Page 29 of A War Apart

“Let it be,” we echoed.

“Now, Han,” Tsar Borislav said as we began eating, “the baron and I were speaking before your arrival this morning about you and your fellow survivors of Barbezht. The tsardom owes you a debt we can never repay, but I would like to try. Following my ascension to the throne, I intend to ennoble all the survivors of Barbezht in recompense for your losses and in return for your support in the coming conflict.”

My mouth dropped open. Ennoble? He would make wounded soldiers, convicted traitors members of his court? “Your majesty, I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing, friend. It’s no more than your due, and probably far less than that, by the time this is all finished.”

I stared at the man sitting across from me, his eyes wide with sincerity. “I’m honored, but what possible benefit could a handful of cripples be to your cause?”

I heard the hiss of Mila’s breath, but the tsar just smiled. “You underestimate yourself, Han. True, there are few of you, but who could be more important to me than those who have been my supporters since the beginning? And there could be no one more resourceful than the man who has lost a hand. Boris Stepanovich has made a living here in Tsebol. You and the young man you saved—I believe you said his name was Yakov?—have farmed the land the past five years. All three of you have shown great strength of character after Barbezht, and you will have learnedthings from the last uprising that I did not. You may not be able to wield a sword, but wars are not won primarily on the battlefield.

I looked down at my plate, my head swimming. “Your majesty is too kind.”

“Not in the least.” His smile turned rueful. “My motives are not all so pure as that. Grateful as I am for you and your fellow survivors and for your support, there are other reasons for my generosity.”

I looked back up, an eyebrow raised in question.

“My brother alienated many of his supporters when he chose to maim unarmed men who had offered him their surrender. I don’t wish to repeat his mistakes. By rewarding those who Miroslav punished, I can win the support of those he lost. True, most of them aren’t of the noble class, but when I win the heart of the lower classes, I will have won the tsardom.

“I also wish to have a survivor of Barbezht present with me as a reminder not to repeat my brother’s mistakes. I will have to be ruthless on the battlefield, and at times I will have to be ruthless off it, but I would not estrange myself from loyal supporters by administering cruel punishments to defeated enemies. Having one of my brother’s victims constantly at hand, I hope, will keep me humble.

“So you see, Han, I am not the paragon of virtue you would paint me. A gift from a tsar is never truly generous; there’s always a hidden agenda.”

The tsar’s motives sounded more noble with the explanation than without. “Your majesty, you are more worthy of the throne than I ever thought. Your motives do you credit.I would be honored to be a noble in your court, and as I vowed yesterday, you have my service, whatever you would ask of me.”

Borislav listed his glass in recognition, then turned to Mila. “But Lyudmila Dmitrievna, you will think me remiss for my lackof attention. Don’t think that because I ask for your husband’s service that you’ve been forgotten.”

“Not at all, your majesty.” She smiled at him, the expression more sincere than any she’d worn in weeks. Was she pleased by his offer? She’d make a wonderful noblewoman. Marya Ivanovna would have been apoplectic with joy, I thought with a twinge of grief. “And please, call me Mila.”

My lips twitched in an approximation of a smile. She hated her name. The only one who ever called her Lyudmila, rather than Mila, was her mother.

“Mila, then. Your husband tells me you were trained as a seamstress?”

She nodded, pushing her barely-touched plate back. “My mother wanted me to join her practice. I married Han instead, and she and my brother moved east.”

“Ilya Sergeyevich and I have been working to place an informant in my brother’s court, and an opportunity has arisen that you are perfectly suited for.”

My chest tightened, and I gripped the edge of the table. He wanted to send Mila to court? She’d be in as much danger as if she were on a battlefield, if not more.

Mila’s face showed surprise, rather than fear. “I’m honored, your majesty, but isn’t there someone better suited for the position? Even my husband—” She broke off as Borislav shook his head, smiling.

“Han's missing hand makes him too conspicuous and marks him as one of my former supporters. My magic is strong, mistress, but even I cannot grow body parts where there are none. And the position requires certain talents your husband lacks.”

“What would I be doing?”

She couldn’t be considering this. I tried to catch her eyes, but she was fixated on the tsar, face screwed up in contemplation.

“There is an opening at court for a seamstress. Lady Heli, Lord Ilya’s wife, was asked to make a recommendation. You would have a room and freedom to come and go throughout the city. A member of the lower classes at court has opportunities to hear things nobles cannot, and while Lord Ilya and Lady Heli have servants they trust, Miroslav is watching their household carefully. As a trade worker, you would not be a member of their household, and as such you would not be as strictly observed.”

I could see by the expression on Mila’s face that she wanted to accept the offer. She had no idea the danger she was putting herself in. If she was caught, Miroslav wouldn’t spare her just because she was a woman. She’d be tortured, executed. I had to stop her. “Your majesty, while my wife has many gifts, she has no experience as a spy. How would she know what to do? What sort of information to listen for?”

She scowled at me, but the tsar nodded thoughtfully. “A reasonable question. She would have contacts at court—Lord Ilya’s household, primarily—to help guide her. She would perform all the regular duties of a seamstress and to pass on anything learned in the course of those duties.” He looked at Mila. “We have others in place who could do the more dangerous tasks of infiltrating heavily guarded areas or stealing sensitive documents. What we need from you is the appearance of neutrality, of being a trade worker with no particular loyalties, in order to overhear important news that might be passed through the women of court.”

“How long would I be gone?”

My chest tightened. She couldn’t leave. I placed my arm on her leg, but she ignored me as the baron answered.

“No more than a few months. I’ve been summoned to court. We leave in a week.”

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