13. Setting Out

Chapter thirteen

Setting Out

Mila

T he next few days went by in a whirlwind. I spent my time refining my seamstress skills and learning about Sofia Stepanova. With the baroness's order not to contact anyone from my previous life, I did my best to stay away from Han, who had gone home for a single night before returning to the baron's castle in Tsebol. Avoiding him was easier said than done; his efforts to speak with me grew more frantic each time I rebuffed him. I hated leaving things the way they were between us, but we would both be safer if we didn't see each other until I returned.

The day before I was to leave for the capital, I was walking through the castle when someone grabbed my hand and pulled me into an alcove hidden behind a large tapestry.

"Han!" I breathed. "We can't be seen like this."

He pulled me close and pressed his lips to my forehead. "I was afraid I wouldn't get to see you at all before you left." Holding me at arm's length, he looked into my eyes. "You've been avoiding me."

"I had to." Footsteps approached, and I froze, hardly daring to breathe. After a moment, the footsteps receded. I glared at Han. "You'll give me away before I even reach the capital. It's not safe."

He drew my mouth to his, and despite my worries, I melted beneath his touch. Otets' Blood. I needed to stay away from him, for both our sakes, but the muscles of his chest beneath my hands, the feel of his tongue as it slipped into my mouth… A thrill ran through me, and everything left my mind. Every touch felt different now. Stronger, more intense.

No, that wasn't true. It didn't feel different; it felt like it had before I'd been attacked. I felt normal again in this stranger's body. Han's hand roamed my back, and I shivered with desire.

Too soon, he broke our embrace. "Don't go, Mila."

"Don't start." Why couldn't he let me do this? "You'll be the one waging a war."

"And you'll be the one in the viper's nest. What sort of man would I be, sitting at home while my wife goes into danger?"

"A sensible one. You can't even fight." He winced at the reminder of his uselessness on the battlefield. I instantly regretted my words, but I couldn't take them back.

"I won't be fighting. The tsar wants me to advise him, to raise support. I won't be anywhere near the battles." I could hear the longing in his voice, though. He was a soldier at heart. He wanted nothing more than to carry a sword for his tsar again. "I don't want to argue, Milochka. Just reconsider. Please. The tsar won't force you to go."

I took a step back. "Don't." A bell chimed somewhere in the distance, reminding me of the time. Shit. If Lady Heli found out about this… "I have to go."

I peered out of the alcove. The hall was clear, but before I could step out, Han swept me back up into a kiss.

"Don't forget who you are, Mila Dmitrievna," he said, touching his forehead to mine. "Come back to me."

The look on his face was pure desperation, and it tore at my heart. "I will." Before I could lose my resolve, I pulled from his arms and ran down the hall.

Just after dawn the next morning, the baron's household set out. Atop my borrowed horse, I scanned the crowd that waited to see us off. Where was he?

There, in the back of the courtyard. Han stood watching me from the shadows, his face melancholy. I nodded at him, trying to convey with my eyes what I couldn't say—that I loved him, that I'd be back soon, that I wouldn't forget him. That I was doing this for him, no matter how much he thought otherwise. He mouthed, "I love you," and I smiled back. I couldn't mouth the words back to him. Not with so many eyes around us.

I passed through the gate, and he was gone.

"Ugh." Izolda, riding next to me, groaned. "Two weeks on the road. I hope you packed warm, Fia. I don't know whose idea it was to travel just before the snow, but they must be out of their mind. Nights won't be so bad, since we'll stay at inns and such. But if we're going to get there before the season changes again, we'll have to push hard. And you'd best pray it doesn't rain at all."

She was right. The wind was already biting cold, and hours out riding in it were sure to be miserable. "Have you been before?"

"To court? Every year. My mother was Lady Heli's maidservant before me. She brought me along to help with small jobs as soon as I was old enough. She left the baroness's service when I was able to take over. My grandmother insisted she shouldn't be working for the humans at her age. It was ‘undignified.'"

I frowned at Izolda. "Are you Drakra?" She had to be, at least in part, though she didn't look it. Why else would she call the baroness human?

She laughed. "A quarter. Why do you think I'm so colorless? My grandfather was taken prisoner in the second Spider War, where he met my grandmother. When he was released, he convinced her to come back west with him." She tossed her braid over her shoulder. "So my blood runs black—or at least a quarter black. Mind, it's a pain in my ass. Do you know how much rouge I have to wear every day to keep my cheeks pink?"

With the wind-chapped flush in Izolda's face, I never would have guessed at her inhuman heritage. Now that I looked close, though, I could see that her eyes were more yellow than brown, and while she wasn't unusually short for a human, her Drakra ancestry could account for her height, as well.

I was fascinated. "I've never met a Drakra before." My older brother, Sergey, lived near the East Mountains and traded with Drakra regularly, but I'd been too busy to visit since he'd moved east.

"I'm not really Drakra. Just a quarter. I grew up around humans. This is about the only interesting thing my black blood gave me." She held up a hand, and shadows wreathed it. "A touch of shadow-melding. Nothing like my mother can do."

My mouth dropped open. "You can control shadows?"

"A bit." She shrugged. "It's an entirely useless skill."

I could think of several uses, but my mind was spinning too much to contradict her. She glanced at the train of people ahead of us. "Come on," she said. "We're falling behind."

***

Han

Mila was gone. I tried not to dwell on it, but I was already packed for my own journey, and there was little else to do. I went to the stables, hoping the presence of the animals would soothe my troubled mind.

Why hadn't I tried harder to make her stay? I could have told the tsar she needed to be at home. He would have understood, at least. Anna and Yakov could have kept her there. She would have hated me, but at least she would have been safe. Or as safe as she could be with all these rabid soldiers roaming around.

It was too late now.

Our old mare looked up as I reached her stall. "Hello, old friend," I murmured, rubbing her nose. "How are you settling in?" The black beast nuzzled me, searching for a carrot or a lump of sugar. That was Mila's fault—she spoiled our horses. My heart clenched at the thought. "No treats today."

Once she'd determined I had nothing in my pockets to interest her, the horse turned away.

"There's no need to ignore me." I leaned against the door of the stall. "I suppose it's for the best that I can't take you with me. There's no treats on the road. You'd be miserable."

"On the road to where?" A familiar voice came from the stable doors behind me.

I turned slowly, heart pounding. "Yakov."

"You absolute bastard." The younger man stepped forward and swung, his fist connecting with my nose. "How could you?"

I stepped out of his reach and pressed a hand to my stinging nose. Blood poured from it. "I'm sorry," I said, my eyes stinging.

"You're sorry? You disappear without a word, and we have to find out from your steward that Mila almost died of Moon Fever and we won't see either of you for months?" Yakov's arms hung at his sides, his fist still clenched. I took another step back in case he decided to hit me again. "I went to see Ulyana and her husband, hoping they could tell me where exactly you'd gone, and they didn't even know Mila was sick! They told me I might find news here at the castle, but I didn't expect to find you here."

This was why I'd left so quickly, why I hadn't told Yakov where I was going. I couldn't lie to my friend.

His shoulders drooped, and he sank onto a bale of straw. "What's going on, Han? Why are you here?"

"I—" I paused, rubbing my neck. I'd planned to write to Yakov, to tell him the truth once the army had gathered and it was safe to put word in writing, but he was here now. The tsar would want to meet him. "Come with me."

My nose, thankfully, had stopped bleeding. I wiped the blood from my face as I led him through the silent halls of the castle, into the baron's private wing, and stopped in the small dining hall. "Stay here."

"Where are you—" Yakov began, but I was already gone.

An inconspicuous guard sat outside the tsar's door, a safety measure intended to draw as little attention as possible. He nodded in recognition as I knocked on the tsar's open door.

"Han!" Tsar Borislav said. "Come in. What can I do for you?"

"I told you about Yakov Aleksandrovich, another survivor of Barbezht and my dearest friend. He just arrived here at the castle. With your majesty's permission, I would like to present him to you. And…" I paused, unsure of how to continue.

"You wish to tell him the truth about your wife." Borislav folded his hands together, looking thoughtful.

"I can vouch for his loyalty and secrecy, your majesty. He's never accepted your brother's rule, and he would never do anything to endanger Mila or betray your cause. If he meets you, if he knows you're alive, he'll know I lied about Mila, that she's involved in this all somehow. He—"

The tsar held up a hand, forestalling the flow of my words. "I trust your judgment. If you feel it necessary to tell him the truth, I will allow it. I ask that it go no further." He gave a warm smile. "And I would be honored to meet Yakov Aleksandrovich."

"Thank you, your majesty." Heart thundering with excitement, I hurried back to fetch my friend.

"What in the name of the Blood are you doing?" Yakov asked as I gestured for him to follow.

"There's someone I want you to meet." Witha grin, I led Yakov past the silent guard into the tsar's quarters. "Yakov Aleksandrovich, may I present his majesty, Tsar Borislav Vyacheslavovich of the Blood, Heir of the Sanctioned and rightful ruler of Inzhria."

Yakov's face turned white, and he dropped to one knee.

"Rise, Yakov Aleksandrovich." The tsar's face was solemn, but his eyes were bright with amusement.

He stood, looking between me and the tsar with a wide-eyed stare.

"Han has told me much about you. I thank you for your service, sir." The tsar inclined his head.

Yakov opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again.

"Please, sit." Borislav smiled. "I fear you'll collapse if you remain standing much longer."

Slowly, Yakov sank into the offered seat. Too animated to sit, I clapped my friend on the back. "It's real, Yakov! He's alive."

When Yakov remained silent, mouth opening and closing like a fish, the tsar smiled at me. "Han, I believe you've brought me a mute. Did my brother take your tongue on the battlefield as well as your hand, Yakov Aleksandrovich?"

Yakov shook himself. "Your majesty, I don't know what to say. I am your man." He placed his wrist over his heart.

The tsar inclined his head. "I thank you for your allegiance."

"And there's something else." I paused, looking to Tsar Borislav for confirmation. He nodded for me to go on. "This can't leave this room. Not even your mother can know."

He furrowed his brow. "Whatever you need."

"The tsar offered both of us—me and Mila, I mean—positions serving him. I'm going to travel with him to help him raise his army, and Mila…Mila went to court." I watched for a reaction, but Yakov's face remained blank.

"Mila Dmitrievna has taken on an alternate identity and is traveling to court with Lord Ilya and Lady Heli," the tsar explained. "She's graciously agreed to do so in order to pass information to me about my brother. I regret that you were deceived, but it was necessary that no one question her absence and discover where she had gone."

"I understand." He didn't appear to, but I knew he wouldn't say so to the tsar. When we were alone again, I would have a lot to answer for. I wondered briefly if I should find some sort of shield, given Yakov's tendency to think with his fist.

"Enough about that," the tsar said. "Let us have a drink, and you must tell me all about yourself." He took from his desk a bottle and three mugs. "Han tells me you helped each other home after Barbezht. You must have been very young. What brought someone of your age to the battlefield?"

Yakov accepted a mug. "My father died fighting for you, your majesty. Early days, at Zavusy." He took a swallow of his drink. "I wanted to take his place, so I found a unit that would take me. Had to tell them I was older than I was, but they didn't look too close. They'd lost a lot of men, needed anyone they could get."

I accepted my own mug and took a drink, watching the two men. The taste of mint and rye filled my mouth—mint kvass. Mila had started some before we left; it would probably be finished by now.

I dragged my thoughts from my absent wife and refocused on the conversation.

"I'm sorry that any of my commanders would have accepted children." A steely glint came into the tsar's dark eyes. "That will not happen again. I will not have our country's future maimed and killed on the battlefield."

"I don't regret it, your majesty," Yakov said. "I mean, obviously, if I had the choice, I'd take my hand back in an instant. But I'm glad I got to serve you, and I hope to again." He looked down at his arm, where his sword hand had once been. "If I can, I mean. I don't think I'd be much use on the battlefield, but I would like to help your majesty in any way I can."

"If I'm to win the throne, I will need all the support I can get. Han Antonovich will be traveling with me to raise troops, and I have others around the country doing the same. If you could call for men to join me and be ready to march when I send word, you would be rendering a service most necessary."

"I'd be honored to, your majesty."

I clapped my friend on the back. "Thank you for granting us this audience, your majesty. We'll leave you to your work."

"You'll be ready to leave at dawn?" Borislav asked me.

"Yes, your majesty. Until tomorrow." I bowed.

Yakov rose and bowed as well. We walked out of the castle and into the empty courtyard. I glanced sideways at him. "If you're going to hit me, you'll give me a warning, right?"

"Why would I hit you?"

"Why do you ever?" I rubbed my nose, which was still tender from his earlier punch. "I thought you'd be mad at me for keeping secrets. I did plan on telling you. I just thought it would be safer for everyone if we waited until the tsar was ready to declare himself openly."

"I'm glad you didn't wait. I would've had to hunt you down and kick your ass." Yakov gave me a crooked grin. "I should get home. I told Mama I'd be back tonight. I'll keep it to myself, but if you hear from Mila, tell her I'm praying, da?"

I hugged him. "I will. And tell Anna I'm sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. Mila can't write, but I'll write when I can. We'll be home in a few months."

Yakov elbowed me in the ribs. "I thought I told you not to hug me in public. You'll ruin my reputation."

"Shove off, durachok." I grinned as I watched the younger man exit the same gates Mila had gone through just a couple hours earlier, my heart considerably lighter. We would all make it through this war.