“No . . . ,” Nikolai whispered. How could they have survived?

A white glove, stained by a bit of blood, emerged from the carriage and through the now-upward facing door. Gavriil hurried over and grasped it. Yuliana climbed carefully up and out over the sharp walls.

Pasha followed right behind her. He grabbed Yuliana as soon as he was out and embraced her.

Gavriil looked from them to the overturned coach to them again. “Your Imperial Highnesses, how did you—?”

“The Imperial Enchanter cast a shield around me,” Pasha said. “It protected me from the blades.”

Vika conjured a permanent shield? Nikolai gaped. As far as he knew, she was still at the fortress. He hadn’t known it was possible to cast an enchantment as powerful as a shield that could last indefinitely and react to new threats, even while the enchanter herself was not near enough to see, precisely, what threats she needed to protect Pasha from. This was a clear evolution of their magic.

“Does the Grand Princess also have a . . . shield?” Gavriil asked. He said “shield” like he was reluctant to accept the concept and glanced about the rest of the Guard, as if realizing that his men were possibly obsolete.

“No,” Yuliana said. “Pasha wrapped himself around me, the fool.” But she huddled into her brother’s chest and stayed there, stiller than Nikolai had ever seen her before. Her usually pristine ringlets were in disarray. Blood streaked her face where several cuts slashed across her cheek.

“I would do anything to protect you,” Pasha said, as he tightened his arms around her.

Aizhana’s energy was still so fresh within Nikolai, he didn’t feel even a twinge of remorse as he watched Pasha and Yuliana. Instead, it occurred to him that he could put an end, at least, to Yuliana and the Guard right now. They stood on the side of the road, completely exposed, and Pasha would not be able to shield them all.

Nikolai looked up at the sky. Yellow petals continued to flurry down. The entire landscape was covered with the mournfully beautiful snow that smelled of honeysuckle.

Not just any honeysuckle, though. This was overwhelming, perfuming the entire atmosphere. Nikolai’s head began to swim, and he swayed on his feet.

But Pasha, Yuliana, and their Guard seemed unaffected by the flowers. They continued to stand without problem next to the knife-edged carriage.

These flowers are for me, Nikolai realized. Vika must have done something to them, homed in on her botanical knowledge from Sergei and her understanding of Nikolai, and created blossoms to weaken him. Like catnip for a murderous enchanter.

Nikolai could hardly keep his eyes open, let alone cast anything competent to kill Yuliana and Gavriil. Plus, if he stayed here much longer, he might lose hold of his invisibility shroud. And given the chance to capture him again, Vika would not let him escape this time.

I have to go.

The yellow flowers continued to fall. They were intoxicating. A spark of warmth flared inside Nikolai.

Just a single spark, though, and Aizhana’s darkness quickly smothered it.

Nikolai sent a drowsy glare in Pasha’s direction. And then he retreated to sleep off the effects of Vika’s enchantment.

But before he left for good, he snapped his fingers twice. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could manage for now.

The falling flowers transformed to newspaper confetti, and every strip proclaimed the same words: The tsesarevich is a bastard. His father was the tsarina’s lover, Staff Captain Alexis Okhotnikov.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Footsteps echoed in the fortress hallway. Vika was still sitting on the ground, head bobbing as she dangled on the cusp of falling asleep. She hadn’t been able to rest since . . . since when? So much had happened, she couldn’t keep track of the last time she’d laid her head down in bed.

But Vika wouldn’t get a chance to sleep yet, for a girl’s voice echoed from down the hall. “J’en ai eu assez!” I have had enough!

That must be Yuliana, likely having come upon the guards Nikolai rendered unconscious—or killed?—on his way to Aizhana. And any second, she’d burst through that final door to find not only that her father’s murderer was already dead and hence she’d be deprived of watching Aizhana hang, but also that Nikolai had escaped from imprisonment, and Vika had let him go. Vika dropped her head to the tops of her knees.

A minute later, the door did open, but it was not the angry stomping she’d expected. Vika looked up slowly.

Gavriil, captain of Pasha’s Guard, entered with his pistol drawn. Ilya followed.

Pasha was right behind them, a gun in his hand, too. He scanned the hall, from Aizhana’s locked cell to the flickering sconces on the wall and finally, to Vika curled up on the floor.

“Vika!” He stashed his pistol away and rushed across the hall. Gavriil and Ilya spread out to cover him.

“What happened?” Pasha asked as he reached her. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t respond.

Pasha gathered her in his arms, and for once, she let someone console her. She released her knees and allowed her body to go slack against him.

Yuliana stomped in through the door despite the protests of the last guard, who trailed after her.

“I assume it’s all clear.” She huffed as she crossed the hall to where Vika huddled against Pasha. “I’m not sure I even want to know the explanation for what happened here.”

Pasha sighed. “Give her a minute, s’il vous plaît.”

Vika stared at Yuliana. Her hair was a mess, and dried blood was smeared across her face. Vika looked to Pasha. His hair was also a mess, but that was normal, which was why she hadn’t noticed before that something was awry.

Vika pulled herself together. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“The good news,” Pasha said, “is your shield works. The bad news is, Nikolai tried to kill us.”

Vika clambered to her feet. She’d feared something like this would happen, that Nikolai’s grief would drive him to extremes again. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Pasha said.

“No, we’re not.” Yuliana said, as she marched over to the door of Aizhana’s cell. “Unlock this,” she said to Vika. “I’ve had enough of the Karimovs. I’m going to strangle Nikolai’s mother with my own hands.”

“She’s . . . already dead,” Vika said.