23. A Mission

Chapter twenty-three

A Mission

Han

M y bones ached. After a whole day riding in the cold, my hand was practically frozen to the reins. I slid down from the horse, pain radiating with every move, and looked around. The camp was well chosen, with a river to the east preventing attack. A thin sheet of ice lined the riverbanks, but the bulk of the water still flowed.

Tsar Borislav had set his sights on Sevken, his rightful seat as Grand Duke, for our winter base. One of Miroslav's loyalists held the castle—another Sanctioned, although not a particularly powerful one—and Borislav was ready to take it back. The tsar was confident that the majority of the castle residents remained loyal to him, but if Miroslav had sent a troop of soldiers to defend the castle, who knew how long the siege would take? In addition to the two months of travel, between the slow pace of the army and the poor weather that would slow our progress.

I made my way through the camp, looking for the tent I shared with Yakov. The tsar always sent forerunners ahead to scout out a location and set up camp before the bulk of the army arrived, for which I was grateful. After a day on horseback, it was a relief to get out of the wind and rest.

Yakov was already lying on his cot, tossing a ball up in the air, when I walked in. "Wondered when you'd get here."

I shucked off my coat. "You can't have been here long. I saw you a quarter hour ago, mooning over the Blood Bastard." Wherever Blood Bastard Lada went, it was safe to assume Yakov would be nearby. He was her constant shadow, no matter how many times I warned him away from her. Luckily, the woman herself didn't seem opposed to the attention. Yet.

"I don't know what you think you saw, but I've been here an hour, at least." He chucked the ball at my head.

I ducked and sat down on the bed to remove my boots, but before I could, a servant knocked on the tent pole and poked his head inside. "Han Antonovich? The tsar requests your presence in his tent as soon as convenient."

I sighed, casting a longing glance at the cot. I'd planned to go straight to sleep, but obviously the tsar had other plans. "I'll be right there."

"Shame to be important," Yakov said as the servant left. "I'll just be here, sleeping unimportantly in my unimportant cot, in my unimportant tent."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll make sure the tsar finds something to keep you busy, if you're feeling useless, durachok. Brushing the horses, maybe, or digging latrines." I grabbed my hat and coat, shaking off the excess water, and stepped out into the snow again.

What could the Borislav want now? I saw Matvey Il'ich walking in the opposite direction; apparently not all the advisors had been summoned. Had the tsar heard from Mila? I quickened my pace, fear and anticipation urging me onward.

As I approached the tsar's tent, I could hear Prince Radomir's voice raised in anger.

"—little more than beasts," the prince was saying. "Otets needs no pagans to carry out his plans."

"I've made my decision," Tsar Borislav responded calmly as I entered the tent. "I can't risk my brother getting to them first." He turned to me.

"You asked for me, your majesty?"

"Yes." The tsar sank into a chair and gestured for me and the prince to do the same. "To put it simply, Han, we need allies."

Radomir snorted, but the tsar shot him a look. He fell back into silence.

"You know I spent the better part of the last five years in Andinor. While there, I sought allies to support me in my brother's Disinheritance. All the dignitaries I met with refused me. We can expect no foreign assistance, and I fear our army will be insufficient to face my brother."

He was right. The last battle had been a solid victory. We'd been lucky, but we couldn't grow complacent. "I've been worried about that as well, your majesty."

"What do you know of the Drakra?"

I frowned. "A little. My wife's mother and brother live near the East Mountains." I thought back to what Sergey's letters had told us. The Drakra were a matriarchal race of ferocious warriors. They worshiped a spider goddess, and most Inzhrians were either terrified of them or hated them. The last tsar had led three wars—commonly called the Spider Wars—against the Drakra, driving them east into the mountains. "Her brother says they're not as bad as their reputation. He trades with them on occasion."

"Good." The tsar nodded his approval. "I need someone who's able to approach this situation without bias." He gave the prince a pointed look. "I want you to go to Yixa na Chekke, high priestess of the Drakra, and treat with them on my behalf. Convince them to fight for me against my brother. Once I take the throne, I will recognize them as an independent nation. We can return some of the land my father took in the wars, and they can send an ambassador to my court, with all the rights and privileges of a human ambassador from a foreign court."

He was trusting me to negotiate an alliance for him? This was a far cry from asking farmers and smiths to join an army. Treating with the Drakra was a task for a politician, an ambassador. Not for a one-handed soldier.

"You would make them equal to the people of the Blood." Prince Radomir's lip curled in disgust. "This is a mistake."

He ignored his cousin. "I give you leave to choose your own traveling companions, but your group should remain small. No more than two or three others. I can't spare the men, and I don't wish you to draw attention to yourself. You saw what my brother did to your fellow survivors of Barbezht." His face darkened. "He would do the same to you, or worse, were you to be captured."

And to Mila, if Miroslav found out who she was. I tamped down a spark of resentment toward Borislav for sending her away. It had been her choice. If I had to be angry with anyone, it should be with her, for leaving me.

I forced the thoughts of my wife away. "I'm honored you would choose me for this, your majesty, but is there not someone more qualified?"

"I don't wish to honor you. I wish for you to negotiate my way out of this war." He gave me a wry smile. "If I had a full court, I would have other ambassadors to send with you, but we are at war. You are the most qualified man I can spare at the moment."

Most qualified, or most disposable? I immediately hated myself for the thought. Tsar Borislav trusted me. "I will strive to do you justice, your majesty."

"Who would you have as your companions?"

I went through the list of men in my mind. I couldn't ask the tsar to part with any of the commanders in the middle of the campaign. "With your permission, I'd like to take Yakov Aleksandrovich. I know he's young, but he's loyal. You won't find anyone more devoted to your cause." My friend was impulsive, but when he used his mind rather than his fist, he was smart. There was no one I'd rather have with me for something like this.

"Of course. Who else?"

I thought for a moment. "They might be offended if you send a party of all men. Given their matriarchal culture."

"Pagan nonsense," Radomir muttered.

"I had thought of that," the tsar said. "They value strength, especially mental strength. Loath as I am to part with a healer in the middle of a war, I believe Radomir's daughter may be the best choice."

The Blood Bastard. The prince didn't seem surprised by Borislav's suggestion. Perhaps that had been the cause of their earlier argument. He stood, shaking his head. "This war is changing you, cousin." He strode out of the tent without waiting for a dismissal.

Borislav turned back to me. "I had hoped he would come to see reason." He sighed. "Perhaps he will before your return. So, the Blood Bastard and the Barbezht survivors. Do you need anyone else?"

"No, your majesty." Yakov would be glad to have a purpose and ecstatic once he found out who was joining us. Otets help me. He was going to be insufferable for the next few weeks, alone with just me and the Blood Bastard. It could be a long journey.

"Good. I'll have what you need brought to your tent. Inform your companions that you'll leave at dawn."

I stood, but the tsar motioned for me to sit back down. "There's one more thing."

***

It was still dark when we left the next morning, though the snow, thankfully, had stopped. The tsar had provided us with a sleigh and horses, as well as a few small but expensive gifts for the Drakra and the necessary papers and supplies for the journey.

I sat in the driver's seat, but my mind was back in the tsar's tent. What he'd asked me to do…I didn't know if I could do it. It went against every moral, every standard I'd ever held dear.

It was a last resort, I reminded myself. With a little luck and hard work, things wouldn't come to that. We could persuade the Drakra to join us without employing such drastic measures.

I looked over my shoulder, trying to put my worries away. Yakov was half-asleep, buried beneath the furs, though carefully not touching the Blood Bastard sitting next to him. Lada appeared more awake, watching the snow-covered countryside pass by, but I could tell by the stiff set of her body that she was every bit as aware of Yakov's presence as he was of hers.

This was going to be a long journey.

I broke the silence. "Thank you for joining us, Lada Radomirovna."

"Call me Lada."

I turned my attention back to guiding the horses. "If you'll call me Han," I said. "And once durachok back there wakes up, you can call him Yakov. Or durachok. Whichever you prefer."

Lada laughed.

"I don't know why we had to leave so early," Yakov grumbled. "The sun's not even up yet."

The sky was, in fact, beginning to lighten in the east, though it remained gray. A cold wind blew, but without the oppressive feeling of impending snow. We wouldn't be soaked to the skin by the time we stopped for the night.

"I'll tell you what, Yakov." I glanced back at my friend. "The next time the tsar tells us to do something, you can let him know it's too early. Let me know how that goes."

"I don't believe this was the tsar's idea. It was all you and your unholy thoughts of what morning is."

I shrugged. "As I said, you can talk to the tsar if you've got an issue. But it's too late now, anyway." To Lada, I said, "Yakov thinks doing anything before midday is a sin against Otets and a personal attack."

"I can relate, when it's this cold," she replied. "We won't be camping in this weather, will we?"

"Not unless there's no other choice. We'll stay at inns if we can find them, or Blood Temples if we can't. If anyone asks where we're going, we're on our way to see my wife's family while she recovers from Moon Fever in a hospital near the mountains."

"Does your wife's family actually live near the East Mountains?"

"Yes. Her brother, Sergey, trades with the Drakra." I couldn't rely on their introduction, though. Mila's mother was a staunch supporter of Miroslav, and my relationship with Sergey was tenuous at best.

"And your wife? Is she actually recovering from Moon Fever?"

I tensed. I hadn't had to lie about Mila since the army had gathered. Still, if it kept her safe… "That part is true," I said, my grip tightening on the reins. I shouldn't have to be lying to protect my wife. She shouldn't be in a place where she needed protection. I gritted my teeth, fighting against my growing resentment.

"I'm sorry." Lada must have sensed the shift in my mood, because she didn't question me further. "How long have you known Han?" she asked Yakov.

Whether from the cold or the conversation, he was finally alert. "Since Barbezht. He saved my life. Him and Mila, I mean. His wife."

"How did you end up at Barbezht in the first place? You can't be older than me, and I was only fifteen when it happened."

"I was thirteen," he said. "My father fought for Tsar Borislav. When he was killed in battle, I wanted to take his place. Mama nearly murdered me for running off. If I hadn't come back missing a piece, she probably would have. Still better than Han, though," he added cheerfully. "Mila almost castrated him."

"For leaving?"

"No. When he came back, he tried to break their engagement." I could hear the mischievous grin in his words. "She'd spent long enough fighting her mother over the wedding, she wasn't going to let a little thing like an unwilling groom stop her."

"That's not what happened," I protested.

"You came back and said you wouldn't marry her, she called you a bastard and an ass, and the next day you got married. What part did I miss?"

Lada laughed. "I hope I can meet her someday. I think we'll get on wonderfully."

I rolled my eyes. "He makes it seem like I didn't want to marry her. I was trying to protect her."

"From what? Being stuck with an old grouch for the rest of her life?"

"Is the whole trip going to be like this?" Lada asked. "Or do you two ever stop fighting?"

I grinned. "No, this is pretty much it."

She sighed with feigned long-suffering. "Well, at least you'll be comfortable among the savages."

I chuckled. "What about you, Lada? How did you become a Blood Bastard?"

"Well, I'm a bastard, and my father is third—or rather, second—in line for the Blood, so…"

I glanced back at her, frowning. Was she serious? I'd thought being a Blood Bastard required extensive training. Inzhria was filled with illegitimate descendants of the Sanctioned, but only a small fraction of them became Blood Bastards.

"That's really all there is to it," she said. "My father doesn't have any other children. Miroslav wouldn't let him marry, probably because he feels threatened by my father's power. As a servant's daughter, I didn't have many options, but as a child of the Blood, even a natural one, there were more opportunities. And Father's never been inclined to deny me what I asked for. When I was ten, a traveling Blood Bastard came to visit. I asked to train with him. When my training was done, I came back home, and I've been the resident Blood Bastard ever since."

"I've never met a Blood Bastard before," Yakov said, his voice full of admiration.

"That's probably a good thing," she replied. "Most of us are asses."

I coughed to hide my laugh.

It was late evening before we reached an inn. After a brief stop during which we rested the horses and ate a cold midday dinner, Yakov had taken over driving, but even so, I was exhausted. I pulled my fur cap down over my brow, covering my scar, and tightened the strap on my bean-filled glove as I climbed down from the sleigh.

The inn was empty but for the owner, and I didn't know if I should be glad or worried. The fewer people we saw, the lower our chances of being recognized, but there was something to be said for the anonymity of a crowd. Inside, a fire burned low in the corner, its heat not quite reaching the entire room.

The innkeeper approached, his ruddy face bright with a welcoming smile. "Looking for a room?"

"Two, if you have a spare," I said. "And a hot meal."

"I do. Have yourselves a seat, and I'll bring out some nice hot bowls of shchi with this morning's bread."

As he left the room, we seated ourselves at the table nearest to the fire. Lada and Yakov removed their hats and coats, but my only concession to the warmth was unbuttoning my coat.

The innkeeper returned soon with our food. "Where are you heading?"

"We're on our way to visit my wife's family," I said, swallowing a large spoonful of the cabbage soup. I would have preferred not to answer any questions, but that wasn't likely. I'd never met an innkeeper that didn't like to talk.

"Ah, that's nice." He pulled up a chair and took a seat next to Yakov. "It's good to be near family. My children all live nearby, so I don't have to travel to see them. My eldest daughter lives here with me, actually. Helps me run the place. She's in town tonight, though, helping at her sister's childbirth. My sixth grandchild, you know."

"Congratulations," Lada said. "You must be very proud."

"I am, I am." He looked at me. "You have children?"

I shook my head, my jaw clenched tight at the sudden reminder of the loss of my son. I hid it well, most days, but the grief still haunted me. "No, we haven't been so blessed."

"You ought to get on that, son." The innkeeper guffawed and winked at Lada.

Of course, he'd thought Lada was my wife. Why would I be traveling to visit my wife's family without my wife, after all? Yakov's pale, freckled face reddened with anger. I opened my mouth to change the subject, but the oblivious innkeeper beat me to it.

"Quite a year it's been, da?" He leaned back in his chair and stretched. "The Grand Duke's alive and fighting against the tsar again. I never would have guessed it. Some of the tsar's army passed through here right after the battle. Such a shame they lost, but I'm sure they'll get him next time."

"Yeah, a shame." Yakov's voice dripped with irony. Lada shot him a warning look as I kicked him under the table.

"But you've been on the road," the man said. "Did you see either of the armies? Gossip is my business, you know. People come in here for news as much as they do for food and lodging."

Lada shook her head. "We must have missed them. Our travels have been quiet."

"Ah, too bad. I heard the tsar killed all the traitors of Barbezht, too—or almost all of them. It seems Borislav has a couple working for him, but I'm sure they'll be executed as well, once the Grand Duke is defeated."

Yakov jerked his chair back as if to stand, but Lada laid a hand on his arm. "One can only hope," she said.

"Keep an eye out. There's a reward for anyone with information on Borislav's followers. Come to think of it, when the army passed through, they left some sketches of the traitors. Let me fetch those. Maybe you'll see someone on the road."

He stood and left the room, and I turned to my companions, heart in my throat.

Yakov lowered his voice. "You don't think any of us will be in those sketches, do you?"

"I doubt that I will," Lada said. "I'm a woman and a healer. Miroslav doesn't see me as a threat. But he wants the two of you dead, for sure."

"What do we do?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself enough to think logically. "We stay calm. He's not suspicious yet, but if we panic, he'll know something's wrong. Maybe he won't recognize us."

The door across the room opened again, and the innkeeper came back with a stack of papers. "Here we are. Of course, you won't be likely to come across the Grand Duke or Prince Radomir, but here's their sheets if you do." He put the two papers on the table and flipped through the rest. "A couple of the Grand Duke's advisors and commanders…oh, and here's the survivors of Barbezht!" He pulled out the last sheet and looked closely at it. "They're both young. Obviously missing their right hands. One of them has a scar across his brow." He peered at the sketch and looked up at Yakov. "This one looks almost like you." He grinned, but Yakov didn't return the gesture.

Lada glanced at the paper and snorted. "I don't know. I think he's better looking than the traitor." Her tone was light, dismissive.

The innkeeper looked between Yakov and the page, silent. His eyes fell on Yakov's bean-filled glove, still attached to his arm and resting on the table. "Awful warm in here, isn't it? Feel free to take off your hats and gloves."

Yakov moved his arm under the table. "Still chilled," he muttered.

My hand went to the dagger on my belt as my heart pounded out a deafening rhythm in my ears. "Actually, I don't think we'll stay tonight. I'd like to be with family as soon as possible, and it's a bright night. Now that we've warmed up and rested a bit, we can make it to the next town."

"Nonsense," the innkeeper said, smiling too brightly. "Your horses must be exhausted. You wouldn't want to push them too hard. You'll stay the night. Let me see you to your rooms."

Not knowing what else to do, we followed him upstairs in silence. "Here we are. Get some sleep, and you can leave at first light." He gave a small bow and left us alone.

As his footsteps receded, Lada turned to us. "We have to leave. Now."

I nodded, my fist tight around my dagger. "What if he sends someone after us?"

She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small clay vial. "Let me worry about that. Go get the sleigh ready."

We crept quietly down the stairs, alert for any noise or movement. The innkeeper wasn't in the main room. Lada stopped and peered through the door into the kitchen. "Not there," she whispered.

"What if he left?" Yakov whispered back.

"We'll catch up to him."

Outside, a light shone through the open door to the stables. As we entered, I saw the innkeeper saddling his horse.

"Oh!" He started when he saw us. "I hope I didn't disturb you. I received word from my daughter that I'm needed at the birth. I'll be back soon."

"Prophet's balls," Yakov swore. "Drop the act."

"I—I don't know what you mean."

I stepped forward, taking off my hat to reveal the scar on my brow. "We know you recognized us, sir. We mean you no harm. We're on a mission for the tsar—the true tsar, Borislav. All we ask is that you let us go on our way and tell no one you saw us."

He straightened himself up to his full height. "I am no traitor, nor will I cover for traitors. Borislav is no tsar of mine."

"We mean you no harm," I said again, stepping toward him. I had to solve this, had to stop him before someone got hurt. Got killed. "This doesn't have to come to a fight."

"Han…" Lada's voice was low, full of warning.

The man drew a dagger from his belt. "Stay back, traitor!" Keeping us in view, he scrambled onto his horse.

We stood between him and the door. "We can't let you leave," Lada said.

Anger and contempt filled his face. "I'll run you down."

We stood facing each other for an endless moment. Then the innkeeper kicked his horse.

"Don't breathe!" Lada shouted as she threw the clay vial at him.

It burst beneath the horse's hooves, letting out a cloud of smoke that filled the stables. The innkeeper let out a strangled cough which cut off suddenly. Lada grabbed me and Yakov by the arms and dragged us backward, out into fresh air.

Yakov gasped for breath. "What was that?"

"A strangler potion. Efficient and deadly—to humans, at least. Our horses will be fine. I had some things on hand in case we ran into trouble."

I looked back at the stable, my eyes wide with horror. "He's dead?"

"If he's not yet, he will be in a moment." She shuddered. "Let's go back inside. It'll take a while for the smoke to clear out. We might as well stay warm while we wait."

She and Yakov walked back toward the inn, but I stared at the stables. I'd killed men before, in battle. This was different. The innkeeper's daughter would be back, probably in the morning, ready to tell him about his newest grandchild. What would she think when she found him dead?

"Han?" Yakov's voice broke through my dark thoughts.

I turned, clearing the emotion from my face. "I thought you were going inside."

"She had to do it. He would have gotten us killed."

"I know." He was right. We hadn't had a choice. The tsar was depending on us. "He was a father. A grandfather."

"Everyone we face has someone who cares about them. It's war," Yakov said. "Death happens."

"I know," I said again. But where did we draw the line? Murdering old men in their homes? Children in their cradles? Selling our own to the highest bidder? This war was fracturing my soul. I turned back to the inn. "But I don't have to like it."