Page 5 of A War Apart

“You’ve only got one hand,durachok.”I elbowed him in the ribs, then fixed him with a stern look. “We’d best pray you don’t meet the tsar’s men. You’d get yourself hanged for fighting them.”

Yakov ignored me. “What does Miroslav want a standing army for, anyway? The war’s over.”

Yegor picked up a piece of grass and chewed on the end. “Probably planning to drive out the Drakra once and for all.” The previous tsar had waged several wars against the Drakra, a race of gray-skinned people living in the east, and it would come as no surprise if Miroslav continued his father’s crusade. “Either that, or there’s a foreign threat we haven’t heard about.”

“I doubt that,” Kyril said. “He’s always been paranoid. Remember when he fled the country, thinking his father was going to have him assassinated? He’s probably built the whole army for another one of his delusions.”

“That story’s nothing but fiction, made up by Borislav’s followers in order to discredit the rightful heir to the throne.”

“Oh!” Pyotr Vasilievich let out an awkward laugh. “Speaking of stories, you’ll never believe the tale Ulyana’s betrothed told us the other day.”

Grateful for the change in topic, I leaned back against the tree and glanced at him. “Is she getting married? I hadn’t heard.”

Pyotr’s chest puffed out with pride. “To a baker in Tsebol, Konstantin Anatolyevich. He’s a good man.” He winked at me. “A bit of a gossip, though, and places too much stock in rumors. He told us Borislav was alive.”

“Da,I saw Borislav at the inn last week. He decided being tsar wasn’t the job for him, so he’s working as a blacksmith.” Yakov rolled his eyes. “Where’d he hear nonsense like that?”

“Some friend of his. Another survivor of Barbezht.” He nodded at me and Yakov in acknowledgment. “All nonsense, of course.”

“Borislav died at Barbezht,” I said. “We would have fought to the very last man if we’d thought he survived. Nearly did, in fact.”

A solemn silence fell over us at the mention of the massacre. I took a deep breath, blocking out the memories of that awful day.

After a moment, Kyril Kyrilovich stood and stretched. “The wheat won’t harvest itself. Best get back to work.” He picked up the bell and clanged it, calling everyone back. We rose, abandoning talk of soldiers and politics in favor of the backbreaking work of the harvest.

***

Mila

I followed the fragrant smell of roasting chicken through the house, my hand resting on my swollen stomach. Half the afternoon had disappeared while I was napping; the new life growing inside me sapped all my energy, and Marya Ivanovna had finally insisted I lie down and rest before Han returned from the day’s harvest. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror; despite my nap, dark circles bruised the warm brown skin beneath my eyes. When would the exhaustion finally end? Never, if what Anna and Marya Ivanovna told me was correct. I sighed and walked on down the hall, leaving the mirror behind me.

At the entrance to the dining room, I nearly collided with Han. He’d just come from the field, I could see from the dust and sweat that covered his face and neck, darkening his naturally brown skin.

“There you are!” He swept me into a kiss, heedless of my clean clothes. “How are you feeling?” he asked, tucking a stray lock of hair beneath my simple kokoshnik, the pointed headdress I wore.

“Mm.” I pulled back, my lips tingling from his kiss. “You’re in a good mood.”

He grinned. “I won.”

I rolled my eyes, hiding a smile. Han and Yakov could turn anything into a competition. It didn’t matter to either of them who won—though they’d vehemently insist otherwise—but the challenge was good for them. They kept each other sharp. Having each other to compete with kept them from dwelling on what they’d lost in the war.

I brushed a bit of dirt from the tight black curls on top of his head. “What does he owe you this time?”

“A week’s worth of drinks. I think I’ll take him to Tsebol with me, make him pay while we’re there.”

“Are you sure you can keep out of trouble?” I teased. “I don’t think I trust you two alone in the city.”

He waved me off. “We’ll be fine. I can keep him from doing anything too impulsive.”

“And who’s going to keep you from it?” I asked, a hand on my hip.

He grinned, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You’ll just have to make sure I’m too tired to get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

“You’re incorrigible.” I laughed, rolling my eyes again. “Aren’t you too tired from the harvest?”

“Too tired for you? Never.” He pulled me close and nuzzled my ear.

“Not now, Han.” I pushed him away. “I’m starving!”

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