Ludmila led the way, weaving around a sofa and dodging the outstretched paw of a stuffed polar bear. The bear was wearing a fur hat and a saddle. But after experiencing the enchantments of the past few days, neither Ludmila nor Vika even registered anymore the peculiarity of the decorations in the apartment.
Once in the kitchen, Ludmila stirred the pot of caramel and recounted how well sales in the pumpkin kiosk had gone, and how word had spread so quickly, the tsesarevich came to call.
“The tsesarevich?”
“Yes! Can you believe it? And he was still searching for you.”
Vika had been picking through a plate of broken shortbread, but now she dropped the cookie she’d been considering. “What do you mean, still searching?”
“You see, this is why I wanted to start my story before today. . . . A week ago, the tsesarevich came to Cinderella—the pumpkin on the island, not the kiosk here, of course—asking about a girl with hair like flame, only he was in disguise, so I didn’t know it was him, and I was going to tell you the next time you came into the bakery, but it was around when you left the island to come here, so I never had a chance. But he seemed rather smitten, the first time around, and then today, he called to inquire about you again—and to buy a cream puff balloon, he liked that the best, probably because he had a feeling you had a hand in its creation—and anyway, his messenger came by the flat this afternoon and delivered—”
“The armoire?”
“Huh?” Ludmila paused in her stirring. “Oh, no, the armoire is a different story altogether. I’ll get to that. No, the tsesarevich sent you an invitation to the ball!”
Vika frowned. “But why would he invite me?”
“Because he’s smitten.”
“I’ve never met him before.”
“He seems to have met you. Or at least seen you from afar.”
“But when would he have . . . Oh.”
“Oh?”
Vika nodded. He had known to look for her on the island, which meant . . . he had been one of the boys. The day she’d succeeded in escaping her father’s firestorm. The tsesarevich must have been one of the two boys she’d frozen before she fled the woods.
Oh, devil take her, she had frozen the tsesarevich.
Ludmila removed the caramel from the heat and wiped her sticky hands on a towel. Then she retrieved a card from her apron pocket and laid it on the counter. It was light blue and deckle-edged, with the gold double eagles of the tsar’s coat of arms embossed on the top.
The pleasure of your presence is requested at
A MASQUERADE BALL
In honor of Pavel Alexandrovich Romanov, Tsesarevich of all Russia
EIGHT O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING
SATURDAY, 22ND OF OCTOBER
WINTER PALACE
Vika blinked at the card. “This is real?”
“Quite real.”
Then the tsesarevich could not have been too offended that Vika had frozen him. Unless he meant to arrest her at the ball. Would he do that? On his birthday?
“He’s a sweet thing, that boy,” Ludmila said as she began working on assembling macarons filled with pistachio curd and fig jam.
All right, so perhaps he wouldn’t arrest her at the ball, if he was as sweet as Ludmila thought.
“And you would make an excellent princess.”
Vika burst out laughing. “Me, a wild girl from the woods, a princess? And can you imagine Father, in his tunics and rough trousers, living in the halls of the Winter Palace? No, I don’t think princess-hood, or whatever it’s called, would suit me at all. Besides, I highly doubt that’s what the tsesarevich is after.”
“I’m willing to wager a hundred chocolate truffles that that is exactly what His Highness is after.”
But Vika wasn’t listening, since it occurred to her that perhaps the tsesarevich wanted to meet her because of the Game. Perhaps his father had informed him of it. And surely the tsar himself would be at the ball. Vika would need to be at her best.
“We’ll have to decide on our costumes.” Ludmila held two green macarons over her eyes.
Vika groaned. “Not that. You look like a murky-eyed frog.”
“Then what will we wear?” She lowered the macarons. “Can you conjure costumes for us?”
“I could. . . .” Which was true. But Vika had never been any good at tailoring clothes. It was part of the reason why her dresses were not up to the standard of the gowns worn by Saint Petersburg girls. Perhaps it was because cloth was not a living thing, which made it more difficult for her to manipulate. Or perhaps it was because she had never much cared what she wore. She was very much like Sergei in that way. But no matter what the reason, Vika had only ever mastered making the simplest of clothes.
Yet there was another option: the armoire. Assuming it functioned like the one at Bissette & Sons, she and Ludmila could throw in old garments and voilà! New costumes would appear. Vika had seen a woman at Bissette & Sons leave with a dress made of white swan feathers and a black-and-white mask to match. Another left with a gown that was red at the hem but orange and pink near the bodice, with a yellow veil for her face like the rising sun. It would be easy to use the armoire.
It would also mean trusting her opponent.
“What are you thinking about?” Ludmila asked.
“The armoire.”
“It’s still in the hall.”