Page 11 of A War Apart

I stopped in the kitchen for some bowls, accepting the baked cabbage pirozhok Marya Ivanovna pressed into my hand and grabbing my gardening knife from its hook by the door. Stepping outside, I took a deep breath. The air was crisp and cool, a light breeze signaling the end of summer. Behind the house, in the sun, would be the perfect place to spend the day.

I stepped through the garden gate, scanning my plants for signs of unwelcome intruders. No bite marks were evident on any leaves, so the rabbits and deer hadn’t found their way in yet. I set down the bowls and knife and bent down to pull a strayweed that had taken root near a patch of comfrey. I groaned as I did; if I grew much larger, I wouldn’t be able to bend over at all. Marya Ivanovna would have to take care of the garden, or we’d have to hire someone from town. Otets knew what a tragedy that would be. I didn’t doubt someone else could do the work, but I was protective of my domain. The garden was the one realm of the house Marya Ivanovna would let me exert myself. “A lady’s hobby,” the housekeeper called it. “It’s not right for a lady to do the housework, but a bit of gardening to soothe the mind and make beauty creams is perfectly genteel.” Nevermind that I was a farmer’s wife. As a relatively wealthy landowner, Han was firmly in the category of “gentility” in Marya Ivanovna’s estimation.

I refused to be confined to beauty creams, though. Taking a seat in the dirt, I pulled a small book from my apron pocket. The cover readTonics and Remedies for the unSanctioned: a Collection of Blood Bastard Writings.Han had bought it for me before he left for the war, and it was my most prized possession. I opened it to a recipe titled “For the Reduction of Pain in Childbirth.” The tonic was relatively simple to make, and I had almost everything I needed growing in my garden; Han had collected the final pieces for me in Tsebol after the harvest.

Chamomile flowers, rosebuds, raspberry leaves, and leckozht needles. The leckozht plant was my prized possession. Small and hardy, it had been cultivated by Blood Bastards to help combat outbreaks of Moon Fever throughout the country. It had proven ineffective against the plague, but its pain relief properties had made it highly desired. I used it sparingly—it was too expensive to use for every bump and bruise—but a childbirth tonic seemed a reasonable use for the precious plant.

Once I had gathered all the supplies for my tonic, I moved back to the rosebush. I was running low on rosewater, and I wanted a large supply to get through the winter. I took the mostsuitable blossoms and placed them in a bowl, then turned to the comfrey. With all the injuries Han formed wrestling with Yakov or working in the field, I was always in need of more comfrey ointment.

Hoofbeats sounded nearby. I looked up, frowning. It wasn’t even midday yet. Han couldn’t be returning from Selyik already. Likely it was travelers stopping in for a drink. Marya Ivanovna would give them what they needed and send them on their way. I went back to my gardening.

A moment later, I heard a knock, followed by voices at the front of the house. A few moments later, the door to the kitchen opened behind me.

“Mila Dmitrievna?” I turned to see an unusually flustered-looking Marya Ivanovna. “There’s a few men here asking to speak to Han Antonovich. A nobleman and two soldiers.”

Soldiers. My heart leapt to my throat. They couldn’t be here because of the fight in Tsebol. Could they?

“I’ll be right in,” I told the housekeeper, keeping my voice measured despite the racing of my heart.

I stopped in the kitchen to clean myself up, taking deep even breaths to calm my nerves. They couldn’t know it had been Han and Yakov in the inn. There were dozens of survivors of Barbezht. They had to be here for some other reason.

I adjusted my kokoshnik and walked into the sitting room.

Two of the men, both short and stocky, wore red and black kaftans. Soldiers, like Marya Ivanovna had said. The third man was taller, his clothing made of expensive silk, though dust and sweat stained his shirt. His hair and beard were orange, and his heat-reddened face was set in a scowl. I twisted my hands in my skirt to stop them from shaking and made a bow.

“Can I help you, my lord? Sirs?” Thank Otets, my voice sounded almost calm.

The nobleman looked me up and down. “Where’s your husband?”

“My husband is in Tsebol for market until tomorrow,” I lied, praying Han would stay in Selyik until they left. “I’m sorry you missed him.”

The two soldiers shared a doubting look as the nobleman cocked a brow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, but I would be happy to tell him you called. I’m certain he’ll contact you as soon as he returns, my lord of…?”

“Arick.” He took a seat on the divan without being offered. The two soldiers remained standing. “I take it he didn’t tell you of his criminal activity the last time he was in the city.”

My mouth fell open. He knew about the fight in the inn.

This couldn’t be happening.

I closed my mouth and swallowed hard. “I—I beg your pardon, my lord?”

“Your husband is one of the traitors of Barbezht, yes?” When I opened my mouth to answer, he waved a hand. “Don’t bother to lie. He’s lucky I wasn’t in Tsebol that night. I arrived the next day, and I’ve had a hell of a time trying to find him since. He attacked the tsar’s men. You’re aware that’s a hanging offense?”

I had to stop him from finding Han. Thinking quickly, I said, “My lord, I—” I let a few tears leak from my eyes, a task which didn’t take much effort, given the fragile state of my emotions. “I didn’t know. He’s been gone for over a week. He—” I shook my head. “Please forgive me for lying, my lord. When he didn’t return from market last week, I assumed he was in trouble, but I had no idea he’d done something so heinous.”Please, Otets, keep Han away from the house until they leave.

The nobleman watched me impassively, tugging at his beard. “Is that so?”

I nodded frantically. He had to believe me. “If you’ll leave your address, my lord, I’ll be sure to contact you if he returns.”

He stood, and I held my breath. Would he believe me? He stepped closer, holding my gaze.

He smacked my face. I tasted blood.

No. No. He hadn’t believed me. Ears ringing, I touched a hand to my stinging cheek. “My lord?”

“Lying bitch. Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to believe that shit?”

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