“Plans?” Trubetskoy cast his gaze about the tavern. “We have no plans.”

“Very well then, you have no plans.” Let Trubetskoy be cautious. Nikolai would have done the same were he in the other man’s shoes, for the previous conversation alone was enough grounds for a conviction of treason.

Ilya grinned at Nikolai. Pestel appraised him. Volkonsky watched him a bit more cautiously, but hopefully.

Trubetskoy, however, narrowed his eyes and shifted in his seat subtly. He hadn’t become a celebrated war hero by being foolish. Nikolai would have to volunteer information to gain his trust.

“The first time we met face-to-face, Colonel, was at a ball two years ago at Count Rostov’s home. You gave a toast that night, to commemorate the new ballroom in which we danced.”

“Anyone could know these facts.”

“All right. Then how about this? You know I used to sharpen swords for a lieutenant in your regiment in exchange for lessons. In May of last year, you declared that the very knife you’re fingering in your belt now was destroyed, but your lieutenant told you I could fix it. He brought it to me at our next lesson, the blade snapped an inch from the hilt. I don’t know what you did to the knife for it to buckle like that—what remained attached to the hilt had been bent forty-some degrees—but I did fix it.”

Trubetskoy didn’t put his hand on the table where Nikolai could see it. He kept it right where it was, on his belt, close and yet no nearer to his knife. “How do you know this?”

“I told you; I’m the one who fixed it. My initials are stamped onto the base of the blade. You can check it. In fact, I insist you do.”

Now Trubetskoy unsheathed the dagger and turned it in the light of the single lamp on the table. He focused on the metal near the hilt. Nikolai knew what he’d see—the letters NK engraved in Nikolai’s own handwriting, for he hadn’t needed a blacksmith’s stamp. He’d used his magic to etch his mark into the blade.

Trubetskoy examined the knife for several more seconds before he tucked it away. Then he dipped his head in respect.

A smile of relief broke across Ilya’s face.

Pestel leaned closer to Nikolai. “If I may ask, what happened to you? Is it true your brother tried to kill you, but you survived?”

“Well, more accurately, the grand princess,” Nikolai said. “Yuliana, as you know, can be rather ruthless. But Pasha was complicit.”

“Her influence over him is even worse than we feared,” Pestel said to the other men.

At this, the energy inside Nikolai began to burble again. “We can rectify the situation,” he said. “I like the ideas you and the others put forth.”

“You would support us in the reforms? You would abolish serfdom and be willing to entertain a constitutional monarchy?”

Nikolai’s smile was laced with the ugliness of retribution. “If you would support me on the throne, I would support your reforms.”

All four men dropped their heads, bowing without standing or making a show of it.

Finally, Trubetskoy spoke. “This is more than we could have hoped for. My men and I are behind you.”

“Whatever you need is yours,” Volkonsky added.

“Excellent,” Nikolai said. “Then let’s discuss how we achieve our goals. Ilya mentioned staging a coup soon. I suggest we do it by blocking Pasha’s coronation.”

“That’s only a few weeks away,” Ilya said.

“Can you have your soldiers ready?”

Trubetskoy cleared his throat. “We are one of the greatest armies in all of Europe. It won’t be a problem to mobilize.”

“The coronation will take place in Moscow,” Nikolai said. “Ilya, you’re privy to the tsesarevich’s conversations. Has he discussed the route they intend to take?”

Ilya shook his head. “Not when I’ve been there. But perhaps they’d been counting on the Imperial Enchanter to evanesce them and whatever they needed to Moscow.”

“Evasens?” Trubetskoy stumbled on the unfamiliar word.

“That’s how she magically appears and disappears, isn’t it?” Ilya asked.

Nikolai cocked a brow.

“I—I was there at Peter’s Square when you argued with the tsesarevich,” Ilya said. “I saw her appear out of thin air, then and another time.”

Huh. Nikolai had thought that he, Pasha, and Vika were alone that night he animated the statue of Peter the Great. Apparently, Ilya was even better at sneaking around and tracking Pasha than he was given credit for.

But Nikolai didn’t want the others to know he was an enchanter. He didn’t know how they’d react, especially since Trubetskoy had been wary of “magical trickery” when Nikolai first pulled up to their table.

Nikolai pursed his lips and subtly shook his head as he looked at Ilya.

Ilya blinked, then nodded, once. He bit back the smile forming on his lips.

Nikolai would have to take that as a sign of comprehension. “The Imperial Enchanter is forbidden to use magic now,” he said to Trubetskoy, Volkonsky, and Pestel. “That means Pasha will be forced to travel by carriage. He’ll be exposed.”

Pestel scooted closer to the table. “They’ll use the main road. The alternate routes are nearly impassable in winter.”

“It’s good that we know where they’ll be,” Volkonsky said. “Easier to know where to ambush them.”

“But bad that the weather will be punishing, even on the main road,” Trubetskoy said, tapping his vodka glass. “It will make things difficult for us, too.”

“Still,” Nikolai said, “I like this idea.” He didn’t say that they wouldn’t be entirely on their own, that he had magic to assist them. “Can you work on the details of the battle plan and present it to me soon?”

The four men bowed their heads again. “Of course, Your Imperial Highness.”

“Excellent.” Nikolai poured five shots of vodka.

Ilya raised a glass. “To Karimov and a constitution,” he said quietly.

“To Karimov and a constitution,” Trubetskoy, Volkonsky, and Pestel said.

Nikolai smiled as Aizhana’s black energy simmered inside him. “I like that.” He raised his own glass. “To me. And a constitution.”