Page 36 of A War Apart

Izolda laughed. “You’ll do fine. You’re as taciturn as the real Sofia was.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be. Fia was an accomplished seamstress, but she wasn’t social. She was born here in Tsebol. Her mother died in childbirth, and her father apprenticed her to a seamstress. When the seamstress died, she took over the practice. Her father died at Sobralen in service to the tsar—Tsar Miroslav, that is. She had no siblings, and no particular attachments.”

“How sad that she died with no one to miss her.”

“You’re too sweet,” Izolda said. “I think she was happy enough, though. Her work was her life. She’d be glad to know that her legacy lives on after her.”

“Even if it’s being used to bring down Miroslav?”

“We didn’t talk about politics, but I didn’t get the idea she cared who sat on the throne. As I said, being a seamstress was her life. She wasn’t interested in much beyond that.”

The enormity of my actions struck me then. I’d taken on more than just a new body. This identity, this person I’d become, was a person. She’d had a life, opinions and desires of her own. Moon Fever killed her, but now I had her life. Her name, her face. I had to give her a legacy worth remembering.

“You don’t need to worry about imitating her, though,” Izolda went on, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “No one at court knew her, and she’d never been to the capital. You’ll need to be more social than she was if you want to succeed at court. The more connections you have, the more likely you are to hear something important. Which, by the way, you’ll pass on to me—or to the baroness, if need be. We have a connection in the city guard who can pass messages out, but it’s best if you don’t meet with him directly.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “Sofia’s father fought for Miroslav in the rebellion, but before that he owned a smithy. She wasn’t close to him, but he apprenticed her off when she was young—about four, I think—and she never really saw him after that. He sent money for her upkeep, but he was busy working in the smithy before the uprising, and then, of course, he was killed. Think you can remember all that?”

“I was born in Tsebol. My mother died in childbirth, and my father was a smith who died in the battle of Sobralen in service of Tsar Miroslav. I was apprenticed when I was four and took over the seamstress’s practice when she died.”

“Perfect!” Izolda sounded genuinely pleased.

Once the braid was finished, she took the povyazka and arranged it on my head. Observing her handiwork, she grinned. “You’ll do. Come on, the baroness will be waiting.”

I tried to look around inconspicuously as we walked through the warm, spacious hallways of the castle. The wing she led me to was much the same as the baron’s private wing where I’d slept, though more populated. We reached a sitting room, and Izolda knocked on the frame of the open door and entered without waiting for an answer.

Next to the window sat an older woman in a silver kokoshnik. The high headdress resembled a halo over her serene figure as she remained focused on her writing. Izolda gave a small cough.

She glanced at us. Her eyes and mouth were wrinkled with laugh lines, but she wasn’t smiling. “You’re late.”

“Apologies, my lady.”

The baroness, Lady Heli, waved a hand. “No matter. Close the door. Come here, girl.” She crooked a finger at me, and I took a cautious step forward. “From this moment on, you are Sofia Stepanova, my seamstress. I don’t need to know who you were—unless and until your assignment is complete, whoever you were is dead. You will answer only to your new name. You willhave no contact with anyone from your previous life. Do you understand?”

I nodded, though my chest tightened as the implications of my hasty decision hit me. No contact with anyone from my previous life. Months without word from Han, Anna, and Yakov.

“Good. You may sit.”

I took a seat on a low stool across from her, and she gave me an appraising look.

“In case the tsar neglected to impress on you the gravity of your position, you must know the responsibility you hold.” Her voice lowered. “By going to the capital, you are responsible for the safety of not only yourself, but also every other supporter of his majesty. A single misspoken word could reveal the rebellion. While you are at court, you are not to breathe a word about the tsar or his followers. If you betray us, whether intentionally or not, you had best pray to Otets that Miroslav finds you before I do, because what he will do to a spy is nothing to what I will do to a traitor. Do I make myself clear?”

My mouth was cottony. I swallowed hard. “Yes, my lady.”

“Good.” The baroness turned back to her writing. “Where are you from?”

“Tsebol, my lady.”

“And your parents?”

“My mother died in childbirth, and my father died at Sobralen serving Tsar Miroslav.”

“Where is your seamstress practice?”

“I—” I cast a nervous glance at Izolda. "Here in Tsebol."

The baroness’s sharp eyes pierced me again. “Whereexactly?”When I didn’t answer, she huffed. “Izolda, did you teach her nothing?”

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