Vika glanced down at where the sleeve of her coat had shifted when she’d conjured the flurry. “Oh. Um, thank you. It’s from His Imperial Highness.”

“The tsesarevich?” Renata’s eyes widened.

“It’s supposed to mean I belong to him. To the extent I can ever belong to anyone.” Vika snorted, which actually showed a great deal of restraint, considering that every time she looked at the bracelet, she wanted to punch the tsesarevich and the grand princess in their haughty faces.

But Renata didn’t laugh, either because she was too well mannered or because she was too entranced by the gold and the rubies.

“Anyway,” Vika said, shaking the sleeve of her coat down to cover the bracelet, “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I should have come to you as soon as the Game was done. I was distraught and confused, and . . . It’s no excuse. But I’m here now, because I wanted to tell you—”

“You don’t need to.” Renata stared again at the icy street beneath her scuffed boots. “I know . . . I know it’s not your fault how the Game ended. Nikolai had said from the start that you were more powerful than he. And someone had to die. But I had still hoped he would win, that somehow, he’d find a way to defeat you and survive. It was naive of me. I’m sorry, because I know that means I was hoping you would die.”

Vika swallowed a dry patch in her throat.

But she forced away the hurt of Renata’s comment, because if Vika had been in Renata’s place, Vika would have hoped the same thing. She shifted her focus and snapped her fingers at the street.

A sofa and a table, both made of snow, sprouted from the cobblestones, like mushrooms do from the forest floor. “Please have a seat,” she said as she took the bundle of bread and the box from Renata’s arms and led her to one of the chairs. “Don’t worry, the sofa is warm.”

Renata gaped.

“Magic, remember?”

“Oh.” Renata nodded slowly and sank into the seat. The snow was fresh, soft powder, and its cushions were airier than goose down. Renata let out a little sound, something between confusion and pleasant surprise.

Once she was settled, Vika sat down, too. “I came to you because I need your help.”

Renata looked up at her and blinked.

“You see, Nikolai didn’t exactly die at the end of the Game—”

“What?”

Vika had to pause. It was harder retelling this than she’d anticipated. “He didn’t defeat me, but he defeated the Game, in a way.”

Renata paled. “Nikolai is alive?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

Vika frowned. “Honestly, neither do I.” She took Renata’s hand and began to tell her everything she knew, from how the final duel had concluded to the shadow boy who’d appeared. Renata trembled the entire time.

The snow flurried a bit more fiercely around them.

Renata pulled at her braids. “But if he’s a shadow, how do we know he’s alive? Can Nikolai touch things, and can he feel them? Does he eat and drink and breathe like a real person? Does he even know who he is?”

Vika clutched the snowy armrest. “I don’t know. I saw him only once, and that was a week ago. I’ve tried to find him again since but haven’t been able to. That’s why I sought you out. Perhaps your tea leaves will know what’s happened to him.”

“The last time I read your leaves, I was wrong.” Renata frowned. “I prophesied that either you or Nikolai would die soon, but if what you’re saying is right, then my reading was not, because neither of you died.”

“Your leaves only predicted that death would come. They didn’t say for whom. So they were accurate, actually, because the tsar and tsarina passed, as did . . . Sergei.” Vika plucked at the sofa. A thread woven of snowflakes came out between her fingers. But the thread dissolved, seemingly as quickly as Vika was losing those she loved. She looked away from the droplets of water on her fingertips. “I just want to know something, anything, about Nikolai. Will you do it?”

Renata nodded slowly. She rose as if to fetch tea from the kitchen but then stopped as she saw the flurry of snow around them. “But, uh, where do we—?”

Vika held out an open palm, and a single steaming cup of tea appeared on it. It was a simple blue cup and saucer from her own table at home.

What if Nikolai did not appear in her leaves? What if their fortunes had crossed only in the past, but were no longer intertwined in the future? If so, then asking Renata to read these leaves would amount to nothing. And yet there were no other prophecies to read, because Nikolai was not around to drink tea and offer his cup.

Vika swallowed the tea as quickly as she could. She ignored the fact that it scalded all the way down. When all that remained were spindly leaves, she set the cup on its saucer.

Renata steadied the quivering in her hands and leaned forward. She pursed her lips as she studied the leaves, which clung to the inside of the cup with no discernible meaning. At least, nothing discernible to Vika. But that was why she had come to Renata.

“Is he in my leaves?” Vika asked.

After a few more seconds, Renata leaned back into the sofa. Snow puffed up around her. “Yes, he’s there,” she said.

Vika smiled.

The Game might be over, but their story was not.

But Renata coughed and wrapped a braid tautly around her finger, and Vika’s smile vanished in an instant. “What else is in the leaves?” she said.

Renata sighed. “You’re fighting over something again. And this time, death isn’t a small presence.”

“What do you mean?”

Renata released her grip on the braid and pointed to the black tea leaves, twisted and splayed from the bottom up to the rim. “Death is all over this cup. Whatever you’re fighting for, it will affect more than just you or Nikolai.”

Vika sank deep into the snowy cushions of the sofa. Her heart sank with her.

“I don’t know what to do,” Renata said as she stared at the cup.

Vika sat up. “We have to tell him.”

“What?”

“About the leaves. We didn’t last time, and it was a mistake. What if things could have been different if Nikolai had known?”

Renata hesitated but finally nodded. “You should go see him right away.”