“I didn’t even know he was sick,” she said. “Father had gone away on a trip, and I simply assumed he was safe. He was so strong, I never imagined him otherwise.”
Pasha wanted to cross the space between them and comfort her. But she would probably shift away. Wouldn’t she? It was certainly a risk. But she’d come in the carriage. She could have declined. Pasha decided to take the chance.
He moved across the coach to the seat beside her, taking her hand. She startled and almost withdrew it, but then . . . she didn’t. She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder instead.
A smile bloomed across Pasha’s face. Even in her grief, Vika smelled sweet. Like flowers and warm spice. He tried not to move at all, so that she would stay nestled into his side.
“Father gave his entire life to me,” Vika murmured. “But what was the point when he didn’t survive long enough to . . .”
“To what?”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “I must make him proud. I can’t let his death be in vain.”
Pasha touched her arm gently. “I’m sure he was proud. It would be impossible not to be.”
The roads grew rougher the farther they traveled from the center of Saint Petersburg, and the carriage bumped along the dirt. Soon, they were outside the city limits, and the scenery gave way to more space: fewer buildings, save for the small houses that sprinkled the landscape every now and then, and more fields and clusters of red- and gold-leaved trees. It was a good plan, Pasha thought, to head to Tsarskoe Selo. A walk through the gardens and woods really would do Vika good.
She didn’t speak much. But Pasha was all right with that. She didn’t need his words; she needed room to breathe.
He did not, of course, understand the full extent of her grief. But he knew the fear of it. He thought of the tsar and tsarina at the Sea of Azov. Pasha shuddered. Mother will be all right. She’ll recover. She’ll return.
As the carriage approached Tsarskoe Selo, Vika fell asleep against him, and Pasha was loath to wake her. Ludmila had told him of Vika’s nightmares, the constant tossing and turning and unconscious wailing. So when the coachman slowed the carriage and inquired whether Pasha wished to stop, he commanded the coachman to continue onward. They would take a circuitous route around the nearby villages, then proceed slowly home to Saint Petersburg.
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 grass 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.