The tsar hesitated for a heavy minute. “Do it for Pasha,” Yuliana said. And she meant it. She loved her brother ferociously, as much as the tsar did. They’d both lay down their lives for him. “How old are you again, Yuliana?” “Fifteen, Father.” “But you act like you’re—” “Fifty. I know.” The tsar chuckled. “For Pasha, eh?” He touched his finger to the lid of the wooden chest. It was the one thing that Yuliana had never been able to pick open, and now she understood why: it was governed by magic that would unlock only at the tsar’s touch. The lid eased itself open, as if lifted by an invisible
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