9. Borislav

Chapter nine

Borislav

Han

" Y ou are sure you want to go alone?" Konstantin asked again. "I can go with you."

"I don't want to put you in danger. If this isn't some elaborate trap, we could need men like you soon." I mounted my horse and cast a glance upward toward the house, where Mila would be sitting with Ulyana waiting for me. "Tell Mila our business finished early, so I went to the temple to pray for—for the baby's soul." A wave of grief swept over me, tightening my throat. I would find justice for him, for the family we never got to be. "By Otets' grace, I'll be back safe by supper."

"Otets go with you, Han."

The small temple outside of Tsebol was quiet and unassuming, as most people worshiped at the larger temple inside the city. I tied my horse to the post outside and entered the small wooden building, brushing my hand reverently over the red-painted doorframe.

Inside, I took off my black ushanka-hat and bowed reverently in the direction of the altar. A stocky Brother in a simple white robe and cap approached.

"How can we serve you, honored son?"

I swallowed, my skin clammy. The moment of truth. "I've come to pray for the tsar."

The priest blinked once and nodded. "Follow me." He led me to a prayer room off of the main sanctuary and shut the door. "Please kneel."

I did as I was told, heart thundering. Almost as soon as I knelt, the Brother shoved my head onto the kneeling rail and yanked my arms behind my back.

"Who sent you?" he growled, tying my wrists together. I hadn't fastened the bean-filled glove to my wrist properly; it slid off, and the rope slackened. "What is this?" the priest demanded.

I fought down my panic. It wasn't a trap. It couldn't be. The Brother was just being cautious, trying to protect Borislav. "I'm a survivor of Barbezht!" The words tumbled out of me. "Boris Stepanovich sent me!"

The Brother didn't answer but tied my hand to my belt. He placed a rough sack over my head and yanked me to my feet.

I fought to keep my breathing even. They wouldn't cover my face if they were working for Miroslav. They would arrest me, or kill me outright.

A tug on the rope made me pitch forward, and someone—the priest, I assumed—led me, stumbling, through the temple. I heard the sound of a door opening, and we walked down a steep set of stairs. The air became cool and damp, clinging to my skin. Our footsteps echoed as we walked for what felt like ages. Finally, another door opened, and the tugging on the rope stopped. A hand on my back forced me to my knees.

I should have told Mila goodbye. If I died here—

Someone tore the bag from my head. Candlelight illuminated the small, windowless room and the desk in front of me.

On the opposite side of the desk stood Borislav, rightful tsar of Inzhria.

All the air left my lungs. I'd never seen the tsar this close, but it was unmistakably the same man who had led us into the fated battle at Barbezht. His black beard was overgrown, hiding the high cheekbones that would have exposed his heritage, and his simple clothing belied his rank, but he held himself with the same unmistakable authority.

The Brother cleared his throat. "Your majesty, he said he was here to pray for the tsar. He said Boris Stepanovich sent him."

"Thank you for your diligence, but this man is no threat to me." The tsar's voice was soft but commanding. "He has suffered enough for my sake. Unless I am much mistaken, he lost his sword hand at my brother's order." He crossed the room and drew a dagger, using it to cut the rope that bound me. "What is your name, soldier?"

I stared, wide-eyed, at the royal standing before me. "Han Aleksandrovich, your majesty."

He inclined his head. "I thank you for your service, Han Aleksandrovich." To the Brother, he said, "You may leave us."

The door closed behind the priest, and the tsar and I were alone in the small room.

I had to explain, to tell him why I was alive, why I had knelt to his brother. "Your majesty, if I had known, if we had known—we would never have surrendered. We would have fought to the very last man—" I choked on the words, my eyes stinging.

"Rise. Be at peace. How could you have known? You did what you must to survive." Tsar Borislav took a seat, gesturing for me to sit as well.

I remained on my knees, placing my wrist over my heart. "Your majesty, I'm yours to command. I was wrong to kneel to your brother, and I want to swear loyalty to you, only you, for the rest of my life." I'd made a mistake before, changing my loyalties, but I wouldn't make that mistake again. I was Borislav's man for life.

The tsar nodded solemnly, and I said the words every Inzhrian knew but few ever had reason to say. "As I live in the light of Otets, I will serve only you, my lord, do you no harm, and defend and protect you against all who would harm both your good name and your person. I swear to do so from this day until I am called to my eternal rest."

Placing a hand on my head, the tsar gave the traditional response. "I accept your allegiance and swear to be an honorable judge of all your causes, worthy of your loyalty, and I swear also to provide you always with protection of your body and spirit. Rise."

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I stood. "Thank you."

He gestured again to the seat across from him. My whole body hummed with tension, but I sat.

"If we had kno—" I began again, but the tsar held up a hand.

"I have heard what my brother did to the survivors."

The memory of burning flesh filled my nose, and the sound of Benedikt's screams echoed in my ears. I shook myself, trying to escape from the memory. "My friend, Captain Benedikt Ivanovich…"

Borislav nodded. "Boris Stepanovich told me of the captain's death. He was a brave man, and he did not deserve to die like that. But while I'm grateful for the captain's loyalty, I bear no ill will toward the men who chose not to follow him to the grave. Allegiance to a dead tsar benefits no one, and you could not have known I had survived."

The tsar turned to the desk behind him, reaching for a pitcher and two mugs. He poured the drinks and handed one to me.

I raised it into the air. "To the true tsar."

Borislav bowed his head in humble acknowledgment. "Tell me, Han Aleksandrovich. Most of the survivors died following the battle. How did you survive?"

I took a sip and swirled the water around in my mouth, thinking of how to begin. I'd done all I could to forget the events of Barbezht, but they were never far from my mind.

"After your brother pronounced our sentence, they marched us out of the camp and cut us one by one. A few men tried to fight. One of them lost his whole arm. Another lost his head. There was less fighting after that." I took another drink. I hadn't told this story to anyone. Not even Mila knew everything that had happened that night. Only my fellow survivors and the men who had maimed us. "I managed to stay conscious through it all, thank Otets." Yakov had passed out, and I knew that if I did the same, I wouldn't wake back up. "I worked with a couple other survivors to bind our wounds and cauterize them." I shuddered at the memory. I'd never felt pain like that before, the red-hot iron on my open wound. I could still hear the sizzle of burning blood, smell its sickening metallic odor.

I shook myself out of the memory and went on. "I traveled with a young boy named Yakov, the blacksmith's son from my hometown. Between the two of us, we made it home—barely. My parents had died a few years before the war, so I was alone, but my steward was there. He sent for Mila, my betrothed—even though I ordered him not to—and for Yakov's mother. Between the three of them, they nursed us back to health."

I hadn't wanted Mila to see me like that, missing my hand, my face disfigured from the scar I'd received in a previous battle. I'd been furious with Kyril Kyrilovich for summoning her, but the steward had ignored my anger. "She deserves to know," he had said.

"I wouldn't have survived without Mila," I said softly. I'd done everything in my power to make her leave me. I told her I was crippled, a traitor, unable to work. I told her I didn't want her. She hadn't listened, of course. The day after I returned from Barbezht, she made me marry her in a bedside wedding. I smiled wryly at the memory. At my brave, headstrong wife.

"She sounds like a rare woman."

"She's my life." My smile faded. "She made it through that time stronger than ever, but she's changed."

The tsar frowned. "How so?"

I set down my cup and looked into the tsar's dark eyes. "My wife was attacked, your majesty, by some deserters from your brother's new army. We were expecting our first child, and the attack caused our son to be stillborn."

His face grew stormy. "You aren't the first to suffer at the hands of this abomination my brother calls an army, but I will see him dethroned and rectify the wrongs he has committed."

***

Mila

I glanced out the window at the street below. It was already dark, and Konstantin and Ulyana sat in the parlor with me, keeping a light conversation. I pretended not to see the worried glances Ulyana cast my way, or the slight furrow in Konstantin's brow every time a horse passed the house.

"Did Han mention when he would be back?" I hoped my voice sounded nonchalant.

"I'm sure he lost track of the time." The baker's smile was a touch too wide. I didn't know what he was hiding, but I didn't like it.

"He'll probably be back any minute." Ulyana stood. "I'm just going to make sure his supper's still warm. Can I offer you a hot cup of sbiten?"

I shook my head. My mother had always ordered the cook to make sbiten when we received bad news. I couldn't drink the spiced honey water without thinking of my sister's illness or my father's death. "No, thank you. I think I'll retire."

"Of course. Rest well."

I slipped into the small bedroom and sank down onto the bed. Where was Han? And why was Konstantin behaving so strangely? As I undressed for bed, I gnawed on my lip. Maybe someone had recognized him from the fight after the market. The nobleman—whose name Ulyana hadn't known—had seemed to consider Han's punishment sufficient, but maybe the soldiers hadn't agreed. If they'd seen him, they might have taken the opportunity to enforce their own brand of justice. I'd been so eager to get away from my house, from the memories of the attack, that I hadn't stopped to think about the danger Han could still be in.

"Idiot," I muttered to myself.

Han should have thought of that as well. Why had he been so insistent on coming to see Konstantin? He hadn't offered an explanation, and distracted as I had been, I hadn't asked. If I hadn't known him better, I might have assumed he was looking for information on the men who'd attacked me, but that wasn't like Han at all. He wasn't vengeful, no matter how much we'd been through.

The door behind me opened, and I turned to see him enter the room.

"Where have you been?" Anger overtook the rush of relief I felt. "We expected you back hours ago."

"I'm sorry, Milochka. I lost track of the time."

I stiffened. "Ulyana mentioned she had a plate for you, I assume."

"She did, but I wasn't hungry." He sat on the bed next to me and began pulling off his boots, a slight smile playing on his face.

"Well?" I shook with barely suppressed anger. He'd been gone all day without a word of warning, and here he was acting like nothing had happened.

"Hm?"

I stood, throwing up my hands. "Are you going to tell me where you've been all day? I was worried sick! You left this afternoon with Konstantin to meet someone, and then he came home without you and said you'd gone to the temple to pray and would be back by supper. And don't think for one second I believe you were at the temple this whole time. After everything that's happened, you disappear for a whole afternoon in a city crawling with soldiers, and you come in hours after you're supposed to be back, without so much as a hint of remorse!"

He grabbed my hand, but I jerked it back, eyes stinging. "I am sorry, Mila." His expression was open, honest. "I didn't mean to worry you. I didn't want to get your hopes up until I knew…"

"Knew what?" I snapped.

"I went to see the tsar."

In the silence, I could hear the low murmur of Ulyana and Konstantin's voices through the walls. I opened my mouth, trying to form words through my fury.

"Why—How?"

He stared at me, uncomprehending, for a moment. Then understanding dawned on his face. "No! No. Not him. Mila," he took my hand again, "Borislav is alive."

I sat down as his words sank in. "How?" I repeated.

He squeezed my hand. "He survived the battle, Mila! He's been in exile since then, but he just returned. He's raising support to take the throne. To finally defeat his brother." He quivered with excitement.

I frowned, not believing what I was hearing. "You were with Tsar Borislav? He's alive?"

He grinned. "We went this morning to meet someone who claimed the tsar was alive. It turned out to be another survivor from Barbezht. He told me where to go to find him."

I sat unmoving, too shocked even to pull my hand from his, as he recounted his meeting with the tsar.

"He's alive, Mila." He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. "The tsar is alive. And…" His expression wavered slightly. "He wants to meet you."

Shock washed over me like a bucket of icy water. "What?" Borislav, chosen heir of Tsar Vyacheslav, wanted to meet me. "Why?"

"I told him about…" He shook his head, unable or unwilling to speak about my attack. "Everything that's happened over the past few months. And about what we went through after Barbezht. He was impressed by your bravery."

An ember of hope flickered in my breast. No one could restore my child to me, but if Borislav wanted to meet me, maybe he would help me claim the justice I deserved. The justice I'd never find in Miroslav's tsardom. I could tell Borislav the truth about who attacked me. When he took the throne, he'd see those men punished.

Han cleared his throat. "If you're not ready—"

I cut him off. "When do we go?"

"Tomorrow morning." He reached out to brush a thumb over my cheek, and for the first time in months, his touch didn't make my skin crawl.

"Good." I climbed under the covers, turning over and closing my eyes. "You should get some sleep."

He laid his hand on my head. "Good night, dorogusha."