Zoya sighed and held the emerald up so it flashed. “I am horrible,” she said abruptly. “All these people dead, and I miss pretty things.” Genya bit her lip, then blurted, “I miss almond kulich. And butter, and the cherry jam the cooks used to bring back from the market in Balakirev.” “I miss the sea,” said Tamar, “and my hammock aboard the Volkvolny.” “I miss sitting by the lake at the Little Palace,” Nadia put in. “Drinking my tea, everything feeling peaceful.” Zoya looked at her boots and said, “I miss knowing what happens next.” “Me too,” I confessed.
