most uncomfortable. Like murdering squirrels in the park with her glare and laughing when they fell out of the trees, their eyes already glassy and unseeing. And then laughing harder as Sergei mourned them through a curtain of snotty tears.
“We don’t know what form the Game has taken,” Sergei said. “You imagine an outright duel, but knowing Vika, I suspect it’s something more subtle. She did not spend her entire life confined to a tiny island only to have her magic—her freedom—constricted to a few short days in the Game. She’s going to savor the experience. Both you and your student would be gravely mistaken to take that as complacency or lack of skill.”
Galina smirked and stalked over to the kitchen table. It had originally been constructed of coarse logs, but Galina had changed it into Italian marble. “You haven’t grown too attached to the girl, I hope? Have you even told her you aren’t her real father?”
Sergei furrowed his brow. “What are you implying?” He’d thought everyone believed she was his daughter. He certainly thought his sister, whom he hadn’t seen in decades, would think so.
Galina conjured up a cup of steaming tea. “Honestly, Sergei, she looks nothing like you. And even though you did not care to check on me in Saint Petersburg all those years, I did check on you—actually, I paid someone to do it from time to time, because that sort of work is beneath me—and I know for a fact that you never married or had even a mistress. But it’s fine if you want to pretend Vika is your daughter. It’s . . . sweet, even.” Galina’s mouth puckered. “All right, cloying is more accurate. But that’s your choice. All I want to know is, where did you find her?”
“I—I didn’t—”
“Sergei.”
“Fine.” He knew if he didn’t answer, she’d keep pestering him, and seeing as they were trapped in this cabin together, it was far less painful to relent now than to continue taking her abuse. Galina already knew the crux of the truth anyway. “I found Vika on the side of a volcano on the Kamchatka Peninsula, when I was there on a research mission studying winter herbs. Her mother, a volcano nymph, had abandoned her.”
Galina sat back in her chair. “I thought nymphs were extinct.”
“So did I.”
“Huh.” Galina contemplated the fact for a moment, then leaned forward again and said, “The girl really isn’t your daughter, then.”
How like his sister to be able to shrug off the existence of a magical creature in order to torment Sergei some more. He grumbled. “Blood determines nothing. Vika is my daughter, no matter what you say.”
“For someone as surly-looking as you, you’re disgustingly soft.”
“It’s better than being surly on both the outside and the inside like someone else in this room.” Sergei reached over and helped himself to Galina’s tea, ignoring her scowl. “I suppose you’ve remained cold and distant from your student, haven’t you? You are so very talented at alienating people.”
“Why would I form an attachment to a half-breed orphan from the steppe?” Galina scoffed. “I trained him because it was my duty to do so, and because I want to see my enchanter demolish yours. I like winning, you know.”
Oh, yes, Sergei knew. Although more accurately, Galina should have said she liked winning against him. It had always been about beating him, beginning when they were small children and she wanted more of their father’s attention. She’d never outgrown her insecurity at being born a girl, even though their parents hadn’t played favorites between them.
“It’s a pity raising Nikolai didn’t stir any maternal instinct in you. It would have been nice if Vika had grown up with a friend in the family to play with.”
Galina plucked her teacup out of Sergei’s hands. “Maternal instinct? Ha! You can’t stir something that doesn’t exist, thank goodness. And as for Vika having a friend, that is ridiculous, and you know it. They are enchanters, Sergei. They were always going to have to fight each other and die. They couldn’t know who the other enchanter was, let alone be friends. Besides, you hate Saint Petersburg and would never have come to visit. I would never have visited you on that godforsaken island, either, because I hate . . . nature.” She glared again at sheets of freezing, tumbling white outside the window.
“You honestly don’t love Nikolai, then? After all those years, you can’t say that even a single beat of your frigid heart belongs to the