The Crown's Fate
Page 23
“Or someone like me who continues to show up unannounced.”
Well, that part I’m used to, he thought. Galina used to appear for lessons all the time when Nikolai least expected it, so often that he actually began to expect the unexpected. If that made any sense.
Aizhana ventured a step closer.
Nikolai took a step away. “If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else I need to be.”
“Which is?”
“None of your business.” The truth was, he was going to see Galina. Nikolai might have had his sights set on the Winter Palace, but until that was officially his home, he’d need a place to stay. A base from which to plan.
“You know I’ll follow you if you don’t tell me where you’re going,” Aizhana said.
Nikolai sighed. He did know that. “Fine. I’m going to see Galina.”
Aizhana swiped away a lock of greasy hair from her face and grinned. “Your best idea yet. You’ll reap a great deal of energy by killing a mentor. Her power was nothing compared to what yours used to be, but her ability to command magic would likely benefit you.”
“I’m not going to kill her!” Nikolai’s earlier sympathy for his mother disappeared, and he glared at her. “I spent all night wandering the city. I need a place to sleep.”
She shrank under her hood again.
He didn’t care. He began to stalk away.
“Nikolai, wait.”
He kept walking.
Aizhana scurried after him, her limp more pronounced when she had to hurry. “I have rooms at a boardinghouse in Sennaya Square if you want a place to live.”
He didn’t turn around. “Sennaya Square is a pit of filth and disrepute.” It was the home of gamblers and drunks, of lice and whores. Nikolai knew this, for Sennaya Square was where he’d spent his little free time during his youth—before he met Pasha, that is—playing cards with louts and enchanting decks so he would win. He always felt sullied afterward. He shuddered now, thinking of it.
Aizhana stopped trying to keep up with him. “Sennaya Square is also the sort of place where people know not to look each other in the eyes. The sort of place where a resurrected corpse and a living shadow might survive without too many questions. Because that, in truth, is what we are, my son.”
Nikolai’s stomach turned, and he halted mid-stride. Was that what he’d been reduced to? A shadow no better than the boors in those dark alleys?
But no. He was more than that. Even if his body wasn’t. “I’m going to restore my corporeal self soon,” he said.
Aizhana let out a wheezing whimper. Or a groan. It was difficult to tell. Then she took in a long, quivering breath. “I am your mother. I will be here for you whenever you need me. And when reality catches up to you, you’ll be able to find me at the Black Moth.”
The most squalid of the sordid boardinghouses in Sennaya Square. Of course.
But Nikolai did not belong there. He would not.
“Best of luck to you,” he said with a slight nod. And then he strode away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Vika had run to the window of the tsar’s study as soon as the screaming had begun in Palace Square. She’d watched in horror as the Jack exploded, followed by the boxes, with only the ballerina left behind. She shook as she surveyed the remains.
“Did you spare the doll, or is she supposed to be dead?” she asked, as if Nikolai could hear.
But what she really meant was, Is this what you intend to do to me? To us?
Vika pressed herself against the windowpane and scanned the square for him. But if Nikolai was still there, she couldn’t feel his magic. Perhaps it was his barrier shield. Or perhaps he was already gone.
Again, her heart contracted, locking itself, just in case. But the fact that Vika had to protect herself like that, that she had to watch as Nikolai turned against not only her and Pasha, but also against himself, hurt just as much as loving him.
Vika shook her head grimly as she surveyed Nikolai’s damage in the now-empty square.
She snapped her fingers, and the lifeless ballerina disappeared in a burst of tiny bubbles. Vika flourished her left hand, and the cobblestones assembled themselves back to their rightful places. But even as she swept magic across Palace Square, there were some things Vika could not do—clear away the people’s lingering fear, and the looming fog of her own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It took much longer than Nikolai anticipated to reach the Zakrevsky house. If he’d been able to walk the streets like an ordinary person, it would have been a relatively short trip. But because a shadow-without-a-person could not simply stroll out in the sunlight—not if he wanted to preserve the illusion that Vika was the only enchanter and therefore to blame for the havoc wreaked upon Saint Petersburg—Nikolai had to skulk under bridges and in the interstices of the canals. He nearly cried out in joy as he emerged from the darkness onto the boulevard that ran along Ekaterinsky Canal. Never had he been so happy to see Galina’s home, three stories of neo-Baroque excess, against which all the other houses on the street paled.
How would Galina react when she saw him? Probably as if everything were the same, for Galina’s heart was made of lead and was therefore unsusceptible to any emotion, surprise or otherwise. But that would be a good thing. He needed a place from which he could plan his course of attack against Pasha, and unlike Aizhana, Galina wouldn’t constantly meddle in his affairs. Galina wouldn’t care enough to exert the effort.
Nikolai climbed the front steps and listened through the door. It did not seem as if anyone was inside, at least not in the entry. He charmed the lock open and slipped inside. Then he glanced quickly around him, and hearing the servants in the dining room, he tiptoed down the hall, up the curved staircase, and straight to his bedroom.
It had been redecorated as a library.
Nikolai stood immobile in the doorway. “Where are all my things?” He hadn’t meant to say it so loudly, but, well . . . Where in the devil were his desk and his bed and the armoire full of clothes he’d painstakingly tailored? He’d only been gone for two weeks.
Galina glided down the hall behind him. “I thought you were dead.” As Nikolai had expected, she was not rattled at all by his presence.
He turned to face her. She didn’t draw back.
Well, that part I’m used to, he thought. Galina used to appear for lessons all the time when Nikolai least expected it, so often that he actually began to expect the unexpected. If that made any sense.
Aizhana ventured a step closer.
Nikolai took a step away. “If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else I need to be.”
“Which is?”
“None of your business.” The truth was, he was going to see Galina. Nikolai might have had his sights set on the Winter Palace, but until that was officially his home, he’d need a place to stay. A base from which to plan.
“You know I’ll follow you if you don’t tell me where you’re going,” Aizhana said.
Nikolai sighed. He did know that. “Fine. I’m going to see Galina.”
Aizhana swiped away a lock of greasy hair from her face and grinned. “Your best idea yet. You’ll reap a great deal of energy by killing a mentor. Her power was nothing compared to what yours used to be, but her ability to command magic would likely benefit you.”
“I’m not going to kill her!” Nikolai’s earlier sympathy for his mother disappeared, and he glared at her. “I spent all night wandering the city. I need a place to sleep.”
She shrank under her hood again.
He didn’t care. He began to stalk away.
“Nikolai, wait.”
He kept walking.
Aizhana scurried after him, her limp more pronounced when she had to hurry. “I have rooms at a boardinghouse in Sennaya Square if you want a place to live.”
He didn’t turn around. “Sennaya Square is a pit of filth and disrepute.” It was the home of gamblers and drunks, of lice and whores. Nikolai knew this, for Sennaya Square was where he’d spent his little free time during his youth—before he met Pasha, that is—playing cards with louts and enchanting decks so he would win. He always felt sullied afterward. He shuddered now, thinking of it.
Aizhana stopped trying to keep up with him. “Sennaya Square is also the sort of place where people know not to look each other in the eyes. The sort of place where a resurrected corpse and a living shadow might survive without too many questions. Because that, in truth, is what we are, my son.”
Nikolai’s stomach turned, and he halted mid-stride. Was that what he’d been reduced to? A shadow no better than the boors in those dark alleys?
But no. He was more than that. Even if his body wasn’t. “I’m going to restore my corporeal self soon,” he said.
Aizhana let out a wheezing whimper. Or a groan. It was difficult to tell. Then she took in a long, quivering breath. “I am your mother. I will be here for you whenever you need me. And when reality catches up to you, you’ll be able to find me at the Black Moth.”
The most squalid of the sordid boardinghouses in Sennaya Square. Of course.
But Nikolai did not belong there. He would not.
“Best of luck to you,” he said with a slight nod. And then he strode away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Vika had run to the window of the tsar’s study as soon as the screaming had begun in Palace Square. She’d watched in horror as the Jack exploded, followed by the boxes, with only the ballerina left behind. She shook as she surveyed the remains.
“Did you spare the doll, or is she supposed to be dead?” she asked, as if Nikolai could hear.
But what she really meant was, Is this what you intend to do to me? To us?
Vika pressed herself against the windowpane and scanned the square for him. But if Nikolai was still there, she couldn’t feel his magic. Perhaps it was his barrier shield. Or perhaps he was already gone.
Again, her heart contracted, locking itself, just in case. But the fact that Vika had to protect herself like that, that she had to watch as Nikolai turned against not only her and Pasha, but also against himself, hurt just as much as loving him.
Vika shook her head grimly as she surveyed Nikolai’s damage in the now-empty square.
She snapped her fingers, and the lifeless ballerina disappeared in a burst of tiny bubbles. Vika flourished her left hand, and the cobblestones assembled themselves back to their rightful places. But even as she swept magic across Palace Square, there were some things Vika could not do—clear away the people’s lingering fear, and the looming fog of her own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It took much longer than Nikolai anticipated to reach the Zakrevsky house. If he’d been able to walk the streets like an ordinary person, it would have been a relatively short trip. But because a shadow-without-a-person could not simply stroll out in the sunlight—not if he wanted to preserve the illusion that Vika was the only enchanter and therefore to blame for the havoc wreaked upon Saint Petersburg—Nikolai had to skulk under bridges and in the interstices of the canals. He nearly cried out in joy as he emerged from the darkness onto the boulevard that ran along Ekaterinsky Canal. Never had he been so happy to see Galina’s home, three stories of neo-Baroque excess, against which all the other houses on the street paled.
How would Galina react when she saw him? Probably as if everything were the same, for Galina’s heart was made of lead and was therefore unsusceptible to any emotion, surprise or otherwise. But that would be a good thing. He needed a place from which he could plan his course of attack against Pasha, and unlike Aizhana, Galina wouldn’t constantly meddle in his affairs. Galina wouldn’t care enough to exert the effort.
Nikolai climbed the front steps and listened through the door. It did not seem as if anyone was inside, at least not in the entry. He charmed the lock open and slipped inside. Then he glanced quickly around him, and hearing the servants in the dining room, he tiptoed down the hall, up the curved staircase, and straight to his bedroom.
It had been redecorated as a library.
Nikolai stood immobile in the doorway. “Where are all my things?” He hadn’t meant to say it so loudly, but, well . . . Where in the devil were his desk and his bed and the armoire full of clothes he’d painstakingly tailored? He’d only been gone for two weeks.
Galina glided down the hall behind him. “I thought you were dead.” As Nikolai had expected, she was not rattled at all by his presence.
He turned to face her. She didn’t draw back.
