All he had to do was make sure Zivon couldn’t ruin it. After that, his brother would rebound. He may be angry over what was about to happen, especially if he realized Evgeni’s involvement. But it wasn’t the end of his life or even his career. Just a nudge to a new one. A wall thrown up to redirect him, to keep him from making a mistake that would affect them all.

Claire had it all wrong. It wasn’t bad that the castle kept the hero from making a mistake. It was necessary. Because people, individuals, couldn’t always be trusted to make the right decision.

Sometimes the state had to make it for them.

Nadya drew in a long breath. “Regardless of how this all goes, we must leave here soon. Get home. The White Army will be losing heart. We should rejoin the ranks to help rout them.”

Evgeni nodded. The newspaper this morning had actually had news of Russia in it—or of a particular Russian, anyway. Czar Nicholas had finally been executed, along with his family.

It was over. Final. The White Army would feel the blow, and any hopes of the provisional government taking control again would surely die. The old ways were gone forever, the Romanov line at an end. The future belonged to the people now. “It will work. Zivon will have no choice but to seek a quieter life.” He stood and shot her a smile as he scattered a handful of crumbs he’d been saving. “Ready to go back inside?” he asked as the pigeons flocked to the offering with loud coos.

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t quite hide her grin. “You are such a softy.”

“I have to be, to offset you, Madame Rock.”

She chuckled and stood, wrapping her arm around his. “I suppose this is why we make a good pair. Balance is important.”

They strolled the five minutes back to their building at a leisurely pace. Though as they neared it, a commotion at the door had Evgeni pulling up, slowing her with a hand on her arm. “Something is amiss.”

A crowd had gathered outside the front door, including a woman weeping loudly. He recognized her vaguely as an upstairs neighbor. He’d held the door for her a few times, tipping his hat and greeting her in French that she didn’t understand but in which she wouldn’t hear his Russian accent so keenly. She usually came and went with an adolescent boy in tow.

The same boy now being carried out toward the ambulance parked at the curb.

Nadya’s fingers tightened around Evgeni’s arm. Even as they watched, someone pulled a sheet up over the boy’s face. Not, however, before Evgeni glimpsed his blue lips.

The curse that slipped out was Russian, but quiet enough that he doubted anyone else had heard him.