12. Becoming Sofia

Chapter twelve

Becoming Sofia

Mila

I didn't go back to Han that night. I was too angry, my emotions raw. How dare he treat me like a child? Why was it acceptable for him to join the war, but not for me to do the same? I had just as much right as him to defend my tsar. I was just as strong as he was.

An obliging servant found me another guest room I could use for the night, as far from Han as possible. I spent the rest of the day pacing and fuming. A little after sunset, I finally fell asleep, lying clothed on the bed atop the quilts.

"Good morning, Sofia!"

A cheery voice woke me, and I bolted upright. A woman with pale white, almost grayish skin and coal-black hair stood smiling at me from the foot of the bed.

"Get up, sleepyhead." She tossed a bundle of clothes at me and winked. "Izolda Vasilievna. I work here in the castle. We've known each other since childhood."

I sat up, face burning. I was going to give myself away before I even got to court. Did she know who I was, or did she think I was the real Sofia Stepanova? "I'm sorry, Izolda—"

She cut me off. "You don't have to pretend that you know me. I was the closest thing Sofia Stepanova had to a friend, and one of only a few people who know she died." She grinned. "Don't worry. The baroness sent me. I'm to help you get comfortable in your new life. Get dressed."

I reached for the bundle of clothes. The long yellow sleeves of the shift were embroidered with red thread, and the thick fabric of the sarafan was a rich scarlet, embroidered with blue. A blue belt tumbled onto the bed as I unfolded the dress.

I slipped behind the privacy screen and changed quickly, coming out again fully dressed. Izolda hadn't given me a headscarf, and my hair puffed out around my head in a cloud of tiny curls.

"Do you have a headscarf?" I asked, twisting a curl around my finger. "I'm not sure how to braid this." The texture of Sofia's hair was thicker and coarser than my own, and I had a feeling my usual three-strand plait wouldn't keep all the tiny curls in place.

"No headscarf. Sofia isn't married." Izolda frowned. "I'll have to braid it for you. Lady Heli is expecting us. I'll teach you how to do it later." She dug in her pocket and drew out a comb, a small jar, and a povyazka. She handed me the povyazka; the thick headband was blue, embroidered with red and yellow flowers to match the sarafan.

"Sit," she commanded, pointing to a chair. I did, and she began attacking my new hair with the comb, separating it into sections. "It's a good thing I was prepared, or we would have had to spend all morning searching the castle for oil and a comb."

Unsure of how to respond, I remained silent.

Izolda laughed. "You'll do fine. You're as taciturn as the real Sofia was."

"Sorry," I said. "I'm a little nervous."

"Don't be. Fia was an accomplished seamstress, but she wasn't social. She was born here in Tsebol. Her mother died in childbirth, and her father apprenticed her to a seamstress. When the seamstress died, she took over the practice. Her father died at Sobralen in service to the tsar—Tsar Miroslav, that is. She had no siblings, and no particular attachments."

"How sad that she died with no one to miss her."

"You're too sweet," Izolda said. "I think she was happy enough, though. Her work was her life. She'd be glad to know that her legacy lives on after her."

"Even if it's being used to bring down Miroslav?"

"We didn't talk about politics, but I didn't get the idea she cared who sat on the throne. As I said, being a seamstress was her life. She wasn't interested in much beyond that."

The enormity of my actions struck me then. I'd taken on more than just a new body. This identity, this person I'd become, was a person. She'd had a life, opinions and desires of her own. Moon Fever killed her, but now I had her life. Her name, her face. I had to give her a legacy worth remembering.

"You don't need to worry about imitating her, though," Izolda went on, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "No one at court knew her, and she'd never been to the capital. You'll need to be more social than she was if you want to succeed at court. The more connections you have, the more likely you are to hear something important. Which, by the way, you'll pass on to me—or to the baroness, if need be. We have a connection in the city guard who can pass messages out, but it's best if you don't meet with him directly."

She took a deep breath before continuing. "Sofia's father fought for Miroslav in the rebellion, but before that he owned a smithy. She wasn't close to him, but he apprenticed her off when she was young—about four, I think—and she never really saw him after that. He sent money for her upkeep, but he was busy working in the smithy before the uprising, and then, of course, he was killed. Think you can remember all that?"

"I was born in Tsebol. My mother died in childbirth, and my father was a smith who died in the battle of Sobralen in service of Tsar Miroslav. I was apprenticed when I was four and took over the seamstress's practice when she died."

"Perfect!" Izolda sounded genuinely pleased.

Once the braid was finished, she took the povyazka and arranged it on my head. Observing her handiwork, she grinned. "You'll do. Come on, the baroness will be waiting."

I tried to look around inconspicuously as we walked through the warm, spacious hallways of the castle. The wing she led me to was much the same as the baron's private wing where I'd slept, though more populated. We reached a sitting room, and Izolda knocked on the frame of the open door and entered without waiting for an answer.

Next to the window sat an older woman in a silver kokoshnik. The high headdress resembled a halo over her serene figure as she remained focused on her writing. Izolda gave a small cough.

She glanced at us. Her eyes and mouth were wrinkled with laugh lines, but she wasn't smiling. "You're late."

"Apologies, my lady."

The baroness, Lady Heli, waved a hand. "No matter. Close the door. Come here, girl." She crooked a finger at me, and I took a cautious step forward. "From this moment on, you are Sofia Stepanova, my seamstress. I don't need to know who you were—unless and until your assignment is complete, whoever you were is dead. You will answer only to your new name. You will have no contact with anyone from your previous life. Do you understand?"

I nodded, though my chest tightened as the implications of my hasty decision hit me. No contact with anyone from my previous life. Months without word from Han, Anna, and Yakov.

"Good. You may sit."

I took a seat on a low stool across from her, and she gave me an appraising look.

"In case the tsar neglected to impress on you the gravity of your position, you must know the responsibility you hold." Her voice lowered. "By going to the capital, you are responsible for the safety of not only yourself, but also every other supporter of his majesty. A single misspoken word could reveal the rebellion. While you are at court, you are not to breathe a word about the tsar or his followers. If you betray us, whether intentionally or not, you had best pray to Otets that Miroslav finds you before I do, because what he will do to a spy is nothing to what I will do to a traitor. Do I make myself clear?"

My mouth was cottony. I swallowed hard. "Yes, my lady."

"Good." The baroness turned back to her writing. "Where are you from?"

"Tsebol, my lady."

"And your parents?"

"My mother died in childbirth, and my father died at Sobralen serving Tsar Miroslav."

"Where is your seamstress practice?"

"I—" I cast a nervous glance at Izolda. "Here in Tsebol."

The baroness's sharp eyes pierced me again. "Where exactly?" When I didn't answer, she huffed. "Izolda, did you teach her nothing?"

"We've only had a half hour, my lady. I'll have her ready."

"You will. Take her through the city. She should be as familiar with it as any local before we leave."

Izolda inclined her head. "Yes, Lady Heli."

The baroness turned back to me. "You will also examine my dresses to acquaint yourself with the styles of court and your work as a seamstress. I assume you are fully trained in the trade?"

I nodded, afraid to speak again.

"Good. You're dismissed."

I stood and gave a bow that the baroness ignored. As the door closed behind us, I let out a small sigh of relief. Izolda laughed.

"She's a little frightening, da? Don't worry about it. You'll do fine. Stay on her good side, and you won't find anyone more loyal."

I'd be sure to follow Izolda's advice. Lady Heli was a formidable woman despite her age. I prayed we'd never be enemies.

***

I didn't see Han as we left the castle, and I soon found myself too overwhelmed with information to think about him. Izolda led me through the busy streets and kept up a constant stream of chatter, interspersing stories about Sofia's childhood with explanations about the city.

"There's your father's old smithy," she said, pointing as we neared the market square. It was market day, and the square was full of people. Izolda stopped at a table full of hair ornaments to pick up a povyazka and a matching kosnik, a decoration for the end of a braid. Both were embellished with seed pearls. "Spider's Blood, isn't this gorgeous? I have to get it." She paid the woman behind the table, tucking the pieces into her pocket. "Mind you, I have no idea where I'll wear it. It's too formal for anything I go to with the baroness, but maybe I'll find an excuse to put it on at court somewhere." She led me deeper into the crowd. "Your shop's on the other side of the square, but you haven't eaten yet, have you?"

I shook my head.

"You like pryaniki?"

"They're my favorite!" The honey-sweet cookies, flavored with spices, sounded like the perfect breakfast.

We pushed through the teeming market crowd until we reached the baker's tent. A young woman was coming out; she saw us approach and smiled. "What can I get you?"

"Ulyana!" Had it only been a day since I'd seen her? It felt like ages.

She frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Sofia Stepanova owns the seamstress shop on the other side of the market," Izolda broke in.

"Right," I said, my face heating. "We met at the market last week." I wasn't Mila right now. I was Sofia. I had to remember that.

Ulyana smiled again, embarrassment written on her face. "I'm sorry. I see so many people in the week, I don't remember everyone. Sofia Stepanova, is it? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you again. What can I get you?"

"Two orders of pryaniki," Izolda said.

"I'll be right back with them."

She disappeared into the tent, and I leaned closer to Izolda. "I…used to know her."

"Just be careful. You shouldn't come across too many people you know, right? We leave for court soon, anyway."

Once our purchase was made, we made our way back into the crowd. I nibbled on my cookies without tasting them, appetite gone. I couldn't do this. I was going to get us all killed.

Izolda stopped in front of a small storefront. "Here we are, Fia." She pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter. "Home."

The room we entered was dark and stuffy from being closed up. I stopped in the doorway, a sudden sense of foreboding locking my feet in place.

"Go on," Izolda said, not unkindly. "You'll be fine."

I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Despite my first impression, the building was a fairly ordinary seamstress shop. Fabric lay draped over every surface, along with other tools of the trade.

Izolda gestured at a loft above us. "She slept upstairs. All her outstanding orders have been completed, and we told her regular customers she would be leaving the city, so she won't be missed."

I walked around the shop, letting my fingers trace the fabric. Was my own life so easily dismissed as well? A few small actions had been enough to erase Sofia's entire existence in this town. Would it be as easy for Han to erase mine? Or would everything go back to normal when I returned from court?

No, my life wouldn't go back to normal afterward. The tsar had promised to ennoble Han after the war—and Yakov, and every other survivor of Barbezht that supported him. We'd have to leave the farm behind and move to the new land the tsar gave us.

But unlike Sofia, I could come back to my friends and family, if not to my home. Help the tsar win the war. Make Miroslav and his men pay for what they took from me. Then I could go back. I could tell Anna, Yakov, and all the rest what I'd done and why I'd done it. My life wasn't the same as Sofia's at all.

I climbed the ladder into the loft. A wool-stuffed mattress lay on the floor next to a wooden chest. I knelt and opened the chest, ignoring the guilt that gnawed at my stomach. Sofia was dead. What was it the tsar had told me? Taking her identity will harm no one and help many.

I took a deep breath and rifled through the contents of the chest. It contained nothing personal, just some clothing and candles. No insight into who Sofia might have been.

Izolda's head peeked up from the ladder. "We'll have the chest brought to the castle, but you should pack up anything else you want." She cast an eye around the barren loft. "Not that there's much up here."

I nodded, closing the lid of the chest. "Let's go pack up my tools."