Page 43 of A War Apart

A cheer went up, but the Blood Brother raised his hands for silence.

“We have a brother here who wishes to speak to you of Miroslav’s crimes. Han Antonovich, may Otets bless your words.” He took a seat in the crowd.

I walked to the front of the room, uncomfortably aware of the eyes on me. “My—” My voice broke. I cleared my throat and began again.

“My name is Han Antonovich. I come from Selyik, and Miroslav has cost me my brothers in arms, my reputation, my hand, and my child.”

The room was silent. I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart.

“Most of the men in my town did not fight in the uprising. You know that with the baron out of the country, our region was not called to arms for either tsar. Some of the Selyik men chose tofight for Miroslav. I, along with my childhood friend Benedikt, fought for Borislav.

“You already know how the last uprising ended. After a few losses, Miroslav brought foreign mercenaries to Inzhria. He killed nearly every one of Borislav’s soldiers. I narrowly survived, as did my friend. The survivors were rounded up and told to swear allegiance.”

I saw tears in the eyes of some of the men. Who had they lost? Barbezht had touched everyone in the tsardom in some way. Some regions were more affected than others; those that had declared for Miroslav were almost completely unscathed, while others lost an entire generation of young men. Judging by the ages of the men before me, this town had suffered relatively few losses.

“Miroslav told us Tsar Borislav was dead. He promised us mercy if we would surrender to him. Benedikt, my friend, rejected the chance to surrender, and Miroslav turned the Gifts of the Sanctioned against him. He burned my friend to death.” The scent of burning flesh came to me, and I clenched my fist, nails digging into my palms to bring me back to the present moment.

“With these options before us, we knelt, expecting the mercy promised to us. Instead, Miroslav ordered his men to cut off our sword hands.” I lifted my maimed arm, no longer hidden by the glove, for them to see. “I bear a permanent reminder of Miroslav’smercy.”I heard the bitterness in my own voice as I spat out the last word. None of the men moved, but I saw pity and disgust mingling on their faces.

“Most of the survivors died of their wounds. Only a handful of us made it home. I thought that having survived the war, I had made it through the worst of it. I mourned the death of Tsar Borislav. I recovered from my injuries. I found a way to live without my hand. As a survivor of Barbezht, I was brandeda traitor, but I pressed on. I married a strong, beautiful woman who refused to let me give in to despair. We built a life together. For a short time, we were happy.

“But Miroslav wasn’t content with defeating his brother. Inzhria wasn’t enough for him. He wants an empire, and to build it, he’s formed an army.” A few of the men nodded their agreement. “He took idle, cruel men and gave them authority to do whatever they wanted.

“In my small town with my newly pregnant wife, I assumed we were safe from Miroslav’s standing army. We heard news of crimes committed by the soldiers, but they were far enough from us, I thought we would remain untouched. They would leave the region soon, I was sure, to build the tsar’s new empire. But they didn’t leave.

“While I was away from home one day, a few deserters, some of the violent men Miroslav couldn’t keep control over, came to my house. My wife was at home with our housekeeper.” The room was deadly silent, as though no one dared to breathe. I was barely breathing myself. “They killed our housekeeper and beat my wife nearly to death. They murdered our unborn son.”

My eyes filled with tears, and I struggled to force the words out. “Because of Miroslav, I lost everything. I could have surrendered to despair. I wanted to, but Otets guided me. He showed me His plan for the tsardom. He led me to Borislav.”

A wave of whispered confusion swept through the room. One man in the back spoke up over the murmurs. “Borislav is dead, sir.”

“I thought so, too, but he is not. Through a miracle, he survived Barbezht, and he’s returned to take his rightful place as Heir of the Sanctioned.”

A clamor of voices broke out as everyone vied to speak at once.

“Brothers!” The priest stood, shouting over everyone. “Let Han Antonovich finish speaking.”

The room quieted. I looked around, meeting a few suspicious gazes. “I understand this is hard to believe. I didn’t believe it myself until I met the tsar. But I assure you, he is alive, and he will guide the country back onto the path Otets revealed for Inzhria through the Prophet. I ask you, brothers, to join us. Gather your weapons, be prepared, and in a few weeks the tsar will call for you. He will gather his army, and you can see him for yourselves. We will take back the tsardom from Miroslav.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “Will you join us?”

There was silence for a moment. A sallow-skinned man stood. “I will, sir.”

Another man followed him, his long black coils of hair swaying with the movement. “As will I.”

In a moment, everyone was on their feet. My chest swelled as their declarations of allegiance rang through the room.

Chapter fifteen

Idesk

Mila

The white towers of the city wall loomed against the cloudless blue sky. I gaped at the giant gate, twice as tall as the gate to Tsebol. As we rode into the shadow of the wall, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the frigid air.

“Your mouth is hanging open, Fia.”

I grinned sheepishly at Izolda. In the two weeks we’d been traveling, I’d grown used to my new identity, including the nickname she insisted on using. “Sorry. It’s just so big.”

“Wait until you see the palace. It’s always been beautiful, but Tsar Miroslav completely renovated it. Huge marble balconies over the ocean, formed by magic—he had all the Sanctioned come to the capital to work on it—and a throne room so ridiculously pretty I can’t even begin to describe it.”

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