Page 8 of A War Apart

“I’ll be happy either way.” He pulled me onto his lap and pressed a kiss to my lips. “As long as I have the two of you.”

Chapter three

Tsebol

Han

Travelers filled the market in Tsebol, buying and selling their summer harvests. Pockets full of the profits from our own crops, Yakov and I pushed through the crowds that stopped to admire the goods at each table. Catching Yakov’s eye, I gestured to the blacksmith’s tent.

“Looking for a new sword?” my friend asked.

I rolled my eyes. My skill with a blade would never be what it had been, even if I could buy a sword. Following the battle at Barbezht, Miroslav had decreed that anyone selling weapons to the traitors would be summarily executed. Most smiths wouldn’t sell weapons to anyone missing a limb, for fear of the tsar. Regardless of my skill, I’d never own another sword.

“Need a new ax,durachok,”I said, my teasing tone belying the insult. “I told you that on the way here.”

We skirted around a stall filled with kokoshniki and povyazki, headdresses decorated with brightly colored beads. I made a mental note to stop by before we left and buy a new kokoshnik for Mila. She didn’t really need a new one, but the harvest had sold well. I could buy her a new one for the harvest feast.

We kept a healthy distance from the tent marked by the metallic smell of magic and a checkered banner. The tent of a traveling Blood Bastard, an illegitimate descendant of Otets. Blood Bastards’ reputations were as formidable as their prices were high. Only the desperate sought their services. The desperate and the rich.

Just before we reached the blacksmith’s tent, a table full of woodwork caught my eye—specifically, a ring the size of my palm, with various animals carved into it. I didn’t know what made me stop, but I picked up the ring and turned it over.

“It’s a teether,” the old woman behind the table told me. “Babes love the soft wood on their gums when a tooth is coming through. It’s rubbed with beeswax to keep the splinters down.” She didn’t look up as she spoke, but continued carving a design in the edge of the mug she held.

“How much?” The baby wouldn’t be born for a few months, but it sounded like a practical thing to have. Not that I knew what babies needed.

“No charge for you.”

I looked up at her with raised eyebrows and saw she’d noticed my missing hand. I looked back at the ring, turning it over again. What I’d thought were butterflies carved into the edge were actually tiny letter B’s placed back to back. For Borislav?

The woman grabbed my hand and wrapped it around the teether. “For the true tsar,” she said in a low voice.

I stared at her, unsure how to respond. A hand grabbed my shoulder.

“There you are!” Yakov said. “I turned around and you were gone.”

“Something caught my eye.” I held up the ring, glancing back at the table. The woman was busy carving her mug again as several more market-goers browsed her wares.

“Huh. Bit big for you, isn’t it?”

“It’s not for me,durachok.It’s a teether.” At his blank look, I explained. “They chew on it when their teeth are coming through. Makes them feel better.”

“Oh.” Yakov nodded sagely. “Of course. Well, if you’re finished searching for trinkets, can we continue shopping? I thought you wanted to be home tomorrow.”

***

By the time the market closed, we’d finished our purchases. We loaded up the cart and made our way to an inn brimming with the after-market crowds. Pushing through the room, we found an unoccupied pair of stools, and I waved over a frazzled barmaid.

She had to shout to make herself heard. “We’ve got shchi and kvass, but if you’re looking for pirogi and vodka, you’ll have to find somewhere else. The army’s been through our whole supply.”

“Soup and kvass is fine,” Yakov shouted back.

She fiddled with the end of her long braid, smiling at him. “Be right back.”

While we waited, I looked around. The smell of cabbage and rye filled the air, along with the overpowering scent of spilled vodka. A group of drunken soldiers, distinguished by their red-trimmed black kaftans, sat in the corner playing dice. Their laughter and shouts drowned out the chatter of the other customers.

“Town’s busy this week,” I said. “I think we made twice as much as we did our first year back from the war.”

Yakov opened his mouth to respond, but the barmaid returned with her arms full. As she set the dishes on the table, a soldier staggered over, leering down at us.

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