The Crown's Game (The Crown's Game, #1)(60)

Pasha waved jauntily as he and Nikolai sailed into the bay, and a few onlookers waved and blew kisses back. Then he strode to the ferry’s bow.

Nikolai took several deep breaths and pulled himself together. He took one more breath for good measure—what he’d do if the river tried to rope him in and drown him again, he didn’t know—then he followed Pasha, and the two watched the new island as they approached.

The island was a small one, perhaps a half mile squared or a little more, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in appearance. Its banks were composed not of sand, but of low granite ridges, sparkling in the sun. Bright flowers freckled the shoreline, and trees reached halfway up to the clouds. It was also very green with all those trees. Unnaturally green for this time of year, Nikolai thought, when the leaves ought to be turning shades of red and gold.

“It reminds me of the Summer Garden,” Pasha said.

Nikolai nodded. “Except the summer here is eternal.” He wondered if the island, like the Summer Garden in the city, was also full of rare flowers and plants and marble statues and fountains. But regardless . . . Vika had created an entire island. Nikolai’s chest tightened as their ferry sailed closer.

They arrived not long afterward. However, the ferry master could not find a place to bring the boat to shore. Nikolai frowned. It would have been easy for Vika to create a natural dock, an extension of land or an outcropping of rock. It wasn’t as if she were unfamiliar with ferries and ports; she lived on an island herself.

Unless she did it intentionally, to make it harder to approach. But why? Why would she go to all the effort of conjuring something as magnificent as an island, only to make it difficult for anyone to come ashore?

“You’re already building it, aren’t you?” Pasha asked.

Nikolai jumped. “What?”

“I wager you’re already mentally calculating how to construct a dock or a bridge to the main part of Petersburg,” Pasha asked.

“Oh, right.” Nikolai forced a smile. “Yes, it would be possible to erect an iron bridge, perhaps like the one in Coalbrookdale in England. Although more recently there has been talk among engineers of truss systems, such as the Gaunless Bridge that was just finished, also in England . . . Why are you laughing?”

Pasha shook his head. “I don’t understand that brain of yours. It’s unfair, really. How is it possible for one person to know so much?”

Nikolai shrugged. “I just like bridges.”

“All right, well, if you ever find you don’t need all that genius for yourself, I’m happy to take some off your hands. And when it comes time to build a bridge, I’ll be sure our corps of engineers consults with you. But for now”—Pasha turned to the ferry master—“we’ll take the skiff.” He pointed to the small vessel kept on board as a lifeboat.

“Yes, Your Imperial Highness.” The ferry master shouted to his crew to prepare the boat. “One of my men will row you to shore.”

“That will not be necessary, thank you. Nikolai and I will manage on our own.” He glanced at his Guard, who had gathered nearby. Gavriil cleared his throat. “No, Gavriil, I am not going to allow you to explore the island first. I’m quite sure it’s harmless.”

“I am sure it is as well, Your Imperial Highness. The tsar ordered a regiment to ensure its safety shortly after sunrise this morning. The island is small enough that they were able to scour it from coast to coast. I was merely about to suggest that I accompany you to shore, just in case.”

Pasha scowled. Nikolai knew he didn’t like that his father’s men had beaten him to the island, especially since Pasha had declared it off-limits. And even more so, Pasha hated that his father could anticipate that he would come to the island first thing. Pasha didn’t like to think himself so predictable.

“All right, Gavriil, you can come with us—but only you. The skiff will capsize if there are more than three of us in it.”

Gavriil boarded the skiff first to verify that it was sturdy—Pasha scowled again at being handled so gently—and once its fitness for the tsesarevich was confirmed, Pasha and Nikolai were permitted to climb aboard. The boat rocked with the weight of all three of them, but once they were settled in, it was stable. The ferry’s crew lowered the skiff into the water.

“I can row,” Nikolai said.

“I’ll do it,” Pasha said.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Gavriil said, “either Nikolai or I can—”

“No.” Pasha grabbed the oars. “I said, I’ll do it.”

Nikolai relented. Pasha was much better at sea than he was, anyway. After all, Pasha had been on ships to Stockholm and Amsterdam, not to mention he’d sailed on the Sea of Azov. And where had Nikolai been all his life? On the ground, following yaks on the steppe, or delivering packages on the streets of Saint Petersburg. Nikolai sighed. It wasn’t even a contest.

Nikolai leaned back and focused on conjuring a shield around their little boat, in case the Neva decided to grow violent again.

Pasha’s strokes were long and strong, pushing and pulling the water in a steady rhythm. Swish, swash. Swish, swash. Swish, swash. The cadence almost hypnotized Nikolai back to sleep. He was still so tired from creating the Masquerade and Imagination Boxes, and from staying up all night at the ball.

He didn’t get the chance to doze off, though, for he needed to keep the shield intact, and a few minutes later, they were at the island.