vika noticed that Pasha did not look at her. It was as if he didn't know her either. Had she imagined the past two months? The dancing at the masquerade, the near kiss in the maple grove, the carriage ride after her father's death? Everyone had forsaken her.

"The Scroll is where the tsar declares a winner," Pasha continued. "Although I am not officially tsar, I will be soon, and I will need an Imperial Enchanter. But I would rather not have to choose between you. Therefore, I would like you to conclude the Game." He paused, as if waiting to see if anyone would interrupt him. As if testing out his new power. Vika had interrupted the tsar once upon a time, during the oath that seemed so long ago. But the sternness on Pasha's face frightened her more than the tsar ever had, perhaps because the austerity was so foreign to Pasha that Vika didn't know what it meant or what to expect. So she kept still and very quiet.

"I propose a cla.s.sic duel to determine the winner," Pasha said.

"What do you mean, a cla.s.sic duel?" Nikolai's eyes narrowed.

"A fight l'outrance, to the death." Icicles hung off Pasha's voice. "A display of your skills in what this Game was supposed to be: a demonstration of which of you is better fit for the position of Imperial Enchanter. Who will help me strategize against the Ottomans? Who can put down the uprisings on the steppe? Who is not afraid to risk life to protect the empire?"

"You don't have to be a warmonger," Nikolai said.

"I am going to be tsar."

"The t.i.tle doesn't matter." Nikolai took a step toward him. "It's what you do that defines you, Pasha."

The grand princess cleared her throat.

"You will address me as Your Imperial Highness," Pasha said to Nikolai. "And I will remind you that you are not my adviser yet. Don't get ahead of yourself, enchanter."

Vika gaped and looked from Pasha to Nikolai. She had thought they were best friends. Even Nikolai appeared stunned. What had happened between them? What had happened to everyone?

"What if we refuse to duel?" Vika asked, for now the world had gone completely upside down, and she could not resist speaking up any longer.

Pasha looked down at the empty chest. The Quill and Scroll still hovered next to him. The grand princess crossed her arms and nodded, as if encouraging her brother to carry through with something they had previously decided.

"My Guard has taken custody of your loved ones," Pasha said. "Ludmila Fanina and Renata Galygina have been placed under lock and key in an undisclosed location. They will be comfortable during the remainder of the Game, but should you not carry out my wishes, there shall be consequences. Your duel shall take place on the new island, beginning at dawn tomorrow."

"Pasha, no!" Vika said. "This isn't you!"

Pasha dragged his hand through his hair, catching himself only after he'd already mussed up half of his blond locks. He dropped his arms to his sides and stood with military rigidity.

"Perhaps it's not the Pasha of the past, but I have no choice. I am to be tsar. This is me now."

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE.

Galina braced herself. She had a feeling the Game's whirlwind would come for her again soon. The magic had only summoned her back to Saint Petersburg for the transition of the Game, but she would likely be exiled again shortly, for the same rules as before applied: she would not be permitted to a.s.sist her student.

The tsesarevich locked away the Russe Quill and Scroll and marched out of the room with the grand princess. Nikolai and Vika stood gawking after them, both immobile, as if the tsesarevich had confiscated their ability to move.

Galina whacked Nikolai on the back of his head. "Do not forget the gift I gave you."

He startled, then turned to her and huffed. "That is what you are thinking of, at a moment like this?"

"What else ought I be thinking of? The tsesarevich has made it clear that you are to execute a proper duel."

Nikolai scowled and looked away.

Galina shrugged. "And you, Vika. I hope you're happy with the choices you made for all your previous plays. My brother gave his life to you through that bracelet." Any kindness Galina had felt toward the girl following Sergei's death had vanished. It was Vika's fault that Sergei had died. She should suffer some consequence.

"What?" Vika whipped around to face Galina.

"You didn't think you had suddenly gotten more powerful, did you? All that extra energy you must have felt came from my brother. You took and took from him until there was nothing left."

"No . . ."