She was now so full of both life and death that it would take more than a mere bullet to kill her. And her left foot seemed almost awake. Which was good. For apparently she had a long journey ahead.

Nikolai, she thought. I am coming for you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The following morning, Vika’s apartment brimmed with the smells she had so missed: the sour tang of the Borodinsky bread starter in its pot in the kitchen corner, the sweet richness of farmer’s cheese for the vatrushka pastry filling, and the brightness of fresh pears cooking down into jam. Ludmila had arrived last night at Vika’s invitation—Vika had lived with her father her entire life, and being alone in an unfamiliar city, especially after the attack of the stone birds, felt too exposed—and the older woman had wasted no time taking over the flat’s kitchen as her own and laying out plans for opening a temporary Cinderella stall in Saint Petersburg.

When Vika walked into the kitchen, she found Ludmila with icing all over her face and apron, like a cake frosted by a flurry of euphoric five-year-olds. Ludmila swayed around the tiny kitchen, her hips nearly touching from countertop to stove, humming a folk song.

Vika sighed happily. How she loved folk songs. Her father sang them all the time.

She sat down on one of the dining chairs. Its red lacquer was buried under a light dusting of flour snow. A Ludmila pastry storm.

“You’re a mess with the ingredients,” Vika said, “but you’re a magician with the oven and stove.”

Ludmila beamed as she flourished a wooden spoon in the air. “Thank you, my sunshine. But what I do is merely good chemistry. Butter and flour and water, combined with just the right amount of heat . . . The true magic is out there.” She pointed her spoon at the window, to Nevsky Prospect and beyond.

Vika smiled. “Yes, the tsar’s city planners and engineers are quite talented.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t engineers who managed that river fountain. It’s real magic. I know. And so do you and your father.” Ludmila winked.

Vika’s smile faded away.

“Don’t worry, dear, I haven’t told a soul. I may be the island gossip, but I know when it’s wise to keep my mouth shut. Not everyone would think so kindly of your abilities. It’s the reason Sergei taught you to hide them.”

“I . . . But . . . How do you know?”

“I grew up in a circus, my dear.”

“You did?” Vika perked up in her chair. When she was younger, she’d longed to be part of a circus, moving from place to place and seeing the country. It seemed to be a place where the performers could be themselves in front of entire audiences, no matter how outlandish their talents might be. They had no need to hide in remote island forests.

“Indeed,” Ludmila said. “And when you grow up in a circus, you learn early on how to distinguish what is real and what is made of smoke and mirrors. I’ll tell you that most feats in the circus are pure trickery. But you and your father have something about you that cannot be hidden from those who know there is more to this world than what we see.”

Incredible. Vika shook her head. She’d gone her entire life concealing who she and her father were, when right in front of her, every single day, someone else had known. She and Father hadn’t even bothered to cast shields around themselves when they weren’t actively using magic; they’d assumed no one would be the wiser.

Ludmila crossed the kitchen and wrapped Vika in her arms. “I know it’s quite a lot to take in, dear. And I’m sorry I said nothing earlier, but I didn’t think you or Sergei wanted your true natures known. Now, however . . . well, you’ve decided to put your magic on display for all to see. And with Sergei absent, wherever it is he’s gone, I thought you might need a mother. Or a friend.” Ludmila kissed the top of Vika’s hair. “I am lucky to have you, sunshine.”

But Vika only patted Ludmila on the back. Maternal affection was unfamiliar territory.

After a minute, Ludmila released her, smiling from icing-covered ear to icing-covered ear. She hadn’t seemed to notice that Vika had been hesitant to return her embrace. “The facades on the buildings outside are lovely,” Ludmila said.

Vika laughed. She loved that her magic was being seen by others, but she couldn’t take credit for something that wasn’t hers. “It’s true that I’m an enchantress. But the paint on Nevsky Prospect is not my doing.”

Ludmila tapped her spoon against her chin, leaving sticky jam prints on her skin. “Really? There is yet another . . . what did you call yourself? Enchanter? How fascinating.”

Vika nodded, and now she wanted to hug Ludmila. What a gift it was to have someone else know what Vika was, and what she could do.

And then it occurred to her: she could tell Ludmila about the Crown’s Game. She would not have to bear it on her own.

But no. One glance at the baker’s jolly mood and she dismissed the idea. Vika couldn’t burden Ludmila with the knowledge that she was walking a tightrope to her death. And why spoil what she’d only now acquired, a confidante for her magic?

No, she would not tell Ludmila about the Game. Having her here, knowing that she knew what Vika could do, was enough.

So instead, Vika stood and walked over to the counter. Ludmila had brought a glass pumpkin with her from the island, and Vika picked it up and turned the iridescent sculpture in her hands. “Well then, since you know what I can do, it makes setting up your new bakery a great deal more fun. How do you feel about selling pastries from another enormous pumpkin?”

That afternoon, a team of men wheeled two large boxes—both a yard long on each side—into Palace Square. One of the boxes was plain red with a large metal crank sticking out of its side. The other was royal purple and decorated with scenes of ballet dancers on every face. There was no explanation given for the appearances of the boxes, nor did the crew that brought them know any more than the crowds that gathered around them.

An albino rat scampered onto Vika’s kitchen windowsill. She recognized him as the rat she’d fed a piece of blini to the other day, on her way back from the river. Vika circled her pinkie over its head to translate its chattering.

“Two boxes in front of the Winter Palace?” Vika asked. The rat’s red eyes glowed brighter in confirmation. “I wonder what he’s up to.”

“Your mystery enchanter?” Ludmila said. “We should go right away.”