The Crown's Game (The Crown's Game, #1)(59)

He had thought, during the mazurka, that they’d had something. Their touch had both frenzied and frozen the ballroom. Their breathing had synchronized, heatedly. And then they’d had all the dances afterward, where she’d let him charm her feet and he’d felt as if they’d spent the entire evening wrapped around each other, the warm silk of his magic against the strangely comforting chill of her dress, their magic and their bodies moving as one.

But then she’d suddenly run away without so much as a “Thank you for the dances” or even “I’ll see you again in the Game.” It was as if the mazurka had never happened at all.

And now Nikolai’s scar burned again. She had already made her move. But how? How could she have the energy to play the Game after the exhausting night at the ball? He splashed cold water on his face. Of course, it had been his powers used during her dances, but conjuring those two dresses—the blizzard and the chocolate gowns—would have been enough to take Nikolai out completely. How had she managed not only to create them, but also to appear so fresh-faced at the ball, full of wit and vibrance? And then to follow it up with a move in the Game? He shook his head at his reflection in the mirror.

He was getting dressed when Renata knocked and said through the door, “You have a message from the tsesarevich.”

Nikolai hopped into his trousers, unbolted the locks, and flung open the door without even tucking in his shirttail.

Renata stood in the hall, her hair neatly braided, as always. She seemed to have grown an inch, and grown prettier, since the ball. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that.

“What does he say?”

“I didn’t open it.” She held out the envelope in her hands.

Nikolai took it and tore it open. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I tried, but you didn’t answer. I’ve been pounding on your door off and on for the last hour.”

“Oh.” Nikolai glanced at her and had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”

She stepped into the room and leaned over his arm so she could see as he unfolded the heavy stationery.

N—

Come quickly. There is a new island in the bay.

—P

“What?” Renata said.

“Vika’s third move.”

“But—”

“I have to go.”

Nikolai ran to his wardrobe and threw on a waistcoat, shoved his feet into his boots, and snatched a frock coat that didn’t match. Then he slid down the banister and was out the front door before he realized that, like Vika the night before, he’d run off without saying good-bye.

Nikolai saw Pasha pacing the dock before he even saw the new island. Not that the island was far from the shores of Saint Petersburg. But Pasha’s pacing was so frenetic, it was hard to focus on anything else. From the looks of his hair, Pasha had been pacing for quite some time. There was probably a path already worn onto the wood planks beneath him.

Pasha glanced up and caught sight of Nikolai. “Gavriil!” he hollered to the captain of his Guard. “Ready the ferry.” Then he bounded down the pier to meet Nikolai.

“What took you so long?” Pasha asked when he reached his friend.

“It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning. I was asleep.”

“How could you sleep when a new island has cropped up in the middle of the night?”

Nikolai twisted his mouth. “Because in my slumber, I was unaware that a new island had cropped up in the middle of the night.”

Pasha laughed and slapped him on the back. “Fair enough. Besides, you’re here now. I was about to give up on you, although I vastly prefer doing this together.” He started down the dock. “Come on. I forbade anyone to land on the island before we had a chance to explore it.”

Nikolai hung back. “Are you sure it’s wise for you to be the first? We know nothing of this island.” Which was true. It could very well be dangerous. But it was also true that a selfish part of Nikolai wanted Vika’s magic to himself, even though she’d left him at the ball. He didn’t want the experience of her new island spoiled by anyone else, even if it was Pasha.

“I doubt that the enchanter, whichever one it is, would be so bold as to build a trap for me. It would be suicide to harm the tsesarevich.” Pasha grinned, as if he were amused with himself for actually admitting that he was the heir to the throne.

But Nikolai hardly heard the last part of what Pasha had said. “Did you say ‘the enchanter, whichever one it is’?”

“Indeed. Can you believe it? The lightning girl is not the only one. She didn’t mean for it to slip out, but I caught it. I gather enchanters are rather protective of their identities.” Pasha hopped onto the ferry.

Nikolai bit on his knuckle. Then he followed Pasha, although Nikolai didn’t hop. He almost tripped on a rope snaking across the deck. One of Pasha’s guards caught him and helped him onto the ferry. The rest of the guards clambered on right behind him.

So Pasha knew there was another enchanter. But he didn’t seem to suspect Nikolai at all. Still, Nikolai’s stomach lurched, and he leaned over the railing. Damn seasickness. Except Nikolai never got seasick. And they hadn’t even left the dock. Which meant it was the guilt of lying to his best friend that was making him feel this way. Splendid.

A few minutes later, the ferry pushed off from shore, leaving behind the throngs already amassed along the embankment, gawking both at the island (they’d managed to convince themselves that it was an artificial one, installed overnight as a birthday gift from the King of Sweden) and at the sight of the tsesarevich in their midst. They didn’t know Pasha often walked among them in disguise. To the people of Saint Petersburg, Pasha was a rare snow leopard who kept to his gilded cage in the palace.