Nikolai jumped. “What?”

“I wager you’re already mentally calculating how to construct a dock or a bridge to the main part of Petersburg,” Pasha asked.

“Oh, right.” Nikolai forced a smile. “Yes, it would be possible to erect an iron bridge, perhaps like the one in Coalbrookdale in England. Although more recently there has been talk among engineers of truss systems, such as the Gaunless Bridge that was just finished, also in England . . . Why are you laughing?”

Pasha shook his head. “I don’t understand that brain of yours. It’s unfair, really. How is it possible for one person to know so much?”

Nikolai shrugged. “I just like bridges.”

“All right, well, if you ever find you don’t need all that genius for yourself, I’m happy to take some off your hands. And when it comes time to build a bridge, I’ll be sure our corps of engineers consults with you. But for now”—Pasha turned to the ferry master—“we’ll take the skiff.” He pointed to the small vessel kept on board as a lifeboat.

“Yes, Your Imperial Highness.” The ferry master shouted to his crew to prepare the boat. “One of my men will row you to shore.”

“That will not be necessary, thank you. Nikolai and I will manage on our own.” He glanced at his Guard, who had gathered nearby. Gavriil cleared his throat. “No, Gavriil, I am not going to allow you to explore the island first. I’m quite sure it’s harmless.”

“I am sure it is as well, Your Imperial Highness. The tsar ordered a regiment to ensure its safety shortly after sunrise this morning. The island is small enough that they were able to scour it from coast to coast. I was merely about to suggest that I accompany you to shore, just in case.”

Pasha scowled. Nikolai knew he didn’t like that his father’s men had beaten him to the island, especially since Pasha had declared it off-limits. And even more so, Pasha hated that his father could anticipate that he would come to the island first thing. Pasha didn’t like to think himself so predictable.

“All right, Gavriil, you can come with us—but only you. The skiff will capsize if there are more than three of us in it.”

Gavriil boarded the skiff first to verify that it was sturdy—Pasha scowled again at being handled so gently—and once its fitness for the tsesarevich was confirmed, Pasha and Nikolai were permitted to climb aboard. The boat rocked with the weight of all three of them, but once they were settled in, it was stable. The ferry’s crew lowered the skiff into the water.

“I can row,” Nikolai said.

“I’ll do it,” Pasha said.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Gavriil said, “either Nikolai or I can—”

“No.” Pasha grabbed the oars. “I said, I’ll do it.”

Nikolai relented. Pasha was much better at sea than he was, anyway. After all, Pasha had been on ships to Stockholm and Amsterdam, not to mention he’d sailed on the Sea of Azov. And where had Nikolai been all his life? On the ground, following yaks on the steppe, or delivering packages on the streets of Saint Petersburg. Nikolai sighed. It wasn’t even a contest.

Nikolai leaned back and focused on conjuring a shield around their little boat, in case the Neva decided to grow violent again.

Pasha’s strokes were long and strong, pushing and pulling the water in a steady rhythm. Swish, swash. Swish, swash. Swish, swash. The cadence almost hypnotized Nikolai back to sleep. He was still so tired from creating the Masquerade and Imagination Boxes, and from staying up all night at the ball.

He didn’t get the chance to doze off, though, for he needed to keep the shield intact, and a few minutes later, they were at the island.

As soon as the skiff pulled close to the rocky shore, Gavriil jumped out to tie the boat to a maple on the coast. The tree was fully leafed and green. Eternal summer, indeed.

Pasha climbed out next, and finally, Nikolai. All three of them stood with mouths agape as they took in the scenery.

It was, as Nikolai had guessed, very much like the Summer Garden in Saint Petersburg. The breeze from the bay rustled through trees and pink flowering bushes. The burbling of water indicated fountains or waterfalls in the distance. Warblers chirped and ducks quacked.

And everywhere in the air was her magic.

Nikolai closed his eyes and felt the tingle of it on his skin, like a sprinkle of rain or a dusting of snow. Her enchantment pulsed in the ground beneath his boots. And he could smell it in the wind, the scent of honeysuckle mixed with cinnamon, the same fragrance that wafted from Vika’s hair when she danced. He felt hot and cold again, found and lost, like he’d felt with her in his arms at the ball.

“Are you asleep again, Nikolai?”

His eyes fluttered open, and Pasha stood in front of him, grinning. How long had he been there? Nikolai really had lost track of space and time.

“Gavriil has gone off to inspect and secure the coast. But I thought we might head inside.” Pasha pointed at the wide gravel path that led into the park. It was a long promenade lined with oaks and shaded overhead by their leaves.

“Yes, of course,” Nikolai said. “Lead the way.”

They followed the path and entered the boulevard of trees. Everywhere they looked, there were larks and wrens, peeping a melody that sounded almost like an old Russian folk song. If Nikolai listened too closely, the song disintegrated into random notes, but if he softened his focus, the tune came back together again, like the whistling of panpipes and the strumming of a balalaika.

“This is a wonderland,” Pasha said.

Nikolai could only nod, for he did not have the words to express how true a statement that was. For every leaf that Pasha saw, Nikolai also saw every stem and vein on that leaf. For every pond that Pasha marveled at, Nikolai sensed every droplet of water that filled it. A boulder was not merely a boulder, but a rock face full of detailed crags and slivers of crystal. None of it was as simple as it seemed, and it had all been conjured out of nothing.

“This island is the best enchantment yet,” Pasha said.

Nikolai suppressed a grimace. Ever since dancing with Vika, it had been harder to think of the Game as a competition. But here was proof once more that it was, and she had bested him yet again.

The boys walked deeper into the park. It was easy to maintain their bearings; like the Summer Garden, the island was laid out geometrically, with paths running parallel and perpendicular. Unlike the Summer Garden, however, Nikolai noticed an absence of statues and fountains. In fact, there was nothing resembling the man-made here—no benches, no sculptures, no columns and iron-grille fences. Perhaps because that was not Vika’s strength.