5. Grief

Chapter five

Grief

Han

I sat by the bed, holding Mila's hand. She lay naked beneath piles of quilts—we hadn't wanted to move her more than necessary, so no one had dressed her. We'd moved her as she was into the guest bedroom. I'd sponged off the worst of the blood and dirt, but she still looked awful. Her golden-brown skin was mottled with blue and purple bruises.

I'd been in Selyik with Kyril Kyrilovich, haggling with the baker, when Yakov had burst in, a frantic look on his face. "It's Mila," was all he'd said, all he'd had time to say before I'd rushed out the door.

I'd come home to find my wife naked and battered, unconscious on the kitchen floor. Anna held my stillborn son. Marya Ivanovna's body lay in Mila's garden. Blood made a trail from the sitting room to the garden, and no one knew what had happened. No one but Mila.

She'd regained consciousness several times in the three days since we'd found her, but she didn't speak. She didn't even seem to recognize us. She swallowed whatever we put to her lips—water, broth, tonics—but other than that, she lay staring at the ceiling, unmoving. The doctor had said her injuries weren't life-threatening, but he couldn't say when—or if—her mind would return.

I reached for the Blood Bastard book on the nightstand and rifled through it again. I hadn't found any remedies yet, but maybe I'd missed something. If anyone knew how to cure my wife, it would be a Blood Bastard.

I flipped past "Tonic to Speed Bone Healing" and "Salve for Broken Skin"—the latter was familiar, a recipe Mila used on me frequently. I stopped on a page that read, "For the Reduction of Pain in Childbirth," and my heart stuttered. She had mentioned it to me just a week ago, a new tonic she was planning to make for the birth of our baby. Our son.

I'd already lost him. I couldn't lose Mila, too. We didn't have the money to pay a Blood Bastard, but if she remained like this much longer, I'd sell everything I had. Anything to heal her.

I set the book to the side and took her hand again, squeezing it slightly.

She squeezed my hand back.

My breath caught. "Mila?"

She opened her eyes and looked around, her gaze landing on me. "Han?"

She was awake. Thank Otets. Really, truly awake. She knew me. "I'm here, Milochka." I blinked back tears. "Don't move. I'll get you a drink."

I poured a cup of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. Propping her head up with my arm, I held the cup to her lips. She gulped it down, then let me lean her back against the pillows.

"How do you feel, dorogaya?"

"It hurts." Her voice came out small, and a pang went through me.

I brushed a hair away from her face. "Where?"

"Everywhere." She coughed and cried out in pain.

"You have some broken ribs." I stroked her cheek, unable to keep from touching her. "You'll have to stay in bed until they heal."

She nodded. Then her hand flew to her stomach. "The baby?" she whispered, eyes wide with horror.

I couldn't voice the words. I shook my head.

"No." Her voice was plaintive, desperate. "No."

There was nothing I could say to fix this. I climbed onto the bed, careful of her injuries, and wrapped my arms around her. Tears fell from my eyes as her body shook with silent sobs.

I held her until both our tears were spent.

***

Mila

I'd thought it was a nightmare. Prayed it was a nightmare. For the first few moments after I'd awoken, before I'd opened my eyes, I'd been able to imagine it was.

Then I'd woken fully, and it had all become real.

Han was the first to speak, his voice low and thick from crying. "What happened?"

I froze.

He didn't know. Of course he didn't know. No one had seen my attackers but me and Marya Ivanovna. With Marya Ivanovna dead, only my attackers and I knew the truth.

The nobleman had intended to use me to hurt Han. He'd succeeded—nothing I said could erase the deaths of our son and our housekeeper—but that didn't mean Han had to bear the blame for it. He didn't have to know who attacked me or why. They wouldn't come looking for him again. I couldn't protect him from the pain, but I could protect him from the guilt.

"Mila?" he prompted.

"Deserters." It was the only thing I could think to say. "They didn't know who they were. I don't know why Marya Ivanovna let them into the sitting room. I was out in the garden when they started shouting. I—" I choked on my words, remembering the housekeeper's final moments. "Marya Ivanovna was dead when I came in."

His arms tightened around me, and I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out in pain. "What did they do?" he asked.

Otets, his grip was painful. "They wanted me to keep quiet. Not tell anyone that I'd seen them. I guess they thought if they—if they hurt me, I wouldn't talk."

"Did they…"

I knew what he wanted to ask. He wanted to know if they'd done more than beat me. He wanted to know why I'd been naked on the floor when they'd found me. If they'd raped me.

"No," I lied. He didn't need to know the truth, the details. What he'd seen was enough. Too much, even.

"When are the funerals?" I asked. Marya Ivanovna and the baby would both need to be buried. Marya Ivanovna's sister would plan hers, but who would plan the baby's?

Han tensed. "We didn't know…" He stopped. "Anna saw him buried this morning. I didn't want to leave you."

I'd never even gotten to see him. My son, he was my son, and I didn't even know what he looked like. Tears choked me, grief threatening to drown me, but I swallowed hard and spoke again. "How long has it been? Since—" I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

"Three days. Do you not remember…?"

I'd been unconscious for three days? "Remember what?"

He pulled back to look at my face. "You woke up, but you didn't say anything. You didn't even move, just laid there, staring off at nothing. You don't remember any of that?"

I'd been awake? And I'd missed my son's burial by just a few hours. The tears were more insistent this time. I jerked from Han's grasp. A bolt of pain shot through my torso, and I screamed.

"Mila—" he started, but Anna rushed in.

"You're awake!" She hurried to the bedside, taking my hand. "Where does it hurt, dear? What can I do?"

I shook my head, clutching my stomach. There was nothing she could do.

Anna swatted Han's arm. "Get off the bed! You're going to hurt her more." He scrambled off, and she turned back to me. "Should I send for the doctor? Do you need anything?"

I shook my head again, fighting against the flood of tears.

"It's alright, Mila," she said, stroking my hair. "You're safe now. It'll be alright."

It wouldn't be. Nothing would ever be alright again. I nodded anyway.

"I'll go fix you some kasha, da? You need to eat something." She patted my hand and hurried out the door, leaving me alone with Han again.

"Mila—" he began, but I held up a hand.

"I need to be alone."

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but after a moment, he nodded once. "I'll be right outside the door if you need me."

I waited until the door had closed to let my tears out in full force again.