Page 20 of The Crown's Game
Nikolai was left alone outside with the Tsar’s Guard. Weren’t they going to follow? But Nikolai looked from soldier to soldier, and every last one of them stood staring into the ether, their backs straight but their limbs loose, their expressions entirely blank. Their eyes didn’t even blink.
The magic of Tikho Mountain had suspended them.
“I suppose it’s just me, then,” Nikolai mumbled. It made sense. The Guard was not privy to magic; they were ordinary folk, and Bolshebnoie Duplo needed to be hidden from them, just as everything Nikolai did (and the girl and Galina and her brother) needed to be, as well. Nikolai gave the inanimate army one last glance, then dived headlong into the granite.
He emerged on the other side in a cave, with not a scratch or speck of dirt on his shadow frame. His mouth fell open again, and this time, he didn’t shut it. This was worth swallowing gnats for.
So this is why it’s called the Enchanted Hollow. The inside of the mountain was not made of rock. It was carved entirely of wood. Smooth, polished, ancient wood, like the inside of a colossal, magical tree. “Incroyable,” he whispered as he hurried down a long tunnel to catch up with the others.
The cave walls might have been made of wood, but they gleamed as brightly as if they’d been composed of amber and agate. Wooden stalactites hung from the ceiling, dripping almost imperceptibly with mineral water, and stalagmites rose from the ground, like honey-colored warriors from a time long ago.
The heart of Russia’s magic.
In fact, the air was so thick with it, Nikolai could hardly move. Although his own power was buoyed by being in Bolshebnoie Duplo—the magic that was always at his fingertips swelled as soon as he entered the Hollow—he was, paradoxically, also slowed by it. The others walked through the archaic magic undeterred, but Nikolai’s shadow form struggled to push through matter as dense as himself. And his shadow top hat kept falling off.
The tsar led the way, descending into the caverns with nothing but a small oaken chest in his arms. The magic here must protect him, Nikolai thought. He’d never seen the tsar without his Guard.
Galina floated after the tsar, followed by her brother, and then Enchanter Two. Nikolai propelled himself through the fog of magic, trailing closely, but not too closely, behind the girl. She had a deception shroud around her, but its effect was lost on him, for he already knew who she was. Nikolai could see her clearly: her red hair, with its single black stripe, tumbling down her back in loose waves like a veil of smoke and flames; her slight shoulders, hunched forward as she ducked beneath a low ceiling in the cave; and her green satin dress, out of fashion by at least a decade but somehow endearing on her, not awkward in the slightest. It could have been improved, however, with a ribbon around its waist. Preferably in yellow.
If Nikolai hadn’t been on Ovchinin Island and seen what this girl could do, he might have been deceived by her appearance. But like the poisonous lorises Galina had planted in his room three days ago, it was the smallest and most innocent-looking of creatures who were the most deadly.
The party descended deep into the caverns, twisting and winding their way until they reached a large cave. In it, there was a luminescent tree stump, a throne-like seat complete with wooden stalagmites that rose up to form its back and long flat branches that resembled armrests. Their edges were too gnarled to be man-made, yet too purposeful to be natural. Nikolai shook his head at the beauty of Bolshebnoie Duplo.
The tsar strode up to the throne and eased himself into it. The light in the cave brightened, shifting from dusty rose to a pearly pink. He gestured for the enchanters to step forward, and Nikolai and the girl obeyed. Galina and her brother, however, held back.
“I assume your mentors have informed you of the rules and format of the Game,” the tsar said, “but I will repeat them again so they are clear. The Game is a display of skill and a demonstration of strategy and mettle. The goal is to show me your worthiness to become my Imperial Enchanter—my adviser for all things from war to peace and everything in between.
“The Game will take place in Saint Petersburg, and you will take turns executing enchantments. There is no restriction on the form of magic you choose, only that you do not alarm or harm the people of the city.”
Right, Nikolai thought. So no alligators swimming unchecked through the canals.
“Each enchanter will have five turns, at the most,” the tsar continued. “As the judge, I may declare a winner at any point in the Game, or I may wait until all ten plays have been made. Remember, your moves will reveal not only your power but also your character and your suitability to serve the empire. Impress me.” He looked down at Nikolai and the girl from his glimmering throne. The tsar couldn’t actually see through their facades, but his expectation pierced their shrouds nonetheless. Nikolai shrank a little inside his own shadow.
“To begin the Game,” the tsar said, “we—”
“Pardon me, Your Imperial Majesty,” the girl said. “I have a question.”
Nikolai shifted in place. Was the girl really so bold that she would interrupt the tsar?
“What is it?” The tsar practically spat the question.
The girl was unfazed in her shroud. Bold indeed. “Why must the Game end in death? I understand that the Imperial Enchanter needs to be the sole conduit of magic, but why can’t one enchanter win, and the other step aside?”
The tsar huffed. “And what would the other enchanter do? Retire to the countryside and promise never to use magic again? Or move abroad and have no access to Russia’s wellspring? Would you be able to do that? Give up everything you are, in exchange for your life?”
The girl contemplated this for a moment. Then she looked up. “It would not be a life, Your Imperial Majesty, if I could not enchant.”
“Precisely.”
“So you just execute one of us in the end?”
Nikolai gaped. Was she really questioning the tsar again?
The girl stood with her arms crossed.
The tsar stared at the girl from his arboreal throne and shook his head as if unable to believe she was interrupting again, and doing so to ask about logistics, of all things. He rose from his throne and towered before them. “When I declare a winner, the Game’s own magic will eliminate the other enchanter. Even if, for some reason, I did not declare a winner after you had each taken five turns, the Game would make the decision for me and extinguish one of you. Russia will have only one Imperial Enchanter to wield the full force of its magic. Understood?”
The girl seemed undisturbed. In fact, she pursed her lips, considering the tsar’s answer. It’s as if she’s contemplating the possibility that the tsar’s word isn’t absolute, Nikolai thought. The girl was made of daring. Or recklessness.
