“A priest? Someone from the embassy? Would he have made contact with them?”

“I would think so.” He nodded, a smile smoothing out the furrow in his brow. “I would think the church would be a safer place to go. They would be less suspicious of someone asking for information.”

Church? Nadya screwed up her mouth. “I swore to myself I’d never step foot in one of those dungeons again. I’ll try the embassy first.”

He let out an amused chuckle. “As you wish. I had better not go with you there, though. If he contacted them, it could have been to see if I had. They may have seen a picture of me.”

“I don’t mind going alone.” In fact, it gave her a fine story to tell them. She could claim she was trying to find Evgeni too, say she’d known him in Russia. Being largely the truth, it should strike them as such. And then it would be perfectly reasonable for her to ask about Zivon.

“If we’re going to the embassy, we had better change trains at the next stop. Unless you want to wait for tomorrow?”

She sent him a look of rebuke. “We’ve lost enough time, don’t you think?”

“I do. Though on the bright side . . .” He flashed that grin of his. “It has been time spent together, and that’s not all bad.”

No. It wasn’t. And in many ways, the weeks spent helping him get back on his feet, searching the French countryside, and even waiting for Paul to get them documentation were probably akin to a holiday, compared to what they’d be faced with upon returning to Petrograd.

He probably expected a roll of her eyes or biting retort. It was her usual way. But instead she turned her hand up under his, palm to palm, and wove their fingers together. And even leaned into his side. “Not bad at all.”

They disembarked, studied a map of the tube stations—of no use to her, but Evgeni could read it. Another twenty minutes and three trains, and they were finally back in the afternoon sunlight, making their way to the Russian embassy. Evgeni tucked himself onto a bench a street away, leaving Nadya to travel the final few minutes on her own.

She frowned when she saw the flag flying outside it. The white, blue, and red with the yellow canton had been removed from all the buildings in Russia. Yet here it still flew. Directly in opposition to the ruling party.

Well. Not for long. Soon enough, everyone the world over would recognize their authority.

Today, she would take comfort in the knowledge that she was working for the true Russia. She put a smile on her face as she entered and approached a man behind a desk just inside. She greeted him in Russian, borrowing a few of Claire DuBois’s mannerisms as she did so.