Page 84 of A War Apart

Traitors

Han

Sevken.

I eyed the castle as it appeared on the horizon, dark against the snowy landscape. We’d received word that Borislav had taken it without bloodshed. How had he managed that? Were the servants still so loyal to him? Or had the steward Miroslav placed over it surrendered once he saw the army camped outside the walls?

The Drakra would join Borislav’s army at Sevken once they had gathered their own troops. Yakov, Lada, and I had agreed to return ahead of them, to inform the tsar of the successful negotiations and to prepare for the arrival of the second army.

The sleigh skidded along the icy road, the castle drawing nearer by the second. Lada drove, giving me the freedom to observe the tsar’s home.

Something hung above the castle gates. I frowned, trying to make out the details. They swayed lightly in the wind, too heavy to be banners.

Revulsion coursed through me as they came into focus. Bodies.

Yakov had noticed them, too. “Did Miroslav take back the castle?”

“No,” Lada said. “Look.” She pointed at the banners waving next to the figures. Borislav’s standard, a white hawk on a field of red. Miroslav’s hawk was black.

They hadn’t been dead long. I recognized the bodies as we rode up. Six men. I’d assigned each of them to units myself.

Igorovich. The name clanged through my head. Nikolai Igorovich, the recruit who had mistaken me for the prince, now hung above the tsar’s gate. By the Blood, what had happened?

Fyodor Yakovlevich met us in the courtyard. “I’m glad you’re back.” His expression was grave.

“What’s happened?” I gestured behind us at the grim scene above the gate.

“Didn’t the tsar send word?” The captain shook his head. “Miroslav sent an order through the country. He’s demanding the slaughter of the families of anyone supporting Tsar Borislav. We’ve had a rash of desertions. Things are bad.”

Yakov and I shared a horrified look. Was Anna safe? I had sisters, as well—we hadn’t spoken in years, but that wasn’t likely to bother Miroslav.

“What does that have to do with them?” I asked, jerking my head at the bodies.

“They were deserters.”

Yakov swore. “They were killed for leaving after that?”

Fyodor nodded once. “Hanged, on the tsar’s direct order.”

“I need to see him,” I said. Why would the tsar execute men who were trying to protect their families? That sort of crueltywas why we were fighting against Miroslav. Borislav had to be better. “Where is he?”

Fyodor’s face grew stormier. “In the cells. He—” He broke off. “We received word from the capital that one of the captains was spying for Miroslav. There was an investigation, and Matvey Il’ich was caught with a letter detailing our plans. It was in his own hand, so there’s no question about it. He’s a traitor.”

What? Matvey Il’ich was—had been—a loyal supporter of the tsar. He’d been in the first rebellion, as had a small number of the army, members of a unit that hadn’t arrived in time to take the field at Barbezht. His counsel to the tsar, in the few months I had known him, had been good. How had he become a traitor?

“Is my father there as well?” Lada asked.

The captain nodded. “They’ve been with him all day, trying to determine how much information he fed to Miroslav.”

“Take me to them, please,” I said. I had to do something about all of this.

Fyodor cast a questioning look at Yakov and Lada. The latter shook her head.

“I’d like to get settled in. I’ll find someone who can tell me where I’m staying. When my father’s finished, I’ll speak with him.”

Yakov shoved his hand in his pocket, staring at the ground. “I’d like to get settled in, too, if you don’t mind if I join you.”

I gave them a distracted wave. “I’ll see you two later.”

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