Page 62 of A War Apart

After a few eternal minutes, I realized Alexey was still watching me. I struggled for a breath. “What—” I gasped for air. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to disturb you with details.” His voice was soft, pitying.

“What happened?” I clenched my fists in the skirt of my sarafan. I had to know. “Please,” I choked out.

He studied me silently, his dark face full of concern. Then he took a seat next to me on the bench, not touching me but close enough I could feel his body heat. His eyes were fixed on mine. “The tsar rounded up the survivors of Barbezht. There weren’t many—only about a dozen. Some of them had already declared for Borislav and were working for him in secret. On the morningof the battle, he brought the survivors onto the field and ordered Grand Duke Borislav to surrender. Borislav refused, so Tsar Miroslav had…had them killed.”

Dead. Han and Yakov. Dead. The words echoed in my head.

I shivered, and Alexey wrapped my coat around my shoulders again.

“You shouldn’t be out here in the cold, Sofia.” He stood and held out a hand. “Can I escort you back to your quarters? Or is there someone else I can take you to?”

I shook my head and let him pull me to my feet. It didn’t matter where he took me. A yawning abyss had opened inside my chest, and it would follow me wherever I went.

He took my arm and guided me across the palace grounds. The walk took a lifetime, each step an effort. I leaned on him, pitifully grateful for the support.

In my quarters, he guided me to a chair by the fireplace. He placed another log on the fire, removed my coat, and brought a blanket from the bed to tuck around me.

“Lord Kazimir will be expecting me,” he said quietly. “But I’ll return this evening to check on you. Will you be alright until then?”

I nodded, staring blankly at the fire. I wouldn’t be alright, but his presence wouldn’t change that.

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The door closed behind him, and I sank to the floor.

Dead. Han and Yakov were dead. Miroslav had captured them and slaughtered them, not even giving the mercy of an honorable death in battle. Han was supposed to be safe with Borislav. He was supposed to be leading the war effort, not becoming a casualty of it. How had this happened?

I’d thought Miroslav had taken everything from me before, but I’d been wrong. Through it all, despite everything I’d lost, I’d still had Han.

Not anymore. Now Miroslav had well and truly taken it all.

***

Darkness crept through the room. I’d lain on the floor for hours, unmoving, unable to even conjure tears. My stomach rumbled. I didn’t feel hungry—didn’t feel anything—but my body hadn’t caught up with my mind.

I dragged myself off the floor.

Han was dead, but I wasn’t. I owed it to him, to everyone I’d lost, to see this through. I couldn’t give up. Not now.

I had nothing left to lose. Nothing to hold me back from seeing everyone who’d hurt me punished.

I glanced at my small mirror as I stepped into the bedroom. My eyes were dark and hollow. Empty.

I’d use that emptiness. I’d do everything I could to see Tsar Borislav on the throne. Whatever it took to see the monster punished for what he’d taken from me. I’d listen for every scrap of news, every bit of knowledge I could pass on to the rebellion, and I’d use it to ensure Borislav defeated his brother.

For Han.

For Yakov.

For my son.

For all those I’d lost, and for all the others who’d suffered similar losses. I’d do this.

I splashed some cold water onto my face and changed into a clean blue sarafan. Alexey Grigorovich had said he would return, and I wanted to be ready when he did it. He would be my first step toward seeing the monster dethroned.

Chapter twenty-three

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