6. Aftermath

Chapter six

Aftermath

Mila

T he following weeks dragged by. As the first of my bruises began to heal and frost formed on the ground outside, I was finally allowed out of bed, but only as far as the chair by the window. Han and Yakov sat with me when they weren't working, and Anna was a near-permanent fixture in the room.

They hadn't yet deemed me fit enough to relocate from the guest room on the ground floor to the upstairs bedroom I shared with Han. While Han and Anna worried that the stairs would be too much of a challenge for my injured body, I had a more personal reason to avoid the bedroom. I wasn't ready to share a bed with him again. I didn't want to be touched.

A stream of well-wishers trickled through the house as time passed. I was spared their attentions by virtue of my bedroom confinement, but I could hear their hushed expressions of sympathy from my room.

After a month of confinement, the constant hovering had begun to grate on me. That morning, I sat by the window between Han and Anna. Han stared at a set of papers—financial statements from the year, I assumed, but he hadn't actually done anything with them in over a half hour. Instead, he tapped his foot incessantly, rubbing the scar on his forehead. Whenever he thought I wasn't paying attention, he looked up at me, as though afraid I would disappear if he didn't keep me in his sights.

"By Otets!" I finally swore, throwing down the shirt I was mending—the only work I was permitted to do. Han jumped at the outburst. "Your fidgeting is going to make me lose my mind. Go. Away."

He reached out and put his hand on my knee. "I don't want to leave you alone."

I clenched my teeth. "Anna is here. Kyril Kyrilovich is working in the stables. Please. For the love of all the Sanctioned. Go away."

He let out a breath. "If that's what you want, Milochka. Yakov is chopping firewood; I can join him." Leaning down to kiss my head, he added, "I'll be back for supper. You'll send for me if you need anything?"

"Go!" I screeched, pushing him toward the door. He left with one last worried look back.

Anna clicked her tongue. "He's mourning, too, you know."

"He's treating me like a porcelain doll," I huffed, picking up the shirt I'd thrown down. "I can't handle his hovering. And he'll feel better getting back to normal. Back to work." I stabbed my needle through the cloth. "We all need to get back to work."

When I didn't hear a response, I looked up to find Anna watching me.

"Mila, listen to me. It's alright to mourn. You can't expect everything to go back to normal so quickly. You're still healing, and not just physically. I know when my husband Sasha died, I couldn't leave my bed for a week, and it took months before I could hear his name without bursting into tears. Give yourself time to process things, to cry. To be sad."

"I've cried enough. I'm not sad anymore."

She gave me a look that was half disbelief, half pity.

"Truly! I'm not sad, I'm angry. Angry at the bastards who took my son from me. I can't change anything by crying or trying to make myself feel something I don't. So I'm going to go back to a normal life. And I'm not going to be treated as if I'm made of glass." Ignoring her stare, I set my mending down and stalked out of the room.

In the hallway, I stopped and took a breath. I hadn't been out of that room in a month, and the sudden freedom was almost overwhelming. Why had I let them keep me trapped for so long? I was weak still, but I didn't need to be stuck in a single room for weeks on end. I needed industry. A task.

At the foot of the stairs, I looked around guiltily. No one was watching me.

What had happened to me? I was sneaking around my own house. The confinement had tampered with my mind. I shook my head and began climbing the stairs.

I stopped at the top, breathing hard. More than my mind had been affected, if climbing a single flight of stairs winded me. After catching my breath, I opened the door to the room I shared with Han.

The man was impossible. He'd left papers strewn across the bed. Dirty clothes covered the floor, and he hadn't thought to empty the basin of his shaving water that morning. I sighed. At least I'd have something to keep myself occupied. Someone had to clean the room.

Marya Ivanovna wouldn't approve, I thought as I gathered up the clutter. The mistress of the house shouldn't concern herself with such menial labor.

Grief pierced me, as sharp as the very first day, and I took a seat on the bed.

I hadn't lied when I'd told Anna I was angry. I'd done everything I could to protect those around me, and it hadn't been enough. Someone should hold my attackers responsible for their actions, but I knew Miroslav wouldn't give me justice. He was almost as culpable as the lord of Arick.

No one would hold them responsible. Not the soldiers, not the nobleman, and certainly not the tsar who'd torn my family apart.

It all came back to Miroslav, didn't it? He was the one who had taken Han's hand. He was the one whose army attacked innocents, who allowed his soldiers to treat the few remaining survivors of Barbezht like dirt. He was the one who sent his nobles to execute men for a simple tavern fight.

My son's death, Marya Ivanovna's death, my pain—they could all ultimately be laid at the feet of Miroslav. Someone should make him pay for his crimes against the people of Inzhria. Not that anyone could or would.

I sighed and leaned back on the bed. My hand brushed a paper, and I picked it up. It was a letter addressed to me from Ulyana Petrovna, the daughter of our tenant. I had a flash of irritation at Han for not giving it to me. Had he been hiding my letters?

I scanned it. Ulyana sent her condolences and asked after my health. She wrote about her wedding, which I had missed, and about her new home in Tsebol and the bakery her husband owned. She shared the latest rumors—a gamayun, a legless bird whose appearance foretold the death of a great leader, had been spotted over the city, and Tsar Borislav had not only survived Barbezht but was living in the woods outside of Tsebol. I snorted at that; rumors of Borislav's survival had abounded since the battle, but I'd never heard of him being so close to home.

I finished the letter and set it back on the bed. It was entirely innocuous. Had Han planned on answering it for me, or was he just reading it before passing it on? I fumed. Protecting me physically was one thing, but I didn't need to be coddled. Reading my letters was too much.

I went to the desk and penned a reply. Thanking Ulyana for her concern, I assured her I was feeling much better and apologized for missing the wedding. I'd have to make sure to send a gift along with the letter. Doubtless Han hadn't remembered to send one the day of the wedding. He hadn't attended, either, preferring to spend the day hovering over me.

I paused, a sudden thought coming to me. If the nobleman who attacked me had been in Tsebol, his presence would have been noted. Ulyana might know who he was.

If nothing else, I could learn the name of the man who killed my child.

I heard Tsebol had an auspicious visitor recently, I wrote. The lord of Arick, according to rumor, although you know how untrustworthy rumors can be. (Borislav living near Tsebol! I've never heard of anything so ridiculous.) Tell me everything! I am truly starved for news here.

There. Nothing to arouse suspicion, but if Ulyana knew anything of the nobleman, she'd pass it on. I finished the letter and folded it up. I could have it sent out in the morning.

***

Han

I took my ax and dinner basket and found my way to the woods behind the house. Mila was right; I did need to get out. We would need plenty of wood for the long winter, and the exertion would be good for me, after spending the morning staring mindlessly at expense reports.

"Mila finally kick you out of the house?" Yakov hollered, waving his ax in greeting. Despite the cool autumn breeze, his jacket lay on the ground, and he'd wrapped his shirt around his waist. He wiped sweat from his brow with his arm.

I grinned sheepishly. "She was going to wring my neck. I'll be over here if you need me."

The first swing of the ax was a balm. I had needed to get out, to be alone for a while. I hadn't been alone since the day it had happened; even when working outside of the house, I'd had Yakov or Kyril Kyrilovich with me at all times, and I'd managed to pass most of my outdoor work to Kyril so I could work inside, near Mila. Here in the woods, with no one in sight and only Yakov in hearing, I felt freer than I had in a month. The ring of metal on wood, the smell of dirt and wood chips, and the cool autumn air healed me in a way I hadn't realized I'd needed.

Chopping wood one-handed had been one of the first tasks I'd learned to do after returning from Barbezht. Even now, after five years, it didn't come naturally, requiring concentration to ensure the ax landed where I intended. I was grateful for the focus today, as it kept my mind from wandering.

I didn't stop until the tree was felled and the branches were stripped. I raised the ax to begin splitting the first branch when Yakov shouted.

"Are you going to take a dinner break today?"

I looked up. It was later than I'd expected. I set down my ax and walked to where my friend sat on a nearby stump.

"I've been sitting here for ten minutes," Yakov said, handing over my dinner basket.

"And you've still got food left?" I raised a brow. "I don't believe it."

"No. I finished mine and started on yours." He took a last bite of his apple and tossed the core over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes, reaching into the basket for a hunk of black bread. It wasn't Marya Ivanovna's pirozhki, but it was good nonetheless. Anna had been cooking for us since Marya Ivanovna's death, spending her days at our house and only going back to the house she shared with her son at night.

"It's good to get out," I said, pushing away thoughts of the past month as I took a bite of the bread.

"I'm surprised you stayed in this long," Yakov said with a sidelong glance. "I'm surprised Mila let you."

"She needed me."

He snorted. "She hasn't seemed to need anybody, from what I've seen. She's been mean to everyone since the moment she woke up."

I clenched my fist, crushing the bread. "You wouldn't understand." I stood and turned away. "It's like—like an animal caught in a trap. She's hurting so much she'll lash out at anyone nearby."

Silence met my words. After a moment, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned. Tears glistened in Yakov's brown eyes.

"I'm sorry, Han. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't expect you to understand. You've never been…" I took a deep breath through my nose. "Nevermind."

"I know it's not the same," he said, tugging at a loose string on his sleeve. "I know I haven't lost a son, and it wasn't my wife who was attacked, but if you think I'm not hurting too, you're wrong. You're like a brother to me. Mila's like a sister. Whatever hurts you hurts me. What those bastards did, they did to all of us."

I pulled him into a tight embrace. "Thank you. That…that means a lot."

His ears were red, but he grinned as he pulled back. "Just don't go hugging me like that in front of other people. I have a reputation to maintain."

"As what? A eunuch?" My throat was swollen with unshed tears, but I swallowed the lump, grateful for the change in topic. I'd spent enough time drowning in my emotions.

"As a ladies' man." He puffed out his chest, and I shoved him.

"You'd have to actually spend time with ladies to get that reputation. And no," I added, seeing him open his mouth to respond, "Mila and your mother don't count."

"Oh, shut up. Shouldn't you be working?" He grabbed his ax and stalked back off into the woods, ignoring my laughter.

As he walked out of sight, I sat down on the stump. I felt almost guilty, laughing so soon after everything that had happened. But it was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The walls of the house had threatened to suffocate me, and while I was reluctant to leave Mila alone for long, even with Anna, the work and laughter were healing.

Nothing would be the same as it was before, but we could get through this.