Page 18 of A War Apart

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, Icouldn’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 woodsbehind 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. Ihadneeded 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.

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