Page 77 of A War Apart

“Sofia.”

Sofia. He wasn’t Kazimir, and I wasn’t Mila. I was going to give myself away. I forced my breathing into a regular rhythm and looked back up into his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Alexey. I just…everything is happening so fast.”

He gave me an odd look and held out a hand. I took it, focusing on each breath as he led me to a bench and sat down next to me.

He pulled something from his pocket. “I’d meant to give this to you later, but…” He held it out.

It was a dagger in a leather sheath, simple but made with expert craftsmanship. I stared at it. “I can’t take this.”

He placed it in my hand. “You should feel safe.” I opened my mouth, but he shook his head. “That—” He gestured at the stone wall. “That wasn’t just fear of moving too fast. And you didn’t agree to train with me for fun. Someone hurt you. I don’t know who it was or how it happened, and I don’t need to, but I do need you to know that I would never hurt you.” He wrapped my fingers around the dagger’s hand. “You’re safe, and you will always be safe with me, my sun. But you can keep yourself safe, too.”

What could I say to that? I looked at him with wide eyes. Han had never even considered that I could defend myself.

Han.

He’d not even been dead two months, and I was letting another man kiss me and give me gifts.

Tears blinded me. I blinked, and they spilled over. Then I was crying, every emotion I’d suppressed for months pouring in hot streams down my face. Alexey pulled me to him, and I sobbed into my shoulder.

I hated myself.

Chapter twenty-seven

Ethics of War

Han

The next morning dawned bright and cold. We were all awake by the time the Mandible knocked at the door.

“The high priestess asked me to accompany you this morning after you’ve broken your fast,” she said when I answered the door. “I have a meal prepared at my house, if you would be interested in joining me.”

I bowed. “We would be honored, mistress.”

She smiled, revealing long, sharp canine teeth. “We don’t use honorifics, Han Antonovich—apart from the high priestess, who is called ‘Lady’ when not referred to by her title. You may call me Xhela in conversation, or ‘the Mandible’ in more formal settings.”

I bowed again, wishing I’d had more time to study the culture before we came. Or that the tsar had sent someone with more experience. I was woefully unprepared for these negotiations.“We’ll take your custom as our own during our time here.” Hopefully that gesture would earn me a measure of goodwill.

Her home was on the same street as the guest house we were staying in. Carved into the mountain, it was a single room, but privacy screens made of leather separated it into sections. An iron grill hung over the fire in the center of the room, on which three large trout were nearly finished cooking. My stomach gurgled at the savory, smoky smell filling the air.

Xhela indicated the low table near the fire. “Please, sit.”

We took our seats on the furs as she removed the fish from the grill. She served us each a generous helping, followed by an acorn cake. When she poured us our drinks, I sniffed mine. The scent was yeasty and familiar. I took a drink.

“Kvass?” I’d thought the drink was unique to Inzhrians.

She smiled again. “Most of my people don’t drink it, but I’ve developed a taste.”

“It’s very good.”

“Do you live here alone, Xhela?” Lada asked, taking a pat of what I assumed was goat butter and spreading it on her acorn cake.

“My mother lives with me, but she’s visiting relatives for the time being.”

I took a bite of my acorn cake. It was nutty and slightly sweet, though a bit dry. I spread butter on it as Yakov asked, “Are there many Drakra towns?”

“No more than a dozen, spread throughout the mountains.” Xhela placed another serving of fish on Yakov’s plate without asking.

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