Vika looked over the granite embankment into Ekaterinsky Canal in the morning light. During the Game, she had enchanted all of Saint Petersburg’s waterways to shift in color—from ruby red to fire-opal orange, then golden citrine, emerald green, sapphire blue, amethyst, then back to red to start the rainbow again—and as winter had set in, the canals and rivers had frozen in whatever color they’d happened to be in. Ekaterinsky Canal, in particular, had iced over in an unflattering hue between yellow and green.
But that wasn’t the only thing Vika noticed. A while ago, Nikolai had changed all the posts into gargoyles, each more monstrous than the next, and their vacant stone eyeballs seemed to shift in their sockets as people passed. Nowadays, the citizens crowded into the center of the streets and alleys to get away from the embankments; some took longer routes in an attempt to avoid walking along the waterways in general. And instead of festive Christmas tinsel tied to the posts, some braver souls had fastened small bundles of sticks, leaves, and sprigs of winter berries. Poisonous berries. Wards against witchcraft.
Vika’s resolve to do something, rather than wallow in self-pity at home, strengthened. Declaring that magic would no longer be used clearly hadn’t improved much, other than some people had begun to come out from hiding in their houses. A different tactic was needed. Vika just didn’t quite know what.
When she reached the Zakrevsky house—or was it the Karimov house now?—she hesitated in front of the steps. The last time she was here, she’d sent in Poslannik’s army to destroy all of Galina’s and Nikolai’s belongings. She’d left their home in ruins: broken chandeliers, shredded Persian rugs, and most of Nikolai’s wardrobe, eaten through by the moths. Then Vika had run away in cowardly remorse.
She winced. There were so many things wrong with that move. It had been an enormous, multifaceted mistake.
But I’m not that girl anymore, Vika thought as she forced herself up the steps. She still didn’t know who exactly she intended to be, but it wasn’t that version of herself. She also knew without a doubt that how she defined herself would involve how she dealt with Nikolai. Even without access to magic, even with her heart wary, she could still feel the string that connected them.
The question was whether she was supposed to destroy him, save him, or rule the empire by his side. This was what Vika hoped to answer if she could see him.
Regardless of the outcome, though, she wouldn’t be subordinate to anyone. Not Nikolai, not Pasha. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have use of magic right now, or that she was bound by a bracelet. I am Vika Andreyeva, and I am as important as anybody else.
Vika rang the bell and studied the carvings of roses on the door while she waited for an answer. A minute later, a footman opened the door.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he said.
“Bonjour. I’m here to see Nikolai.”
The footman clucked his tongue at her. “His Imperial Highness is not accepting visitors.”
“Oh, are we doing that now, using formal titles?” Vika bristled. “Then tell His Imperial Highness that the Baroness Victoria Sergeyevna Andreyeva is here to see him.”
The footman blanched. “You’re the witch. You’re the one who made us all sick from the fete.”
“I did no such—”
The footman shut the door in her face.
Vika tried to charm the door to unlock. But her bracelet singed her immediately, and she cried out and crumpled on the front steps.
She clutched her wrist and pressed it onto the ice on the step in an attempt to cool it faster. The pain would subside soon, for it was only a brief burn like touching a hot pan, but she sucked air through her teeth while the hurt faded.
Damn you, Yuliana. And Pasha, too. Vika was chained to the tsardom, but they’d forbidden her from using the very magic that provided the basis for why she was chained in the first place. Like this, Vika wasn’t a dragon on a leash; they’d rendered her a mere lizard.
And yet, she knew she had been the one who’d taken the vow to the crown. She had been the one who wanted to be Imperial Enchanter. Under no circumstances would she have given up her ability to use magic, even knowing that the power came at a steep price.
Vika would just have to create her own destiny with what she had. She knocked on the door again.
It opened and the footman reappeared. “You’re still here.”
“Yes, and I’m not going away until I can see His Imperial Highness.”
The footman frowned but said, “At least I don’t have to chase you down to deliver this. His Imperial Highness, in all his magnanimity, has a message for you.” He clearly disapproved of Nikolai’s supposed “magnanimity,” though, for the footman hurled a note card at Vika. It ricocheted off her coat and into the snow. Then he slammed the door again.
Unbelievable.
Still, Vika fumbled for the note in the snow.
I cannot be seen associating with you. I am sure you understand why.
But it doesn’t mean we cannot meet where circumstances are not quite so real.
Close your eyes. Feel the magic.
And find me there.
—N