42. Confrontation

Chapter forty-two

Confrontation

Mila

T he battle was long over. The afternoon stretched into evening, but still people filled the med tent. New casualties had stopped arriving, thank Otets, but the wounded were numerous. My head pounded, the tent swimming around me.

"Go, Mila." Lada's voice was firm. "You're going to collapse. You're no good to me like this. Get some sleep and come back in the morning."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Yakov, binding a chest wound several cots over, met my eyes and shook his head. I sighed. "Fine. I'll be back in a few hours."

The Blood Bastard had already turned away. I navigated the crowded tent and made my way to the slightly less busy camp outside.

Lada was probably right. I hadn't slept much, and I hadn't eaten all day, either. Otets, I was tired.

I hadn't seen Han since the battle, but he'd sent word that he was safe.

And Miroslav was dead.

I sank down onto the snow with my back to a tent pole. It was over. We'd survived. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, drinking in the stench of the camp, the blood, sweat, and snow, the unwashed smell of an army on the move. I hadn't breathed properly in months. But I could breathe now. It was over.

"Fia!" My eyes popped open as Izolda called my name. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere."

Something was wrong; I could tell by her tone. I scanned her for signs of injury. "What's happened?"

She waved a hand in dismissal of my scrutiny. "I'm fine. It's Alexey."

My heart filled my throat. Had he been injured? Worse? "What happened?" I choked out, scrambling to my feet.

"He's been captured."

Alive. He was alive. "He's safe? He's not hurt?"

She grimaced. "Yes, but… The Drakra are taking the prisoners when they go back east."

"As slaves?" A pit opened in my stomach.

"It's…complicated."

I gritted my teeth. "Uncomplicate it. What's going to happen to him?"

"He'll be a bondservant. Eight years of service to the Drakra, and he'll be free to return home. Or to stay, if he chooses."

Eight years. That would be an eternity to him. And who knew what might happen to him during those years? I had to get him out. "Where is he? He's not injured?" I'd already asked, but I needed to hear the words.

Izolda shook her head. "He's not injured. He's in the temporary cells outside the camp, until we move into the palace."

"Take me to him." I had to see him. Han was still with the tsar, dealing with the aftermath of the battle. He didn't have to know that I'd gone to see the prisoners, or one specific prisoner. He didn't have to know why.

The wooden cells outside of the camp weren't crowded. Izolda approached one of the guards. "We'd like to speak to one of the prisoners."

I didn't hear his response as I scanned the cells for Alexey's familiar face. There were so few people in the cells. So few prisoners. Had so few survived the battle? Or had they fled?

"Fia." Izolda grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the furthest cell.

I almost didn't recognize him. He sat in the corner, spattered in dust. Flecks of something—gravel, maybe?—covered his shoulders and hair. He stared toward the city, so we could see his profile, missing its characteristic cocky grin. A shadow of the man I'd come to know.

"Alexey." The name, barely a whisper, slipped past my lips before I could stop it.

His head snapped around so hard he must have strained his neck. When his eyes met mine, they tightened with some unidentified emotion. Anger, perhaps? Anger would be reasonable, given what I'd done to him. Betrayal, maybe, or sadness? He stood, never removing his gaze from my face. I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

"I'll give you two a minute," Izolda muttered. I turned to stop her, but she was already out of reach. When I tried to call her back, my throat didn't work.

I turned back to Alexey, willing myself to say something. Anything. I opened my mouth again, but no sound came out.

"Why are you here?" he bit out. It was anger, then, that I saw in his eyes. When I didn't respond, he stalked closer, until we were barely a foot apart, only the bars of his makeshift prison between us. "Did you come to gloat?"

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Was any of it real?"

He'd asked me that same question the last time I saw him. Had it only been a day? So much had changed.

Was any of it real? I'd thought it was. He'd helped me heal. I hadn't planned to, but I'd felt something for him I'd never felt before. Not even with—

"I'm married."

He flinched. "I see."

"Alexey, I—" I reached through the bars to touch his face, but he stepped out of reach.

"Don't." His voice was flat, emotionless. "Who is he?"

I didn't want to talk about Han with him. I didn't want to talk about Han at all. "A commander in the tsar's army."

"Not Tsar Miroslav's, I take it," he said wryly.

I shook my head. "Miroslav is dead."

"I know. I was there."

He'd been in the palace?

"He was a monster," I whispered.

"And your tsar is so much better."

He was mocking me, but I answered him anyway. "Borislav doesn't kill innocents."

"Doesn't he? I'm sure Lady Yelena would be happy to hear that. As would Count Andrej and the dowager tsarina."

Cold shock filled my veins. Were they all imprisoned as well? Had Borislav decided to execute them? "What do they have to do with this?"

"Why don't you ask your husband?" he sneered. "I'm sure he knows all about the carnage your tsar wreaked in the palace."

My head spun. What had Borislav done? "Where is Lady Yelena?"

"She's dead. Along with her husband, Tsar Miroslav, and nearly a dozen other nobles killed at the hand of the man you call tsar. Tell me, Sofia, what crime did the grand duchesses commit to deserve death?"

I couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it. Borislav wouldn't do that. He championed innocents; he didn't slaughter them. Miroslav was the one who allowed his men to rape women, kill their children. Borislav wouldn't, couldn't have killed all those people. Lady Yelena, the sweet young woman who'd been forced into marriage with that monster Kazimir. The grand duchesses, whose only crime was being born to the wrong father. "No."

Alexey laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You don't believe me? No, of course you don't. I'm the villain here, just another mindless follower of Miroslav the monster."

"I never thought that!" He had to believe me. He was a good man. I didn't want to leave him hating me, thinking I hated him.

"No? You didn't use me? Didn't take advantage of my position in Lord Kazimir's household? Didn't pass on the information I shared with you to your husband and your tsar?" When I didn't respond, he scoffed. "That's what I thought."

"I didn't mean to hurt you." My voice was small. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

He didn't look at me. "What did you think would happen? What did you want?"

"I wanted to go home!" My eyes filled with hot tears. "I wanted my husband not to be branded a traitor. I wanted to raise my son. I wanted to live somewhere I didn't have to fear for everyone I loved." The words poured out of me as fast as the tears rolling down my cheeks. "I wanted to live a quiet life with my family. But Kazimir and Miroslav took that away from me. Miroslav crippled my husband. Kazimir killed my son. They turned my home into a battleground. So yes, Alexey, I went to court to spy on Miroslav. And yes, I passed on what you told me. But I didn't mean to hurt you, and I certainly didn't mean to fall in love with you." The last words came out in a sob, and I leaned against the cell, grabbing the wood for support.

In the aftermath of my outburst, all I could hear was the ragged sound of my breathing. I closed my eyes, willing the tears to fade.

A hand brushed my face. "I did." I looked up to see Alexey staring at me, his own eyes glistening. "I meant to fall in love with you," he said.

A sob escaped me. He'd loved me, and I'd betrayed him. "Alexey, I—"

He placed a finger over my lips, cutting me off. "I told you I didn't care how long I had with you, that every moment was a blessing. I lied." He slid his hand to the scarf I wore on my head, slipping a finger under the edge. "I want every moment of the rest of your life. I want to help you move on from whatever happened before me, and I want to protect you from whatever comes next." He slipped the scarf from my head, voice lowering to a growl. "And I don't want to send you back to the bastard of a husband who sent you to court to do his dirty work."

He kissed me, a hungry, possessive kiss that set my heart racing. My forehead pressed against the wood planks between us as he pulled me closer, holding me to him with his hand on the back of my head. I could taste my tears on his lips.

"Don't go, Sofia," he murmured when he finally pulled back.

My breath came in pants, forming clouds in the air, and my tears still flowed. "Mila." He searched my eyes, questioning, so I clarified. "My name is Mila Dmitrievna."

He let go of me and stepped back. All emotion on his face disappeared once more. "My apologies, Mila Dmitrievna."

"Alexey, no." I reached for his hand, letting out a breath when he didn't step away. Something flickered in his eyes as our hands touched. "I didn't mean to feel what I do for you. I'm married."

"Yes, you've said that." I could hear the hurt behind the anger in his voice.

"I thought he was dead." Fuck, this was hard. I swallowed the lump in my throat and pressed on. "But he's not. And when I found out he was alive, I had already fallen in love with you." I shook my head. "I just wanted to know that you knew me, not Sofia."

"I do. Or," he shrugged. "I thought I did."

I deserved that. I'd lied to him for months. Tears welled in my eyes again, and I wiped furiously at them.

He brushed his thumb against the back of my hand, watching it as he did. "But your name doesn't matter to me. Who you are, that doesn't change. No matter what you did, what you felt like you had to do, that woman is still the same, whether you call her Sofia or Mila."

I blinked up at him. I'd heard that somewhere before. Maybe not those words exactly, but the sentiment. Izolda had said it, maybe?

No. A stone settled in my stomach. Han had told me something similar the day the tsar changed me.

"I fell in love with you. I don't know what's going to happen to me now, but whatever happens next, knowing you loved me, however briefly…" His words trailed off into silence. He turned my hand over and pressed a kiss into the palm. "You're my sun, and my life will be dark without you."

I gave him a weak, teary smile, but he returned my gaze solemnly. "Go home, Mila. Go be with your husband. Raise your children, serve your tsar. Be happy."

"And you?" I fought to hide the tremor in my voice.

He shrugged. "Exile if I'm lucky. Execution if I'm not."

I shuddered at his casual tone. I should tell him what Izolda had said about the Drakra, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. He wouldn't be executed, surely. But after eight years of laboring for the Drakra, what part of who he was would remain? "I want to help you. I can talk to my husband—"

He cut me off. "No. I don't want his charity."

"And mine?" I clenched his hand tight in mine, wishing for…anything. "Can't I do something?"

"Go home," he repeated. "Go home and be happy." He trailed a finger down my cheek, and I closed my eyes.

My tears were back in full force now. He dropped his hands to his side and stepped back, out of my reach. "Goodbye, my sun."

I took a step back. Another. I stumbled, still watching him, and he flinched.

"Easy, Fia." Izolda, coming from nowhere, put a steadying hand on my arm. "It's late. We should get you back."

I looked up. The sky was nearly dark. Odd. I hadn't noticed the time passing. I staggered back toward camp, directed by the pressure of Izolda's hand on my arm. What was she saying? I couldn't understand the words. I took another step, and the ground came up to meet me.

Then I was being lifted up. Someone had strong arms around me. Alexey? No, Alexey was in a cell. "Han?" I struggled to open my eyes.

"Sorry, Mila. Just me."

That voice was familiar. Who was it? "Yasha?"

He laughed, the sound vibrating against my cheek. "I hope so. Who's Alexey?"

A friend, I wanted to tell him. My tongue was too thick. I leaned into his chest and let sleep drag me under.