43. Disinheritance

Chapter forty-three

Disinheritance

Han

I stared down at my wife in the dim morning light. Her breathing was deep and even, her face peaceful in sleep.

I'd been so worried.

When she hadn't been in the tent on my return, I'd gone to the med tent, sure that she would be with Yakov. He might not have made her stay in our tent, but he wouldn't have let her wander off.

Neither Mila or Yakov had been in the med tent, though. Lada had sent Mila to get some rest over an hour before my arrival, and I had just missed seeing Yakov leave.

In a near-panic, I'd gone back to my tent to pace and think of where she could be. Nothing had come to mind; she knew next to no one in the camp, and the battle was over, so she hadn't been caught up in the fighting.

It hadn't been long—though it felt like ages—before Yakov strode in, depositing an unconscious Mila on the cot.

She'd been with Izolda, her friend from court who'd helped her escape from the palace dungeons. Yakov had come across Mila and Izolda on the edge of camp, Mila barely conscious and her friend half-dragging her along. She'd said three things. "Alexey," "Han," and "Yasha."

I'd managed to move her, still sleeping, to the palace. Nearly a mile riding in the small cart I'd found, and she hadn't budged. Now she lay in the middle of the large bed, untroubled in sleep, as though she hadn't ripped my heart from her chest when she went missing.

I propped myself up on an elbow and frowned down at her sleeping form. What had she been doing outside of camp? I'd told her to stay where I left her, and not only had she disobeyed by spending the entire day working in the med tent, she'd disappeared after Lada sent her back to me. My blood heated. How dare she put herself at risk like that? Hadn't she seen enough danger for a lifetime?

She stirred, and I reached out a hand to her. She opened her eyes, blinking blearily.

"Prophet's balls," she swore. "I feel like I've been run over by a horse. What time is it?"

"Well past dawn."

"And you're still in bed?" She feigned a look of shock. Then she looked around, taking in our surroundings. "We're in the palace?"

"Yes, when my wife goes missing after a battle and is deposited unconscious on my bed an hour later, it tends to put me off my schedule." I scowled at her.

"I wasn't missing."

"You weren't in our tent, and you weren't at the med tent. Yakov found you half-conscious on the edge of camp. What was I supposed to think?"

"Oh." She chewed her lip, avoiding my eye.

"What were you thinking, Mila?" I sighed, taking her hand. "I was terrified something had happened to you."

"I was perfectly fine. The battle was over, and I was with Izolda the whole time. She had a friend from court who was captured in battle. She wanted to go see him."

"And after only getting a couple hours of sleep and working from dawn to dusk, you had to join her, I suppose." She had no concept of self-preservation. "I swear, Mila, you're going to be the death of me. Did you even eat yesterday?"

The guilty look on her face was answer enough. Thankfully, I'd had the foresight to find some food. I reached for the tray on the bedside table. She gave me a grateful smile and tucked into the bread and cheese.

"Who's Alexey?"

She froze mid-bite, looking up at me with wide eyes.

"Yakov said you mentioned him last night. You weren't making much sense."

"Oh." She turned back to her food and shrugged. "The friend Izolda wanted to go see."

"Someone you know well?" I struggled to keep my voice nonchalant. She'd been tired. She'd just seen the man. The fact that she'd called his name didn't have to mean anything.

She shrugged again. "As well as anyone, I suppose. Izolda's known him for years. He got us out of the capital."

I blinked, guilt overtaking the misplaced jealousy. If this Alexey had helped bring Mila back to me safely, I owed him a debt of gratitude. "I'm glad he was there. I can't promise anything, but maybe I could speak to the tsar—"

"No."

The vehemence in her voice took me aback. "Oh."

"I'm sorry. He just…he's very proud. He wouldn't want any special treatment."

"Not even to thank him for bringing back my wife?" I couldn't read her expression. I'd always been able to tell what she was thinking. I didn't like this separation between us.

Her eyes grew distant. "No. Not even for that."

"I see." I didn't, but she was safe now. She was with me. Whatever else had happened, it didn't matter anymore.

She shook her head and refocused. "So, the war's finally over." She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

"It's over," I confirmed. "Miroslav is dead, along with the entire palace guard."

"I heard it was bad in there," she said softly. "What happened?"

Images from the previous day flashed through my mind. "It was horrible." I told her what I'd seen from the moment we reached the palace, trying not to dwell on the more gruesome aspects. Still, by the time I finished, she'd pushed away the plate of food, cringing.

"Borislav did that?" Her eyes were wide with horror. "He was supposed to be better," she said, as if saying it could make it true.

I thought about Matvey Il'ich, his response to the desertions, his use of magic in the battle outside Sevken. "He's done some awful things in this war, but not like this. I think I made a mistake." It pained me to admit that I'd been so wrong about Borislav, but after what I'd seen in the throne room, this couldn't be allowed to stand.

"We both did," she said.

"But I'm not responsible for just me." I ran a hand over my face. "I convinced other men to fight. By the Blood, I convinced the Drakra to join us! And what did we get? We traded one monster for another. And I let you put yourself in danger to make it happen." I wouldn't make that mistake again.

"We both should have known better. But we didn't." As always, she was practical to a fault. Yixa na Chekke would love her. She was all logic and reason.

"So what do we do now?" she asked. "We didn't go through all that trouble to remove one tyrant, just to put another on the throne. We have to stop him while the country is still disorganized, before he can consolidate his power."

We would be doing nothing. I wasn't risking my wife, or allowing her to risk herself, on another rebellion. But I humored her. "Radomir." Radomir would already be planning Borislav's Disinheritance. He wasn't as charismatic or likable as his cousin, but he was next in line, and more importantly, he regarded the title of Sanctioned with the reverence it deserved. He'd been against Borislav at all the key points—sending slaves to the Drakra, Il'ich's execution, the hanging of the deserters, even Borislav's insistence on stealing into the capital before the battle was over.

"Would he take it?" She didn't question my decision at all. She trusted me implicitly. I squeezed her hand. What would I do without her?

"Yes. He won't let this go. He's said from the beginning that he would do what was right, even if it meant going against Borislav. You should have seen him in the palace yesterday. He was horrified."

"Han? Mila?" We both jumped as Yakov's voice came through the door. "Cover up. I'm coming in."

He strode into the room and took a seat on the bed, swiping the bread from Mila's plate. "What were you two talking about before I improved your day with my presence?"

Mila gave me a small, encouraging nod. We had to tell Yakov.

"Did you hear what happened in the throne room yesterday?" I asked.

His face twisted into a grimace. "Rumors. I can't believe it."

"All true," I said. "Every bit as bad as Miroslav, if not worse."

"Fuck. What have we done?"

"We messed up," Mila said. "Badly. We have to fix it."

"Radomir." Yakov caught on quickly. "Will he do it?"

"He's already suggested it." I told them about my conversation with the prince after Borislav had left for the capital.

We were all silent when I finished speaking. Were we really considering this? If I was wrong, if I failed, or if I'd somehow misunderstood Radomir's intentions, we'd be executed. Borislav would show no mercy. He wouldn't spare Mila just because she was a woman. My stomach twisted at the thought of her on the gallows, slaughtered like Matvey Il'ich.

"We've got to move fast. Find out who'll support us, get them on board. I'll go to Prince Radomir right away. Yasha, the commanders know I trust you. Go feel them out, see who we can count on. Mila…" I looked at my wife. She'd been through so much. Could I drag her into the rebellion against Borislav, too?

No. No, I wasn't risking her. No matter what she wanted, I had to keep her safe. "Just stay here," I said finally.

Her mouth dropped open. "Stay here? I just spent six months risking my life. You're not casting me aside now. You need me."

I did need her. I needed her protected, here for me to come home to. "Not for long. Just until things settle down." I stood, backing toward the door. We needed to get out of here, put plans into motion before Borislav caught on.

"You're not going anywhere without me." She rose from the bed, stepping toward me. "We've had this discussion before. I have just as much right as you to see justice done."

"I won't put you at risk. Not again." I grabbed the key to the room from the desk and jerked my head at Yakov, indicating that he should follow me. "I'll be back soon."

Her face contorted in anger, and she lunged toward me, but too late. We were already at the door. I slammed it shut and locked it.

"I'll be back soon," I said again, putting a hand on the wood.

"Han Antonovich, come back here!" she shrieked, but I turned away.

Yakov grabbed me by the shoulder, brow furrowed with concern. "You sure about this?"

"She'll be fine." I shrugged him off. "I need to make sure she's safe. And since she won't stay where I tell her…"

"She's never going to forgive you for this."

"If I want your opinion on how to handle my wife, I'll ask," I bit out. "Just go."

He opened his mouth, but with a guilty glance at the door, he closed it again without speaking. He let out a long breath and left me alone.

The door shuddered as Mila threw something heavy at it—a chair, probably—but it held. She wouldn't get out of that room. Not until this was all over. "I'm sorry," I whispered. Sorry for hurting her. Not sorry for keeping her safe.

I found the prince—Grand Duke? Tsar? His title would depend on the events of the next few hours—with his daughter and a couple of the commanders in Radomir's new rooms in the palace, deep in conversation. At my entrance, he looked up. From the steely look on the prince's face, I knew he was already set on his course of action.

"I need to speak to you, your grace."

"He has to be taken down." His eyes flashed. I'd never seen him so full of righteous anger. "My cousin's reign ends today, before it begins in truth. He's broken every edict Otets gave the Sanctioned."

I glanced at the others in the room, but he waved a hand. "They will join us."

I nodded. "Yakov is gathering the other commanders."

"Thank you. We have perhaps an hour until Borislav returns. I would prefer not to do this in the presence of the Drakra. They are an…unnecessary complication."

"Yes, your grace. Your majesty," I corrected, but he shook his head.

"‘Your grace' until my cousin's Disinheritance is complete. I am not Borislav. I will not use a title until it is mine in truth."

"Yes, your grace."

He gestured for us all to sit. "We'll meet the tsar in the courtyard when he returns."

"And if he fights?" Lada asked. A fair question. I couldn't imagine Borislav stepping down quietly after all he'd done to get here. He'd managed to cause so much destruction on his own. What would be the results of a battle between Borislav and Radomir? They could turn the palace to rubble between them.

"Otets willing, he won't." The prince placed his wand on the table. "But I'll be prepared if he does."

Fyodor Yakovlevich cleared his throat. "If he doesn't fight, will you allow him to step down peacefully?"

"I will allow him to step down, yes, and I pray he does." His tone was sincere. "But if he refuses to accept his Disinheritance, even if he doesn't fight, I will see justice done."

My eyes widened in alarm. I'd seen Borislav's version of justice.

Radomir noticed my distress and clarified. "Beheading. A swift, painless death. I won't slaughter traitors."

"Of course not, your grace. I didn't mean to imply otherwise." I knew that. Radomir was an honorable man, if not as charismatic as his cousin.

A knock sounded at the door, and Yakov stepped into the room, followed by most of the remaining commanders. He quirked a brow at me, and I nodded.

Yakov bowed. "Your grace, we're yours to command."

"Thank you, Yakov Aleksandrovich." He rose. "We should adjourn to the courtyard, in case he returns early."

My sword knocked at my side, a comforting weight, as we followed the prince through the palace halls. As we stepped outside into the cold air, I tightened my metal fingers around my sword hilt, leaving it sheathed. Things could happen quickly, and I didn't want to be caught unawares.

The sky was clear over the palace, the sun glinting brilliant gold off the onion-shaped domes. In the center of the courtyard was the sickening fountain I'd seen the day before, viscous red liquid pooling around the feet of the two figures in its center. The liquid didn't bear the metallic tang of real blood, but the sight still made me shudder. Would blood run over the cobblestones this morning?

I bowed my head in silent prayer that the transfer of power would be peaceful.

As time crawled by, I couldn't stop my thoughts from dwelling on Mila. She'd understand, eventually, why I'd made the choices I had. Even if it took weeks, months. Her anger would be worth it, as long as she was alive to be angry.

An eternity later, the palace gates opened. Borislav approached, staff in hand, flanked by the remaining commanders.

His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of us waiting for him, armed and standing at attention. As he entered the courtyard, he stopped by the fountain. "What is this?"

Radomir took a step forward. "You've gone too far, Borislav."

"Treason." His nostrils flared, and he clenched his staff tighter. "After all I've done for this country, you turn on me." He met the eyes of each person in the courtyard, ending with me. "And you. I made you, and you're betraying me."

"Only Otets can make someone," Radomir said. "Han Antonovich is doing what he feels is right. As am I. As is every man here."

"You would make a Disinheritance of me?" The tsar's voice was deadly calm, but I could sense the roiling fury beneath it. My mouth went dry as I remembered what he'd done the last time I saw him so composed, so angry. Remembering the massacre in the throne room. I glanced at Yakov, but his attention was fixed on the scene before us. He stood next to Lada, their hands clasped together.

"I told you I wouldn't hesitate to do what was right for Inzhria." Radomir took another step toward his cousin. "Will you accept your Disinheritance?"

"I will not."

I drew my sword, moving to stand next to Radomir. Behind me, the other commanders drew their swords as well. Borislav glanced at us, his lip curled, before returning his gaze to Radomir.

"You cannot win, Borislav." Radomir's words sent a chill through me. Similar, so similar to what Borislav had told his brother.

"You cannot take what is rightfully mine. Inzhria is mine," he hissed.

"Inzhria belongs to Otets," Radomir said. "Surrender. Accept your Disinheritance, and end this." He raised his wand.

"Never." Borislav raised his staff, and the not-blood from the fountain shot toward us, sharpening into frozen spikes.

"Back!" Radomir roared. He waved his wand, and the spikes hit an invisible wall. They crashed to the ground amidst the sound of rushing wind.

Borislav attacked again, thrusting his staff forward, and a wall of rock rose in front of the prince, who waved his wand. The wall shattered into large stones, which flew toward Borislav. The men with him scattered, diving to the ground.

Borislav pointed his staff, and the stones became sand that blew past him. He slammed the butt of his staff on the ground, and a rattle echoed through the courtyard. Radomir stumbled as the ground beneath him grew uneven. He fell to the ground, and my heart skipped a beat. If he lost, if he died, we would all be killed.

With a wave of Borislav's staff, the statue of the Prophet shattered into pieces, all of them flying at once toward Radomir.

The prince rolled out of the way and with a flick of his wrist, shot a dagger of ice out as he rose to his knees. Borislav dodged, but it caught his cheek. A thin line of blood bloomed in its wake.

Borislav let out a guttural snarl and dragged his staff in a line on the ground. A set of icy spikes sprang up in front of Radomir. One caught him beneath the chin, knocking him sideways. His head hit the ground, and he lay unmoving.

Lada screamed. "Father!"

A roaring filled my ears, and I darted forward as Borislav pointed his staff toward his cousin.

Steel met wood, and Borislav's staff cracked in two. His eyes widened. It was over—he was powerless without his staff.

But he wasn't done fighting. He dropped the broken pieces of his staff and drew his sword. The blow clanged through my bones as steel met steel.

"I gave you that hand." He forced me backward, the full force of his strength behind each thrust. "I made you what you are today. You dare turn your blade on me?"

I didn't answer him. I wouldn't let him goad me. He was impatient, his movements hastened by fury. I feinted an opening, and when he struck toward it, I slashed at his sword hand. Blood dripped from the wound, and his sword clattered to the ground.

I met the gaze of my former tsar, the point of my sword at his chest. "Surrender."

"Well done, Captain." Radomir's voice cut through the rush of blood in my head.

I glanced back to see the prince on his feet, eyes glazed. He swayed but remained standing as he said to his cousin, "Accept your Disinheritance."

"Never." Borislav's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

"If you won't abdicate, I'll have no choice but to see you executed."

"So bloodthirsty."

Radomir turned away, ignoring the taunt. "Fyodor Yakovlevich, Han Antonovich, please escort my cousin to the palace dungeon." He glanced back at Borislav. "I'll give you three days to reconsider your position. If not, you will be executed for crimes against Otets and against the Blood."

I dropped my sword to my side and stepped forward to take Borislav's arm, but he shook me off. "I am unarmed. You will not manhandle one of the Sanctioned."

I looked to Radomir for confirmation. When he nodded, I gestured for Borislav to go ahead. The tsar—former tsar—held his head high as he walked through the assembled crowd, followed by me and Yakovlevich.

Over. It was over.

I'd forsworn myself and ended the rule of my tsar.

I'd helped ensure not one, but two Disinheritances over as many days.

Only time would tell if I'd made the right decision.