Pasha glanced at his guards, who stood at attention nearby, and at the line behind him. “I would like to buy something for every man, woman, and child here.” He motioned to Gavriil, who retrieved a stack of ruble notes from a hidden pocket and quietly passed it over the counter to Ludmila.

“You are too generous, Your Imperial Highness.”

“Well, I would like to ask another favor as well.”

“Anything.”

“There is to be a ball tomorrow evening in my honor. A masquerade, because, as you know, I’m rather fond of disguises. Invitations have been sent to all noblewomen in Saint Petersburg, but the problem is, I cannot seem to locate the one girl I wish to have attend. I thought you might be able to assist me in that endeavor.”

Ludmila touched her heart. “You’re still searching for Vika.”

“Yes.”

Renata’s eyes grew even wider than when Pasha had first made his appearance at the kiosk. Does she know about Vika? he thought. Has Nikolai talked about her?

Ludmila ushered her to take pastry orders from the tsesarevich’s guards. Renata hurried out of the pumpkin.

“In the excitement of my arrival in the city,” Ludmila said to Pasha, “I’d forgotten all about telling Vika that a mysterious, handsome Frenchie was inquiring after her.”

“So you could deliver my invitation to her?”

“Absolutely. I’m staying in her flat on Nevsky Prospect.”

“She’s here?” No wonder his messenger had returned from Ovchinin Island with Vika’s invitation, undeliverable.

He turned to Gavriil, who was stuffing his face with a pear-shaped pie. “See to it that the invitation for Vika . . .”

“Andreyeva,” Ludmila said. “Vika Andreyeva. Her father is Baron Sergei Andreyev.”

“Is that so?” Pasha brightened even more than his usual self. So Vika was nobility. There, at least, was one of Nikolai’s objections struck down. It was not in violation of his mother’s rules for Pasha to dance with an unbetrothed girl who belonged to the aristocracy.

He pivoted back to Gavriil, who had, in the meantime, wiped clean the pear smudges from his mouth. “See to it that the invitation for Mademoiselle Andreyeva is delivered this afternoon. Madame Fanina will ensure its conveyance to its recipient.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Highness,” Gavriil and Ludmila said at the same time.

Pasha looked at the cream puff in his hand once more. “Absolutely stunning,” he said, then popped it into his mouth. The pastry and vanilla cream burst as if the little balloon had been punctured with a needle.

“I will hold that compliment dearly for the rest of my humble life,” Ludmila said. “How else may I be of service?”

“You have done more than most. I hope I will see you soon, perhaps as Mademoiselle Andreyeva’s escort to the ball?” He smiled, in a way that he knew was both infectious and persuasive.

Ludmila grinned and nodded. Her chins waggled again.

“Good.” With Ludmila by Vika’s side, it would be much easier for Pasha to identify her. He had not quite thought it through when he informed his mother that the ball would be a masquerade. Only after the invitations had gone out had he realized it would be that much more difficult to identify any girl when she was in costume, but especially an enchantress, who could surely put to shame any other attendee’s disguise.

“Thank you again, Madame Fanina. I will see you very soon.”

She curtsied. It was a wonder she didn’t knock over her trays of tarts and cookies in the process. In fact, it seemed to Pasha that she did tip over one pan much too far, but against all laws of physics, it righted itself before any cookies fell.

Vika. Her magic wasn’t only in the pastries.

Pasha smiled and turned to leave. His guards fell into formation and awaited his command. But he paused by the canal. Perhaps he would stop by Nikolai’s to boast of his victory in inviting the lightning girl. After all, Nikolai lived only a five minutes’ walk away.

But what if Vika decided not to attend? It was unlikely, given that Pasha had personally invited her (well, personally through Ludmila). But if any girl in the empire was bold enough to decline an invitation from the tsesarevich, it would likely be the lightning girl.

No, Pasha thought, better to wait until the ball itself to gloat. I’ll just have to make sure that Nikolai shows.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Nikolai was sitting in the center of the carpet in his bedroom, staring at a blood spot on the ceiling—left over from the slaughter of the poisonous lorises—when Renata yelled at him through his door.

“Nikolai? Let me in!”

He shook his bleak musings out of his head. Had Renata discovered something at the pumpkin bakery? He’d sent her there for information. Nikolai leaped to his feet and flicked his fingers to unlock the dead bolts. The handle to the door turned itself.

Renata tumbled into his room. He grabbed her by both arms to steady her. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I . . . I’m fine.” She stopped to catch her breath. “I’m fine. But the tsesarevich. He invited her to the ball.”

Oh. Was that all? Nikolai released Renata’s arms.

“Did you hear me?” she said.

“Yes.” Nikolai dropped down into the center of his carpet again. “But I already knew.”

“How could you? It happened just now. He didn’t stop here at the house. I watched him leave in his carriage. We are talking about the same thing, aren’t we? The tsesarevich invited Vika to his birthday ball.”

“Mm-hmm.” Nikolai refocused on the bloodstain on the ceiling. “Pasha said he was going to, so I knew he would, despite my attempts to convince him otherwise.”

Renata collapsed into Nikolai’s desk chair and caught her breath. “Then you will not go to the ball, will you?”

“Pasha invited me. I must. He’s the tsesarevich.”

“But it could be dangerous.”

“Even if Pasha weren’t the crown prince, I would go. He’s my friend. I won’t leave him alone with her.”

“But you could die.” Renata’s voice was strained thin. “Nikolai, please. Don’t go.”

He tore his gaze away from the ceiling and looked at Renata, although it was more like he looked straight through her. “Thank you for the news of my friend’s ill-advised infatuation. Now if you’ll kindly leave me, I have some work to do.”