"I expect Lasha has a disturbingly good understanding of how it all works, actually."

Nika's expression was mild, laced with studious humility.

"One that doubtless exceeds mine. The apple, the tree, the relative distance of jettisoned fruit. You know."

He glanced toward the kitchen, brow furrowing, lips contracting slightly.

"Regarding Avadya..." he said, "You're not alone. I think it was a surprise to everyone."

Nika paused, studying nothing.

"Including me."

He frowned, then flicked his eyes back to the looming ruffian, whose face reflected a certain familiar emotion, or deliberate lack thereof.

"They found her in the Fontanka. Drowned."

Nika's lips parted, briefly.

"The report was quashed, and the photographs..."

Were gone now. Disappeared, no doubt disposed of permanently.

"But Ilarion said that when he saw her floating under the bridge...she was in a white silk pegnoir."

He centered his gaze on the man's, dropping his voice to a tone of soft persuasion.

"Aleksandr is a wreck, priyatel. A real chocolate mess. Forewarned is forearmed."