“It is like a fairy tale, yes?” Ivan tossed a key onto the bed. “Do you remember the way to the elevator?”
“Straight down, through the double doors.”
“The other Templars are on the twelfth floor. Koshchey is on the thirtieth; he has temporarily requisitioned my father’s suite. I am on the floor below him.” It was clear he wasn’t happy with this arrangement. “There is a swimming pool in the sub basement.”
He turned to leave, then stopped. “What did you mean earlier, ‘We don’t have time to waste’?” His forehead crumpled into a frown, and Billi had a sudden and overwhelming urge to smooth it away. She flushed and shifted her attention awkwardly to the mural above her.
“I just meant that an innocent girl will die unless we find her,” she mumbled. When she dared to look back at Ivan, he was watching her, amused.
He knows I’m hiding something.
“
“Well, thank you very much,” she managed stiffly. “So…good night, Ivan.”
He smirked. “Good night, Billi SanGreal.”
Billi lay wide awake, staring up at the firebird mosaic over her head. Her body begged for rest, but her mind kept turning over.
It had gone perfectly. Koshchey wanted to help. He hated the Polenitsy as much as they did. Gwaine had come by and told her Koshchey had all his men out already. He should have news by tomorrow morning.
If Vasilisa was here, Koshchey would find her. Billi had been up for more than twenty-four hours, and without some sleep she’d be useless to anyone. The best thing she could do was rest and be ready in the morning.
Then why did she feel something was so terribly wrong?
The previous Tsar’s death? People died in her line of business. The Templars had counted on Tsar Alexei’s aid, but Koshchey seemed just as willing. Almost too willing.
Paranoia. Maybe that was all it was. For once, things were going her way, and she wasn’t used to it. Maybe Koshchey’s past wasn’t a good one. Maybe he did have a bad reputation for the things he’d done long ago, but who didn’t? Her dad had been accused of her mother’s death, and Billi had blood on her own hands; she had no right to pass judgment on others.
No, Koshchey didn’t bother her.
Ivan bothered her.
She couldn’t get those gray eyes out of her mind. He looked at her like he was looking right into her soul. A lot of girls might fall for that sort of thing.
But not her.
21
BILLI HAD SLEPT BADLY. IT WAS STILL AN HOUR OR so before breakfast and she needed to clear her head. Thursday and another day gone. She checked her mobile for news from Karelia. Nothing. Maybe she should find Koshchey, see if he’d discovered anything. Or Ivan. Someone had to know where Vasilisa was. They only had three days left to find her. Three days before Fimbulwinter.
Billi paced the room, full of nervous energy, constantly flicking her mobile open and shut. Eventually she threw the phone on the bed. She needed to get herself together. Some hard exercise to clear out some of that buzz in her head.
There was a wardrobe of brand-new clothes in her suite. She slipped into a dark blue swimsuit, then grabbed a thick white cotton bathrobe and towel on her way out.
The route to the swimming pool was simple: out on level B2, then follow the smell of chlorine and moisture.
Dim blue pool lights shone from under the water. The pool itself was Olympic sized, the roof a ribbed curving barrel hung with brass lamps. The only sound was the water lapping against the pool edge.
Billi took off her robe and stood, arms raised, at the head of the pool. She watched her reflection quiver on the water’s surface for a second, then dived in.
The cold stunned Billi, and her chest clenched as she sliced through the dull blueness of the pool. The lights were large circular plates, their frames bonded stainless steel. Billi’s eyes adjusted swiftly to the hazy underwater world, and she was surprised by the water’s clarity. She thrust herself deeper and skimmed across the white-tiled floor. Then, with a kick, she rose and started attacking the water with long, chopping strokes.
What was she doing here? She had three days to save Vasilisa. She hated the idea of relying on others, but the Bogatyrs were the experts on the Polenitsy. Her hands cut into the water as she pumped her legs, letting frustration fuel her strokes. The far wall was approaching, so Billi dropped her head and turned underwater, sensing the distance before she pushed off again.
A loud splash made Billi stop a quarter way along the pool’s length. Someone was coming up, fast. Muscular arms drove a long, torpedo-swift body through the cold water. Billi kicked off again, aiming at the far wall, some twenty-five yards away. The first few strokes lacked rhythm, but soon she was steaming. But no matter how quick she was, the guy behind her was catching up. Suddenly he was at her shoulder, and she could see the wall a few yards away. She pounded harder, but he was too strong. His big arms pulled him forward, and Billi felt herself caught in his wake. Then Ivan slapped his palms on the wall and stopped.
Billi bobbed up behind him.
He hung on to the brass railings running just above the water’s surface. His hair was loose, and the dappled light lit the sharp angles of his face.
“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” he asked.
Billi said nothing. He’d easily outswum her and she didn’t like it. Maybe he was pissed off at her for saving his life and just wanted to boost his ego.
Ivan slid along the railing toward her. He was a few inches away. The ripples splashed against Billi, and she tried to retreat.
“You have many scars,” he said.
“Not that many.” Well, not compared to the other Templars.
“This one?” Ivan’s gaze lingered on Billi’s neck.
“Sword cut.” Her hand went to the scar Michael had given her. “It could have been worse.”
Ivan smiled. Billi paddled back a bit more. It was hotter in here than she’d thought. “You have an interesting face, SanGreal. Not quite beautiful.” He lifted his hand as if to touch exactly where he’d been gazing.
Billi quickly wiped her hair from her face. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”
“An observation.” He splashed back into the water, not more than a yard. “Koshchey says you’re here looking for a Spring Child.”
“Yes, she was kidnapped by the Polenitsy.”
Ivan was trying to find out more. She could feel the pressure of his questions-nothing direct, but the guy just got under her skin. She found it hard to think clearly with him around. But she’d let her guard down before-with Michael-and look what had happened. She had to take a more objective view, follow Gwaine’s lead. She must be careful to tell him only what was necessary.
She kept her eyes down, but couldn’t help seeing his reflection wavering in the water. The pale blue under- water lights cast rippling shadows over his athletic body. She remembered Michael, built of marble and nothing but hard surfaces and edges. Ivan wasn’t anything like that. He wasn’t chunky like a warrior-more like a dancer, graceful. But he and Michael were similar. Both had that mixture of pain and threat, of beauty masking the anger beneath. That’s why she had to be careful. She needed to get his attention off of her.
“I’m sorry about your father,” she said.
Ivan’s lips thinned. Though he tried to hide it, the pain was obvious. “He was a great man. A great leader.”
“And Koshchey? What’s he like?”
“He is adequate. No, that is not fair. He has done well.
