She slipped her gloved hand into Pasha’s. Her breath caught at both the softness and steadiness of his fingers, and for a brief moment, she remembered the maple grove on Letniy Isle, where they’d almost shared a kiss. Of course, it wasn’t that she wanted that now. Far from it. But the memory was a sudden reminder of Pasha before the tsar’s death turned him and everything else horribly sideways. It was easier to take his hand when Vika remembered that he was just a boy—a golden-haired prince, but still, a real boy beneath the royal facade.
“My dearest citizens,” Pasha said, his voice as bright and intoxicating as one of Saint Petersburg’s sunlit summer nights, “I know some of you have recently witnessed magic, which may seem unreal and frightening. I understand your fear, for evil can come from such power. But you have nothing to worry about, because magic has always been with us. Enchanters have existed throughout all of Russia’s history; they have been quiet advisers to the tsars and defenders of our empire.
“Today I have the honor and pleasure of introducing you to my Imperial Enchanter, Baroness Victoria Sergeyevna Andreyeva. Although I hope she doesn’t mind if I simply introduce her as Vika.”
“Vika . . .” Whispers of her name passed over hundreds of lips, like a haunted wind blowing through the boulevard. Vika shivered, despite the enchantment to keep the carriage warm.
“There is no reason to fear her, or magic itself,” Pasha continued. “With Vika by my side, our empire is stronger against its enemies, and that will mean peace, prosperity, and happiness for all of you.”
His grip on Vika’s hand tightened.
Vika did not squeeze back. Who am I that I succumb so easily to a lie?
And yet it was what was necessary to restore calm. Being Imperial Enchanter—and being part of the machinery of the tsardom—compromised Vika’s natural compulsion to speak the brash truth. Her skin crawled, as if allergic to what she had to do.
“I want to see the witch up close!” A little girl, around seven years old, broke free of her mother and ran toward the carriage. Pasha’s Guard and their horses immediately closed ranks around the carriage.
Her audacity reminded Vika of herself at that age.
“Let the girl through,” she said.
The Guard looked to Pasha, who thought for a second, then nodded. The Guard parted slowly, and Ilya slipped off his saddle to take the little girl by the hand. He led her to the carriage and motioned for the mother to follow.
The woman trembled, paralyzed over what had just happened and what to do.
After all, Vika thought wryly, her child has just approached a very dangerous witch.
“She’ll be all right,” Pasha said loudly so the woman could hear. Then he leaned over the side of the carriage to be closer to the girl.
The girl pointed at Vika. “What I want to know is, what if she does bad magic?”
Vika’s fingers twitched, a reflex of defiance—or perhaps defensiveness—yearning to prove everyone here wrong. She clutched her hands into fists to still them.
The crowd listened intently, as if their fates were in the hands of this little girl’s words. They held their breaths for Pasha’s response.
He shook his head solemnly. “Vika won’t do any bad magic. But you are a very brave and perceptive girl to ask. What’s your name?”
“Lena.” The girl peered at Vika like at an exotic animal in a circus cage, menacing but fascinating all the same. “How do you know for sure she won’t be bad?” Lena asked Pasha. “Mama said Vika is a hag riding the devil’s broom into Saint Petersburg.”
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.