Page 61 of The Crown's Game
Zemlyu pribivaet.
It is raining, outdoors,
As if from a bucket.
Pouring from a bucket,
Rain is settling dirt down.
Galina stirred the borscht, around and around, with no intention of eating it. She stayed by her brother’s bed until he fell asleep.
The fact was, she did not care a mite about the girl. Nikolai, whom she had trained to be a fighter, would ultimately prevail. But for Sergei’s sake, she hoped the Game ended sooner rather than later.
The snow kept falling endlessly outside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Nikolai slept the entire day after the masquerade. When he woke thirty or so hours later, he was groggy and felt as if he could sleep another day more. But his scar throbbed, and the realization that he was still in the Game—that the dance with Vika had changed everything and yet changed nothing at all—catapulted him out of bed.
He had thought, during the mazurka, that they’d had something. Their touch had both frenzied and frozen the ballroom. Their breathing had synchronized, heatedly. And then they’d had all the dances afterward, where she’d let him charm her feet and he’d felt as if they’d spent the entire evening wrapped around each other, the warm silk of his magic against the strangely comforting chill of her dress, their magic and their bodies moving as one.
But then she’d suddenly run away without so much as a “Thank you for the dances” or even “I’ll see you again in the Game.” It was as if the mazurka had never happened at all.
And now Nikolai’s scar burned again. She had already made her move. But how? How could she have the energy to play the Game after the exhausting night at the ball? He splashed cold water on his face. Of course, it had been his powers used during her dances, but conjuring those two dresses—the blizzard and the chocolate gowns—would have been enough to take Nikolai out completely. How had she managed not only to create them, but also to appear so fresh-faced at the ball, full of wit and vibrance? And then to follow it up with a move in the Game? He shook his head at his reflection in the mirror.
He was getting dressed when Renata knocked and said through the door, “You have a message from the tsesarevich.”
Nikolai hopped into his trousers, unbolted the locks, and flung open the door without even tucking in his shirttail.
Renata stood in the hall, her hair neatly braided, as always. She seemed to have grown an inch, and grown prettier, since the ball. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that.
“What does he say?”
“I didn’t open it.” She held out the envelope in her hands.
Nikolai took it and tore it open. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I tried, but you didn’t answer. I’ve been pounding on your door off and on for the last hour.”
“Oh.” Nikolai glanced at her and had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”
She stepped into the room and leaned over his arm so she could see as he unfolded the heavy stationery.
N—
Come quickly. There is a new island in the bay.
—P
“What?” Renata said.
“Vika’s third move.”
“But—”
“I have to go.”
Nikolai ran to his wardrobe and threw on a waistcoat, shoved his feet into his boots, and snatched a frock coat that didn’t match. Then he slid down the banister and was out the front door before he realized that, like Vika the night before, he’d run off without saying good-bye.
