Page 121 of A War Apart

“Captain,” the tsar said when I’d collected myself enough to stand, “please send someone to inform Grand Duke Radomir and Yixa na Chekke of our victory.”

Chapter forty-two

Confrontation

Mila

The battle was long over. The afternoon stretched into evening, but still people filled the med tent. New casualties had stopped arriving, thank Otets, but the wounded were numerous. My head pounded, the tent swimming around me.

“Go, Mila.” Lada’s voice was firm. “You’re going to collapse. You’re no good to me like this. Get some sleep and come back in the morning.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Yakov, binding a chest wound several cots over, met my eyes and shook his head. I sighed. “Fine. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The Blood Bastard had already turned away. I navigated the crowded tent and made my way to the slightly less busy camp outside.

Lada was probably right. I hadn’t slept much, and I hadn’t eaten all day, either. Otets, I was tired.

I hadn’t seen Han since the battle, but he’d sent word that he was safe.

And Miroslav was dead.

I sank down onto the snow with my back to a tent pole. It was over. We’d survived. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, drinking in the stench of the camp, the blood, sweat, and snow, the unwashed smell of an army on the move. I hadn’t breathed properly in months. But I could breathe now. It was over.

“Fia!” My eyes popped open as Izolda called my name. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Something was wrong; I could tell by her tone. I scanned her for signs of injury. “What’s happened?”

She waved a hand in dismissal of my scrutiny. “I’m fine. It’s Alexey.”

My heart filled my throat. Had he been injured? Worse? “What happened?” I choked out, scrambling to my feet.

“He’s been captured.”

Alive. He was alive. “He’s safe? He’s not hurt?”

She grimaced. “Yes, but… The Drakra are taking the prisoners when they go back east.”

“As slaves?” A pit opened in my stomach.

“It’s…complicated.”

I gritted my teeth. “Uncomplicate it. What’s going to happen to him?”

“He’ll be a bondservant. Eight years of service to the Drakra, and he’ll be free to return home. Or to stay, if he chooses.”

Eight years. That would be an eternity to him. And who knew what might happen to him during those years? I had to get him out. “Where is he? He’s not injured?” I’d already asked, but I needed to hear the words.

Izolda shook her head. “He’s not injured. He’s in the temporary cells outside the camp, until we move into the palace.”

“Take me to him.” I had to see him. Han was still with the tsar, dealing with the aftermath of the battle. He didn’t have to know that I’d gone to see the prisoners, or one specific prisoner. He didn’t have to know why.

The wooden cells outside of the camp weren’t crowded. Izolda approached one of the guards. “We’d like to speak to one of the prisoners.”

I didn’t hear his response as I scanned the cells for Alexey’s familiar face. There were so few people in the cells. So few prisoners. Had so few survived the battle? Or had they fled?

“Fia.” Izolda grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the furthest cell.

I almost didn’t recognize him. He sat in the corner, spattered in dust. Flecks of something—gravel, maybe?—covered his shoulders and hair. He stared toward the city, so we could see his profile, missing its characteristic cocky grin. A shadow of the man I’d come to know.

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