Page 55 of A War Apart

He waggled his eyebrows. “I’d die happy.”

We’d reached my quarters. I pushed open the door. “I need to get back to the gate. I’ll leave you to get settled in. And stay away from the Blood Bastard,durachok,”I teased.

“No promises.”

***

I wound through the castle grounds, dodging men as they moved from tent to tent. The sharp tang of snow mingled with the smoky smell of cooking fires. My stomach rumbled, but supper would have to wait until the meeting with the tsar was over. I pulled open one of the enormous castle doors and cast a longing glance back at the men on their way to supper. Hopefully the meeting wouldn’t take long.

Yakov caught up to me as I strode down the hall. “What’s going on?”

“I know as much as you.” I brushed snow from my sleeves and nodded a greeting at Fyodor Yakovlevich, who reached the war room as we did. “Any idea what this is about, captain?”

“Not an inkling. The scouts have been quiet, as far as I know.” He opened the door to let us pass.

We were the last to arrive, save for the tsar and the prince. The other men waited around a table covered with maps. As I took my seat, the opposite door opened, and the tsar entered, followed closely by Prince Radomir. Everyone stood.

“Be seated, friends.” The tsar sat and waited for the scraping chairs to fall silent. “I’ve received word from the capital. My brother is aware that I’m in the country and raising an army.He’s been informed of our location and will be bringing not just the army, but the entire court with him for battle.”

My heart leapt to my throat. Was Mila the source of this news? Was she in danger? I shook myself. Surely I would have been told if something happened to her.

He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each man. “We must prepare for an attack. Radomir and I have been deliberating, but we look to you for counsel.”

“With the time until Miroslav arrives,” Radomir said, “We can choose where to make our stand and fortify it.”

Matvey Il’ich spoke. “Respectfully, your highness, the castle already makes a strong defense. Wouldn’t it be better to use the time to prepare the men, instead of taking them from their training to fortify a second position?”

The prince gave him a withering look. “The tsar and I can fortify the battlefield without taking the soldiers from their training. We must have a place to retreat if the battle goes against us.”

“That was my mistake—one of them—at Barbezht,” Borislav said. “We had nowhere to retreat when the tide of battle turned.”

Fyodor Yakovlevich pointed to a spot on one of the maps. “These hills would be defensible. If we camped here, we’d have the sun to our backs in the morning.”

“Why wait for morning to attack?” asked a commander whose name I couldn’t remember. “We can attack as soon as they arrive, take advantage of their exhaustion from the march.”

“No!” the tsar said sharply. The room fell silent. “No, I will not host a surprise attack, not when he brings my court with him. I have allies at court whose safety I will not risk. We will wage open battle, honorably, on a field of our choosing.”

The prince folded his hands on the table. “As the Prophet tells us, ‘He who wages war on the innocent has no place in Otets’ inheritance.’”

“But we are agreed?” Borislav asked. “We leave the castle before my brother arrives?”

A murmur of assent went through the room.

“Good.” The tsar leaned forward. “Yakovlevich, I’d like your men to take the vanguard, and I can lead the next wave. Then—”

Prince Radomir cleared his throat. “Your majesty, with all due respect, you will not be leading anyone on the field.”

“I beg your pardon?” Only the tightening of the tsar’s eyes betrayed any emotion. His voice was deathly calm. “You do not lead this army, cousin. Sanctioned you may be, but you are not the Heir.”

“Nor are you, Borislav,” the prince said, unperturbed. My breath caught at his audacity. “Not yet. And if you lose your life on the battlefield, our Disinheritance ends where it began. Your place is in the camp. ‘Let the Heir not abandon his brothers in foolish enterprise,’ as the Prophet wrote.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, the room thick with tension. The tsar sighed. “You are right.” He looked around the table. “I would not ask you to fight for a cause that I myself would not willingly die for, but if I fall, this was all for naught. I must trust you to fight for me.”

The talk turned back to organization of the battle lines, and my mind wandered to Mila. Had she been the one to discover Miroslav’s plans? If she had, how? I pictured her crouching in a shadowy corner, hidden behind a curtain, listening as Miroslav plotted with a room full of faceless advisors. The corner of my mouth twitched upward at the thought. No, the reality was likely much more mundane, if no less dangerous. Perhaps she’d made a friend at court who worked directly for Miroslav, or maybe she’d overheard something while working for the tsarina.

However she’d heard the news, if she was the tsar’s informant, she’d undoubtedly risked her life to pass it along to us. I clenched my fist, focusing on the feel of my nails digging into mypalm. I shouldn’t be thinking about it. She would be fine. Even considering otherwise felt like ill-wishing.

I forced my attention back to the tsar, who was speaking. “Tomorrow morning, Radomir and I will begin preparations on the battlefield. Matvey, could you prepare a sufficient guard to accompany us? Han and Fyodor, I’d appreciate your insight on the field, if you would join us as well.”

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