Nikolai stood before them. “It’s true, I am Nikolai Alexandrovich Karimov-Romanov”—he had decided to take the Romanov name, since the late tsar had, in fact, been his father—“and I am the prince for whom you are fighting.”

Murmurs spread through their ranks, and soon all the Decembrists had their hands to their hats in salute.

“But I am not only the grand prince,” Nikolai said. “I am also an enchanter.”

The Decembrists gaped. Some drew back, their shaking visible.

Damn it. The aftermath of the fête’s food poisoning was how Ilya had convinced many of the men to join the Decembrists. These ranks before Nikolai included many who feared magic.

“Don’t be afraid of my powers,” he said to them. “Remember, the tsesarevich already has an Imperial Enchanter, and they’ve wreaked havoc on our city. But with my magic on your side, we will defeat them and take back our empire and our lives.”

With a wave of his hand, Nikolai jolted the toy soldiers to life, bringing their wooden muskets away from their shoulders and into position to aim and shoot.

And then Nikolai held his arms out to either side, palms up. Cold swirled in his core. Vika was Lady Snow on the outside, but Nikolai was Lord Frost on the inside. The chill from Aizhana’s energy surged and Bolshebnoie Duplo’s magic leaped to his fingertips. His entire body shuddered, almost unable to contain its force.

The shadows of every soldier—man and toy—came apart from their owners and stood as separate entities. They had muskets, too, silhouette ones, with silhouette bullets inside. But those bullets could kill a real man.

Nikolai breathed heavily. It was the greatest enchantment he had ever cast.

But other than a lingering shudder from the power of the magic, he wasn’t tired at all. Bolshebnoie Duplo’s strength now was extraordinary. Or perhaps it was Nikolai’s own power, fueled by vengeance and fury.

The Decembrists stared, not responding, for a few seconds. And then Ilya shouted, “To Karimov and a constitution!”

A bear of a soldier in a nearby regiment grunted and yelled, “To Karimov and a constitution!”

All around them, men began to stand taller. Some even cracked smiles as they echoed the rallying cry, for the vision of an army of additional soldiers—even if they had been toys and shadows only moments ago—roused the battle lust in the Decembrists’ souls. They were fighters, after all, not ordinary citizens, and the lure of victory pounded in their chests like snare drums.

“Now, gentlemen,” Nikolai said, both to the real men and the magical ones. “About-face! Look our opponents in the eye.”

The men spun in unison. They all turned outward, so that their formations pointed at the infantry and cavalry surrounding them.

“Muskets at the ready,” Nikolai commanded. Thousands of muskets snapped into position in their soldiers’ hands, again demonstrating the beauty of military precision. These men had been drilled to the exacting standards of the late tsar. On their own, they could load and fire close to four shots every minute. But with Nikolai’s magic assisting them, they’d find their ability remarkably heightened to nearly double that.

Add to the equation the new soldiers, as well as the fact that I will be conjuring and firing additional bullets without any muskets. Pasha might still have more men, but Nikolai had more than enough weaponry and ammunition for a fight.

Nikolai looked at his soldiers. Their jaws were set and eyes focused. He nodded his approval.

Above, all but one of Vika’s storm clouds vanished. The sun blazed down like midsummer, and the snow trapping Pasha’s men began to melt and trickle away, leaving only damp cobblestones in its wake. They shook the water droplets off their boots and returned their attention back to Nikolai and his soldiers.

And all the Decembrists’ muskets pointed straight at them.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

One of the officers in charge of the artillery line hurried to Pasha. Fear shone in his eyes, but he adhered to his duty. “Your Imperial Highness, you should retreat to safety.”

Pasha shook his head. “I’m staying. This is my fight.” His knees trembled a little, but he pressed his legs tightly against his horse so no one would see his uncertainty.

“Your Imperial Highness—”

Pasha gave him a look so stern, even Yuliana would approve. “I’m staying.”

His sister waved the officer over. She bent from her horse to whisper something in his ear.

“Yes, Your Imperial Highness.” He darted a glance at Pasha, saluted to Yuliana, and ran back to his troops.

“What was that about?” Pasha asked.

“You’ll see,” she said. “Trust me.”

He considered pressing further. But Yuliana arched a brow, and he knew she would not relent. He looked up into the sky and touched the basalt pendant at his throat instead. “Vika? What can you see up there?”

Her voice came through as crisply as if she were still on a horse beside him. “I’m sure you noticed the soldiers who’ve doubled the Decembrists’ forces.” She said it matter-of-factly, possibly because magic was, actually, a regular fact of life for her, but also possibly for Pasha’s benefit, to keep him calm. “They’re preparing for attack, which under normal circumstances, your men could take. But Nikolai will be able to fire those muskets faster than an ordinary soldier can reload.”

Pasha again wanted to cram his hands into his hair. But he was the commander of an army at the front lines, no longer a boy who stayed home at the palace while others fought his wars. He had to think clearly, despite facing a threat stranger than any his father must have faced. He took a deep breath. “So even though we’re nearly ten thousand and they are only . . . five or six, we have to consider this an even fight.”

“Right,” Vika said.

Pasha swallowed the sour stomach acid that had crept up his throat. “All right. We’ll try to hold our own down here on the ground. And you . . .” Pasha glanced at Yuliana and remembered her order to kill Nikolai. “Do what you need to do, Vika. However you can.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

Vika looked down at the square and focused on Nikolai. He glanced up at the same time, as if the string that connected them tugged on him at that moment, too. His gaze locked with hers.