The Crown's Fate
Page 28
Vika crossed her arms, hands still balled into fists. “I’m not a hag.”
Lena took her in from head to toe. Then toe to head. “No,” she said, after she’d finished her assessment. “You’re very pretty. But it could be a trick to make us like you better.”
Pasha cleared his throat.
Vika bent down and stretched out her left arm toward Lena. “Well, even if it was a trick, I wouldn’t be able to be bad, because of this.” Her stomach curdled as she took off her glove and revealed the gold bracelet circling her wrist. “I am bound to serve the good of the Russian Empire. The cuff will burn me if I do anything against His Imperial Highness’s commands.”
Lena’s mouth dropped open. She reached a pudgy hand toward the bracelet.
“Lena, no!” her mother shouted.
Lena didn’t withdraw her hand but stopped short of the cuff.
“It’s all right,” Vika said. “You can touch it. It only gets hot if I’m naughty.”
Lena glanced at her mother, who still stood trembling on the side of the boulevard. Then the girl giggled as if she’d just discovered how free she was to do whatever she wanted in the moment, and she ran her little fingers over the bracelet’s gold vines. She petted the feathers of the double-headed eagle.
After a minute, she looked up at Vika again. “But what about the statue that went mad? And the exploding boxes near the Winter Palace?”
“Um . . . those were mistakes,” Vika said as she tugged her glove back on.
Pasha raised his brows quizzically.
Trust me, she mouthed. Vika wanted to keep Nikolai’s current, tainted existence a secret. Then, when she figured out what was wrong with him, he could return as a beloved prince. It was better this way for Nikolai, and for Russia. And selfishly, for Vika, too. If the people feared and hated Nikolai, Yuliana would have a stronger argument for executing him. But if Vika could protect Nikolai until she was able to save him from himself . . .
She didn’t want to explain all that to Pasha, though, and even if she did, now was not the time. Trust me, she mouthed again.
Pasha’s brows stayed up, but he nodded slowly.
Lena huffed, reminding them she was there. “Prove it,” she said.
Vika frowned. “Prove what?”
“That you’re nice, not naughty.”
Vika glanced at Pasha. He nodded. It was time for the Christmas tree.
She opened the door to the carriage to step out. Ilya was quickly there to offer his assistance.
“Thank you,” she said.
His eyes lingered upon her a few moments longer than necessary. The way he looked at Vika was not the admiring gaze of a young man, however, but rather, an appraisal—an assessment of good and evil—similar to Lena’s.
Interesting. Vika tucked away the observation to consider later.
She walked away from the carriage. Lena began to follow, but Vika looked back at her and shook her head. Pasha invited Lena into the carriage instead, and from the way Lena beamed as she sat beside him, it was obvious Pasha had won over another adoring admirer for life.
He doesn’t need magic, Vika thought. Pasha is his own quiet force to be reckoned with. He just doesn’t entirely know it.
Vika walked a few more blocks from where the initial crowd had gathered. Here, too, there were people along Nevsky Prospect, but they were fewer and farther between, and they shifted away to give her a wide berth when she stopped in the center of the boulevard.
Vika closed her eyes, and with Nevsky Prospect quiet, focus came rather easily, even though the stability of the city hinged upon her performance. She pictured the fir tree that grew outside her cottage, and the thought of home made her smile, despite the circumstances. She and Father used to decorate it every year, dressing its lopsided branches with golden beads and wooden ornaments and Vika’s favorite, moths she enchanted to flutter around it with glowing wings. She’d heard, as a child, of lightning bugs in warmer climes, so she’d worked with what she had here in Russia to create her own sort of fireflies.
When Vika opened her eyes, what seemed like stars on a string appeared in the sky. They twinkled brightly, even though it wasn’t night. As they drew near, their forms came into view. Moths, with lighted wings, carrying a twig from her fir tree.
They dropped the thin branch into Vika’s waiting hand.
“Spasiba,” she thanked them.
They bobbed in the air for a second, then flew to the rooftop of the nearest building, landing to rest after their speedy flight from Ovchinin Island.
Vika examined the twig the moths had brought. The wood was healthy and strong; the leaves, full and dark green. She brought it to her nose and inhaled. There was possibly nothing better than the smell of Christmas. Hopefully, the people of Saint Petersburg would think so, too.
“Let’s make you into a tree, shall we?”
She knelt and set the twig on the ground. She rubbed her gloves together and flung her hands apart.
The twig seemed to explode as it burst from one small branch into thousands of enormous ones. The crowd gasped, and the force of the twig’s instantaneous growth pushed even Vika backward.
The tree trunk kept expanding and expanding until it was several feet across, and the treetop reached at least a hundred feet high.
Vika’s smile broadened, amplified by the heady perfume of fir mingled with sap and snow.
“And now for decorations.” Vika clapped her hands, and immediately, lacy garlands of pale-blue flowers—blue mist sage, one of Father’s favorites—appeared and draped themselves around the tree. Chunks of ice creaked and leaped up from the Neva, then melted until they formed themselves into glistening crystalline orbs hanging like ornaments from the branches.
The moths resting on the palace rooftop flew back toward her and fluttered their wings impatiently. Vika nodded.
They zipped through the air to the tree. As they did so, even more glowing moths flew in from all around the city, lighting the sky. They wove in and out of the branches, swooping up and down—magic, glimmering tinsel.
Vika looked around at the people on the boulevard. The crowd was much closer now. Most of their eyes didn’t glisten with fear anymore, either, but with the wide-eyed curiosity Lena had earlier displayed.
But Vika wasn’t finished. She still needed to charm the tree to give gifts to children who approached it.
What could the tree give? If this were Nikolai’s enchantment, he could conjure intricately wrapped presents, each with a different toy—a kit for building model bridges, a windup doll, a music box that played Christmas songs. But that wasn’t the sort of magic Vika excelled at. She was better with the elements and nature, but a child like Lena wouldn’t be happy with a box full of snow.
Lena took her in from head to toe. Then toe to head. “No,” she said, after she’d finished her assessment. “You’re very pretty. But it could be a trick to make us like you better.”
Pasha cleared his throat.
Vika bent down and stretched out her left arm toward Lena. “Well, even if it was a trick, I wouldn’t be able to be bad, because of this.” Her stomach curdled as she took off her glove and revealed the gold bracelet circling her wrist. “I am bound to serve the good of the Russian Empire. The cuff will burn me if I do anything against His Imperial Highness’s commands.”
Lena’s mouth dropped open. She reached a pudgy hand toward the bracelet.
“Lena, no!” her mother shouted.
Lena didn’t withdraw her hand but stopped short of the cuff.
“It’s all right,” Vika said. “You can touch it. It only gets hot if I’m naughty.”
Lena glanced at her mother, who still stood trembling on the side of the boulevard. Then the girl giggled as if she’d just discovered how free she was to do whatever she wanted in the moment, and she ran her little fingers over the bracelet’s gold vines. She petted the feathers of the double-headed eagle.
After a minute, she looked up at Vika again. “But what about the statue that went mad? And the exploding boxes near the Winter Palace?”
“Um . . . those were mistakes,” Vika said as she tugged her glove back on.
Pasha raised his brows quizzically.
Trust me, she mouthed. Vika wanted to keep Nikolai’s current, tainted existence a secret. Then, when she figured out what was wrong with him, he could return as a beloved prince. It was better this way for Nikolai, and for Russia. And selfishly, for Vika, too. If the people feared and hated Nikolai, Yuliana would have a stronger argument for executing him. But if Vika could protect Nikolai until she was able to save him from himself . . .
She didn’t want to explain all that to Pasha, though, and even if she did, now was not the time. Trust me, she mouthed again.
Pasha’s brows stayed up, but he nodded slowly.
Lena huffed, reminding them she was there. “Prove it,” she said.
Vika frowned. “Prove what?”
“That you’re nice, not naughty.”
Vika glanced at Pasha. He nodded. It was time for the Christmas tree.
She opened the door to the carriage to step out. Ilya was quickly there to offer his assistance.
“Thank you,” she said.
His eyes lingered upon her a few moments longer than necessary. The way he looked at Vika was not the admiring gaze of a young man, however, but rather, an appraisal—an assessment of good and evil—similar to Lena’s.
Interesting. Vika tucked away the observation to consider later.
She walked away from the carriage. Lena began to follow, but Vika looked back at her and shook her head. Pasha invited Lena into the carriage instead, and from the way Lena beamed as she sat beside him, it was obvious Pasha had won over another adoring admirer for life.
He doesn’t need magic, Vika thought. Pasha is his own quiet force to be reckoned with. He just doesn’t entirely know it.
Vika walked a few more blocks from where the initial crowd had gathered. Here, too, there were people along Nevsky Prospect, but they were fewer and farther between, and they shifted away to give her a wide berth when she stopped in the center of the boulevard.
Vika closed her eyes, and with Nevsky Prospect quiet, focus came rather easily, even though the stability of the city hinged upon her performance. She pictured the fir tree that grew outside her cottage, and the thought of home made her smile, despite the circumstances. She and Father used to decorate it every year, dressing its lopsided branches with golden beads and wooden ornaments and Vika’s favorite, moths she enchanted to flutter around it with glowing wings. She’d heard, as a child, of lightning bugs in warmer climes, so she’d worked with what she had here in Russia to create her own sort of fireflies.
When Vika opened her eyes, what seemed like stars on a string appeared in the sky. They twinkled brightly, even though it wasn’t night. As they drew near, their forms came into view. Moths, with lighted wings, carrying a twig from her fir tree.
They dropped the thin branch into Vika’s waiting hand.
“Spasiba,” she thanked them.
They bobbed in the air for a second, then flew to the rooftop of the nearest building, landing to rest after their speedy flight from Ovchinin Island.
Vika examined the twig the moths had brought. The wood was healthy and strong; the leaves, full and dark green. She brought it to her nose and inhaled. There was possibly nothing better than the smell of Christmas. Hopefully, the people of Saint Petersburg would think so, too.
“Let’s make you into a tree, shall we?”
She knelt and set the twig on the ground. She rubbed her gloves together and flung her hands apart.
The twig seemed to explode as it burst from one small branch into thousands of enormous ones. The crowd gasped, and the force of the twig’s instantaneous growth pushed even Vika backward.
The tree trunk kept expanding and expanding until it was several feet across, and the treetop reached at least a hundred feet high.
Vika’s smile broadened, amplified by the heady perfume of fir mingled with sap and snow.
“And now for decorations.” Vika clapped her hands, and immediately, lacy garlands of pale-blue flowers—blue mist sage, one of Father’s favorites—appeared and draped themselves around the tree. Chunks of ice creaked and leaped up from the Neva, then melted until they formed themselves into glistening crystalline orbs hanging like ornaments from the branches.
The moths resting on the palace rooftop flew back toward her and fluttered their wings impatiently. Vika nodded.
They zipped through the air to the tree. As they did so, even more glowing moths flew in from all around the city, lighting the sky. They wove in and out of the branches, swooping up and down—magic, glimmering tinsel.
Vika looked around at the people on the boulevard. The crowd was much closer now. Most of their eyes didn’t glisten with fear anymore, either, but with the wide-eyed curiosity Lena had earlier displayed.
But Vika wasn’t finished. She still needed to charm the tree to give gifts to children who approached it.
What could the tree give? If this were Nikolai’s enchantment, he could conjure intricately wrapped presents, each with a different toy—a kit for building model bridges, a windup doll, a music box that played Christmas songs. But that wasn’t the sort of magic Vika excelled at. She was better with the elements and nature, but a child like Lena wouldn’t be happy with a box full of snow.
