She laughed as she rose from the bed and strolled to the tent’s entrance. “Good night, Alexander. May your eternal sleep be haunted by nightmares of your many sins.”
The tsar sounded the alarm as soon as Aizhana swooped out of his tent. The remainder of his Guard rushed him into his carriage and onto the long road back to Taganrog. But fever and aches descended that night, with delirium following soon after. The journey back to the Sea of Azov was too far. By the time they arrived days later, Death was waiting at the bottom of the carriage steps. The tsar tumbled out of the carriage, and Death swung his scythe. It took the tsar’s life just as he made it into the tsarina’s arms.
Death took the tsarina soon afterward.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Pasha let his sister take his hand. They wore black from head to toe, and no one stopped them as they wandered through the Winter Palace. When they arrived in the massive hall, Yuliana pulled him through the hollow, deserted space, past the towering white columns and crystal chandeliers, until they reached the front of the room.
There on a dais stood a lone, empty chair, gilded in too much gold and upholstered in red, with the empire’s gold double-headed eagle prominent for all to see. It was surrounded by yet more red and gold, including an even more ostentatious double-headed eagle displayed on the red wall behind the chair. This was the tsar’s throne.
This was where Pasha would sit from now on.
But he didn’t touch it. For he could still see his father there, dignified and majestic in full uniform, ambassadors and ministers bowing at his feet. He could see his mother enter the room, and his father rise to greet her and offer her this chair.
Then Pasha thought of everything else he’d lost. His best friend, who had lied and made him out to be a fool. And the girl he loved, who did not reciprocate, and who would probably pick the traitorous enchanter over him.
All this, while he stared at the throne.
But Yuliana had only so much patience. She pushed Pasha, and he collapsed into the chair. He winced as his arm touched the gold.
“You will be tsar,” she said to him. “Whether you like it or not.”
Pasha closed his eyes. He exhaled deeply as he sagged into the throne. Then he nodded. I will be tsar. Because it’s the only thing I have left.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Nikolai stood outside the Winter Palace walls. Barriers had been set up in the snow, and the Guard was five men thick. If only he could evanesce, then he could get in to see Pasha. Not that Pasha would want to see him. Nikolai closed his eyes. He wished he could take back what he’d done and said, so he would be by Pasha’s side now, acting as both pillar and best friend, as he ought to have been.
The streets of Saint Petersburg roiled like a sea of black. It seemed as if every citizen of the city had poured outdoors, draped in their mourning clothes and covered in sorrow. News of the tsar’s death had traveled quickly from Taganrog earlier in the week, and just this morning, another messenger had come with an announcement that the tsarina’s heart had failed, and she, too, had passed.
And so in Saint Petersburg, women wept openly and collapsed on the icy cobblestones. Men bowed their heads and occasionally dabbed their eyes with their handkerchiefs. The pews in the churches overflowed.
“What do you think is happening inside the palace?” Renata asked. She had insisted on accompanying Nikolai to Palace Square, even though he had wanted to be alone ever since Pasha lashed out at him two weeks ago at the Magpie and the Fox. Before news arrived of the tsar’s death, Nikolai had attempted to apologize many times, waiting outside the palace and sending letters every day. But the Guard refused to admit him, and each of his messages was declined by the imperial secretary and returned to Nikolai unopened.
After the tsar’s death, Pasha locked the palace down. Nikolai hadn’t been able to think of anything but Pasha since then. He couldn’t even focus on the Game, despite the fact that it felt as if the scar were about to char him straight through his skin to his collarbone.
“I haven’t a clue what’s happening in the palace,” Nikolai said to Renata. “I imagine they are not only mourning but also making preparations for Pasha’s coronation.” Although it was widely accepted that Pasha would become the next tsar, his official coronation wouldn’t take place until January, in Moscow. Tsars were always crowned in the old capital of Russia, but it took time to plan a coronation, especially an unexpected one. It was only the last day of November now. Nikolai slumped. He’d always thought he’d be one of the first invited when Pasha became tsar. Not so anymore.
“There is also a third item on the tsesarevich’s agenda,” a sharp but familiar woman’s voice said behind them. Nikolai and Renata whipped around, and upon seeing Galina, Renata fell into a curtsy and almost tumbled into the snow.