Carefully, Nadia turned the little knob on the top of the egg, releasing the catch that allowed the egg to open. It split into four separate panels, which opened up like the petals of a flower, revealing the surprise within.
Nikolai had said that the egg contained a golden chest. Sure enough, a little gold treasure chest lay within, rectangular in shape, with a domed lid. The chest was about as long as her index finger, and nearly as tall. Nadia unfastened its minute catch and raised the lid.
She had thought there might be something else inside. However, to her mild disappointment, the chest was empty. It was still a beautiful little piece of art, covered in filigree shapes and figures: plants, animals, and tiny people.
Wanting to see them closer, Nadia ran to the library and took her grandfather’s magnifying glass from off his desk. Bringing it back to her room, she settled down on the bed once more to examine the chest.
She saw several figures that reminded her of an old Russian fairytale—“The Firebird and the Princess.” Samara had read it to her when Nadia was only four or five years old. Remembering the story, Nadia touched each of the figures in turn, the way they appeared in the tale: first the firebird, then the princess in her wedding dress, and then a giant crab.
As she touched each one, the figures seemed to sink slightly beneath her fingertip.
When she pressed the crab, she heard a little click and felt a spring release within the box.
She raised the lid once more. This time, the bottom of the chest had popped up as well, revealing a secret compartment beneath.
And within that compartment sat a tiny scrap of folded paper.
Nadia plucked it out, carefully unfolding it, so as not to tear the paper.
To her utter shock, she saw a note written in her mother’s script, by now almost more familiar to her than her own handwriting.
It read,
You have my heart, now and forever.
— S.
Nadia stared at the note, uncomprehending. And then slowly, ever so slowly, she began to understand.
Zavier Markov had the egg, because Samara had given it to him.
Zavier was Ivan.
He lied to me,Samara had written.Everything he said was a lie.
Even his name.
They’d met at a party; Zavier wearing a mask. Once they were alone on the roof, he’d been afraid to remove it. Not because he was shy, as Samara had assumed, but because he thought she might recognize him as a Markov. But when he showed his face, Samara didn’t know him. She didn’t know the face of the boy who was supposed to be her enemy.
He knew their families would never allow them to be together. So, Zavier lied to Samara. He said his name was Ivan. He pretended to be a poor student.
Of course, Samara couldn’t meet his friends or family—the ruse would be broken. So, he met her in secret, always alone, just the two of them.
And eventually she discovered his lie, and she was furious at him. But she loved him still. Because despite the lie, the way they felt about one another was genuine and true.
Meanwhile, Stanislav was trying to make a match for Samara with Petya Turgenev. She planned to defy him and run away with Zavier instead. She sent a message to him. She went to the bridge to wait for him. But he never came. Not because he’d been murdered, as Nadia assumed—Zavier Markov was still very much alive.
Her grandfather hadn’t been apologizing for a murder. He’d simply been apologizing for ruining his daughter’s life—for marrying her to someone she didn’t love.
But then why had Zavier failed Samara? Why didn’t he come to meet her?
Was it because, unlike Samara, he wasn’t willing to lose his family and his inheritance?
Nadia pondered the question, turning the egg over and over in her hands.
She could ask Zavier Markov, if she trusted his answer.
But she thought there was someone else who might know.
