48. Andrey

48

ANDREY

For the first time since he was captured by my men, I seek out the boy.

Misha is reading in his room. It's just a book, but the way he jumps and tries to hide it when he sees me standing in the doorway makes it seem like illegal contraband.

"What have you got there?"

"Nothing," he answers a little too quickly.

I hold out a hand, waiting. His face sours, but he retrieves the book from under the pillow where he stashed it. He doesn't meet my eyes as he forks it over.

I'm expecting a dirty magazine or a mass murderer's manifesto, but it's just a flimsy paper copy of The Ugly Duckling . I flip through the pages, looking for something stashed between them, but there's nothing.

The words are in large, bolded text. It's the kind of easy reader book you'd give a child just learning to read. Nothing more, nothing less.

I look from the cover to Misha's face. "We have a library if you want something else." I don't immediately understand the flush that rises to his cheeks. And then it hits me: "You can't read."

"I can read," he snaps. He sucks in his cheeks, chewing on the insides. "I'm just… not very good." His voice wobbles, but it doesn't break.

Not for the first time, I understand what Natalia sees in him. He's made of tougher stuff than most.

Throwing the book onto his bed, I gesture for him to follow me. "Come on, let's go for a walk."

He doesn't move. "Where?"

"Just around the property."

"With Natalia and Remi?" He looks past me into the hallway, the hope in his eyes dimming when he sees it's empty.

"Just me today, Misha."

Judging from the look on his face, he's not reassured in the least, but he does follow me out of his room.

The silence continues until we're outside. I don't have to worry about being interrupted; Natalia and Remi are at work for the day. Then again, maybe it might have been better to include Natalia in this conversation. Misha likes her. He trusts her.

I suppose I'll have to rely on my own instincts to guide me through this one.

We walk for several more minutes before I finally break the silence. "Misha, do you know why you were sent to spy on me?"

The boy's head rises and his chin juts out stubbornly. "I wasn't sent to spy; I was bait." He spits the word like it's beneath him. Given what I've seen of him the last few weeks, I tend to agree. Nikolai severely underestimated the asset he had on his hands.

"I don't have any more information to give you," Misha adds brusquely. "I've already told Shura everything I know."

"I know that." I step closer and clap a hand on his shoulder. "I know Nikolai Rostov, Misha. He would never have considered you important enough to share information with. You were only a pawn to sacrifice. So that, if you were caught, it wouldn't matter, because you'd have nothing worthwhile to divulge."

He works his jaw back and forth until I'm sure his teeth are dust. His hands start to tremble with a rage I know all too well.

With a sigh, I lead him over to the old stone bench. He perches on the far corner of it, his hands tucked beneath his thighs so I can't see them tremble.

"If I were to set you free, where would you go?"

Misha's jaw trembles for a moment before he composes himself with the resolve of someone who had to grow up far too young. "I don't know."

"Where would you go if you could go anywhere you wanted to?"

"I… I don't know," he repeats. His hands are fisted so tightly his knuckles are white.

The circus, he could've said. Disney World. The fucking moon.

He didn't even have enough of a childhood to dream.

"And what if I said you didn't have to go?" I look in his eyes, trying to drum up some of the magic Natalia has. The quality that draws people in and holds them close. "What if I told you that you could stay here if you wanted?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "I would stay."

It's the first clear answer I've gotten out of him since he was captured. I can't explain the surge of satisfaction that it sends coursing through me. "Natalia thinks that this is the best place for you."

There's a ghostly smile fighting its way to Misha's lips. "So I get to stay here? With Natalia?"

"She seems to think that you'll be a great help with the baby."

He finally lets the smile crack through the surface. "I'm good with babies. I used to look after the smaller kids in the compound."

My gut twists. "There were others?"

"Not many. I was always the oldest. I think that's why they kept me around. They needed someone to babysit."

His voice cracks as he speaks. Reflected in his eyes are the ghosts of all those little ones who came into his care with little explanation and left with even less. A graveyard of unfinished stories, unanswered questions. I shudder at the sight.

Did he love them? Did he help them? Did he know they were marked for death from the beginning?

"That's all in the past now, Misha. You don't have to babysit anyone if you don't want to."

He stuffs his hands into his pants pockets and turns to the side so that only his profile is visible to me. He's fighting emotion and I'm impressed with how well he masters it.

The boy has potential. A lot of potential.

"But living here comes with conditions."

He doesn't so much as flinch. Apparently, this is something he does understand—nothing in life is free. "Okay."

"You have to go to school, for one."

"No. I can't do school." For the first time, he looks genuinely panicked. "I'm stupid."

I clasp a hand on his shoulder and he freezes at the unexpected contact. "I've seen stupid in my life. You're not it."

"I can't go to school. I'll never fit in there. I'm not… I'm not like other kids." He looks down, wringing his hands together into worried knots. "I'd rather just stay here. I'll stay here and work—be useful to you and Natalia."

My chest is alive with a million nameless emotions now. But one thing rises above the fray, one certainty.

Natalia is right. He deserves more.