The Crown's Game (The Crown's Game, #1)(49)
CHAPTER THIRTY
At thirty minutes past eight on Saturday evening, Nikolai arrived at the Winter Palace. He had enough pride not to arrive at the very beginning of the masquerade but also enough awareness that, despite being Pasha’s friend, he was enough of a nobody to require appearing before the real nobility arrived.
At the threshold of the ballroom, Nikolai adjusted his mask over his eyes. It had red and black diamonds in a harlequin pattern, which matched his waistcoat and also matched the jack-in-the-box outside in Palace Square. Other than this small splash of color, however, his clothing was unremarkable—a starched white shirt, a black cravat, charcoal trousers, white gloves, and a formal dress coat. He did not feel like being particularly visible. Besides, it would be lovely to blend in for once. Tonight, he didn’t have to be Galina’s “charitable project,” the poor orphan she’d refined into a gentleman and paraded around at her friends’ balls. He could be anyone.
The majordomo announced his presence—simply “Harlequin,” for at a masquerade there were no real names—and he smiled to himself as he proceeded down the carpeted steps.
The tsarina had had the ballroom decorated lavishly. The ceilings were draped with richly hued fabrics, deep burgundy and midnight blue, giving the effect of being inside a sumptuous tent. The chandeliers were adorned with wreaths of tiger lilies and red dahlias, and the walls were hung thickly with curtains and garlands of peacock feathers. Divans with deep cushions sat around the edges of the room, a departure from the staid chairs that usually lined the perimeter, and one corner of the ballroom had been transformed into a miniature café, complete with quiches and petits fours and coffee and tea from an army of copper samovars.
Many guests had already arrived, and a veritable menagerie whirled around the dance floor. A tuxedoed brown bear soared to the string ensemble with a butterfly. A rhinoceros wearing a bowler hat waltzed with a bejeweled mouse. And a white tigress prowled the ballroom with a tottering dodo bird in tow. Nikolai shuddered at the memory of the tiger he’d had to slaughter.
Of course, Pasha and the rest of the imperial family had not yet appeared. They would wait until nine o’clock, or even later. Then again, it being a masquerade, they could very well be hidden among the guests. Nikolai scanned the room again. No, it was impossible that Yuliana or the tsar or tsarina would do such a thing. It was highly likely, however, that Pasha would.
Nikolai smirked. How easy would it be to pick Pasha out of the crowd?
The majordomo announced General Sergei Volkonsky, a hero of the Napoleonic Wars, and his wife, Maria. I did arrive just in time, Nikolai thought. Indeed, only seconds before the real nobility.
Behind Nikolai, a man whispered, “I hear Volkonsky is not as loyal to the imperial family as the tsar believes. Some say he is in league with Pavel Pestel.”
“Pestel?” another man said. “The agitator who has been calling for democracy?”
“The very one.”
“Mon dieu! What a state Russia is in these days.”
Nikolai turned around, curious as to the identities of the speakers. But both the men were masked, and one of them, upon seeing Nikolai, said, “Let’s not discuss this tonight,” before he herded his friend away.
If only they knew about magic and the Game, Nikolai thought wryly. Then they’d truly wonder at the state of Russia these days.
Nikolai brushed aside the men’s talk—it was not only Galina’s set that liked to whisper about gossip and scandal—and began to scan the crowd again in search of Pasha. Surely he was here in disguise.
But before Nikolai had looked at an eighth of the room, a familiar swirl of braids caught his attention. She wore the same gray tunic as the rest of the servants, although she shouldn’t have, for she did not work in the Winter Palace. She did not belong here at all. Nikolai strode across the ballroom and caught her arm.
“What are you doing here, Renata?”
“Nikolai!”
“What are you doing here?” he repeated.
Renata wrenched free of his grip and maneuvered so that a divan stood between them. “What do you think?”
“If the girl tried to make a move in the Game tonight, there would be nothing you could do to stop her.”
“I could try.”
“By doing what? Distracting her by reading her tea leaves?”
Renata’s face crumpled, and she looked away.
Damn it. Again with the clumsy words. And this time he didn’t have vodka to blame. Nikolai reached across the divan and put his hand on Renata’s arm, gentler this time. In the background, the waltz and its music came to a close. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to belittle your abilities.”
“It’s all right.” She rested her hand on his. “I know you’re under a great deal of pressure. I thought I could help by coming and keeping watch on her.”
“Vika will be in costume. It will be hard to keep watch on anybody tonight.”
Renata inhaled sharply. “Since when did you start saying her name?”
Nikolai dropped his hand from Renata’s arm and stepped back. Had he said the girl’s name? He hadn’t meant to. Until now, it was a boundary he hadn’t crossed. The Game would have been easier if she were unnamed, if she remained a stranger.
But it was already too late for that. From the moment she’d charmed the canals, it was too late. And then she had spared him from the lightning storm, and he’d made her the Imagination Box. . . . Yes, it was much too late. In more ways than one.