Page 45 of A War Apart

“Most of the nobles are housed on this side of the palace.” Izolda stopped in front of a mirror and perused her reflection. “Lord Ilya and Lady Heli are upstairs, third floor. The higher the status, the lower the rooms, and the closeness to the tsar’s tower indicates favor, too. The baron and baroness haven’t been closer than halfway down the hall since Tsar Vyacheslav died.”

Standing behind her, I caught sight of my own reflection. Izolda had spent the journey teaching me how to care for my new, more textured hair, and her lessons seemed to have paid off. The tight rows of braids I’d put in the previous day were still intact, coming together to form a two long braids down my back. I felt a sense of pride in my appearance; even though it wasn’t really my body, I felt beautiful living as Sofia.

Izolda finished checking her appearance and walked down the hall, toward two guards standing on either side of an enormous wooden door. As we passed them and rounded the corner, she took my arm. “That’s the tsar’s tower. You won’t have any reason to go in there, but on the opposite side of the palace is the tsarina’s tower. You should try to get a commission from the tsarina or the dowager tsarina. It would be a great achievement for your career.”

I heard the undertone in her words. She wasn’t speaking of my career as a seamstress, fighting for notice among the half-dozen other seamstresses at court, but of my work for Tsar Borislav.

She led me down a servants’ corridor and stopped outside a nondescript door. “This, though… This is the best part of the whole palace.” She swung the door open with a dramatic flair.

My breath caught in my throat as we stepped inside. Enormous white pillars lined the room, and on the far end of the hall to my left was an alcove covered with stained glass windows. The vaulted ceiling was the color of the night sky, and its golden stars twinkled in the light from the windows. The throne, on a raised dais at the end of the hall, was made of pure gold and cushioned with blue velvet.

“They say Tsar Fima himself built that throne,” Izolda whispered reverently. “He cast a spell so only the rightful Heir of the Sanctioned could be seated on it.”

“Do you believe that?” I matched her whisper, unwilling to break the spell the room had cast.

As she shook her head, grinning, the main doors to the hall opened, and a man stepped in. I froze as he caught sight of us. I would have recognized him anywhere, the orange hair and beard, the narrow eyes in his large red face.

The lord of Arick. The man who killed my son.

“What are you doing in here?” he demanded, his voice low and sharp.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Izolda bobbed a bow. “This is the new seamstress. I was showing her around the palace.”

He scowled. “The throne room is not for gawking. Be on your way.”

“Yes, my lord.” She stepped back toward the servants’ entrance, but I remained rooted to the spot, my chest so tight I couldn’t breathe. Murderer.Murderer.

The nobleman walked toward us. “I said, ‘be on your way,’” he growled.

“Fia!” Izolda grabbed my hand.

I flinched at the touch. My breath came back to me all at once. “Apologies, my lord.” I ducked my head in imitation of a bow. “I don’t know what came over me.” I moved to follow my friend, but he blocked my way.

“Have we met?” he asked, stepping too close.

He couldn’t recognize me. I wasn’t me. I was Sofia Stepanova, a seamstress who had never met him before. “I don’t believe so, my lord.” I backed away, trying not to smell his rancid breath. I’d smelled that before. Fuck, I was going to vomit. The room spun around me.

“Hm.” He peered at me, then took a step back. “Go. And be more cautious about where you find yourself in the future. Others are less forgiving than I am.”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” Izolda grabbed my hand and dragged me from the room.

Once we reached the end of the servants’ corridor, we stopped. I backed against the wall, eyes closed, drawing shaky breaths.

“What was that about?” she demanded.

I shook my head, not opening my eyes. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? ‘Nothing’ doesn’t make you cry.”

I opened my eyes a crack and realized they were filled with tears. I wiped furiously at them and took a deep breath. “He…reminded me of someone.”

Izolda looked up and down the hall, and seeing it was clear, stepped closer. “You could have given yourself away back there. If your past is going to be an issue, I need to know. Now.”

“I’m fine.” I stood up straight, dabbing at my eyes with the long sleeve of my sarafan. “It won’t happen again.”

“I hope it won’t.” The words didn’t sound like a reprimand.

She looked away, giving me a moment to compose myself. I brushed the wrinkles from my dress. I should have expected to see him. If the tsar had summoned most of the nobles, it stood to reason that the lord of Arick would be at court as well. The shock of seeing him was what had affected me, more than any lingering fear. I wasn’t afraid of him. What else could he do to me that he hadn’t already done?

---