“No! Pasha, what are you saying?” Nikolai jumped from his seat. “I could never hurt her, I love her, too.”
“You what?” Pasha’s mouth hung open.
Damn. Was it true? Renata had accused him of falling for Vika, but Nikolai hadn’t fully admitted it to himself until now. Not actually being in love. The confession left him feeling both as if the floor had been pulled out from under him and, at the same time, made more firm.
The two boys glared at each other from opposite sides of the booth. Anywhere else, their argument would have attracted attention. But in the tavern, it was business as usual. At a nearby table, another bottle smashed against the wall and the men there began to yell.
“I love her, too,” Nikolai said quietly as he sank back into his seat.
Pasha, however, did not sit. He towered over Nikolai. “So you lied to me about that as well.”
Nikolai could do nothing but nod. He could argue that it was an omission, not a lie, but such technicalities shouldn’t matter between friends. It was deception nonetheless. One of so many deceptions.
Pasha scowled. “You were the one who said I couldn’t love Vika, because I hardly knew her. How is it possible, then, for you to love her? Do you know her so much better than I?”
“It’s different. We’re enchanters.”
“And what is that supposed to mean? That you’re somehow better than me because of it?”
“No! Just . . . we understand each other. There’s no one else like us.”
“So if we are only to fall in love with someone exactly like ourselves, I suppose that means I need to find a woman who is in line to inherit an empire, who has also been betrayed by her best friend.”
Nikolai wilted on the table.
“I could have my Guard arrest you, you know. I could accuse you of kidnapping me tonight. I could have a firing squad on you by morning.”
“I know you could.”
“I could, but I won’t, because in another version of this life, you were my best friend. And I wouldn’t want that boy’s blood on my hands.”
“Pasha—”
“Why do you have to steal Vika?”
Nikolai sat up again. “What? I’m not. I said I love her, not that she loves me.”
“She’d choose you over me, though. You’ve always had everything, and now you have to take Vika, too.” Pasha stabbed a knife into the center of the loaf of bread.
Nikolai yanked the knife out. “How could you possibly believe that? You’re the one who has everything. I’m an orphan with not a drop of noble blood in my veins and not a ruble or kopek to my name. All I have is my magic, and all that’s going to lead me to is death.”
“Not true. Do you not see what you have, Nikolai? You’re better than everyone at everything, and you don’t even try. You’re a better dancer, a better swordsman, a better scholar. Girls fall at your feet, and you don’t seem to care. You excel at everything, whereas I’m only adequate. The only thing I’ve got is that I was born to be heir.”
“You’re more than that.” Nikolai dropped the knife on the table.
“Tell that to my father. Or don’t. He probably already likes you better than me anyway. After all, he’s the judge of the Game, isn’t he? So he knows all about you. He knows more about you than I do.” Pasha jabbed at his book on the table.
“Please. Calm down. Let’s be rational. I can explain.”
“You’ve had years to explain. It’s too late now. From this moment on, I want nothing to do with you or your kind. Keep your magic to yourself.” He snatched the knife and stabbed it straight into the center of Russian Mystics and the Tsars. “And stay out of my life.” Pasha glowered. Then he stormed toward the Magpie and the Fox’s back door.
“Pasha, wait!”
But he didn’t.
Nikolai buried his head in his hands. If only he’d told Pasha before. If only he hadn’t listened to Galina about keeping his abilities secret. If only he hadn’t been so afraid to tell his best friend about the Game.
But now it was done, and there was nothing Nikolai could do.
His tea leaves were right. He was alone. Again. Alone, alone, ad infinitum. Nikolai swilled the rest of the vodka—lukewarm now—directly from the bottle.
Then he slumped onto the table, his face next to the knife. He wanted the tea leaves to stop being right.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Overnight, the leaves fell off all the trees, and the arctic wind blew in. Frost settled on bare branches, and birds made plans to migrate south. The canals iced over mid-color, and the fountain in the Neva froze in clear arcs of cold crystal. When the sun rose in the morning, its pale yellow rays were so weak, they couldn’t even melt an icicle. Although it was only the middle of November, winter had arrived in Saint Petersburg.