Page 128 of A War Apart

Borislav attacked again, thrusting his staff forward, and a wall of rock rose in front of the prince, who waved his wand. The wall shattered into large stones, which flew toward Borislav. The men with him scattered, diving to the ground.

Borislav pointed his staff, and the stones became sand that blew past him. He slammed the butt of his staff on the ground, and a rattle echoed through the courtyard. Radomir stumbled as the ground beneath him grew uneven. He fell to the ground, and my heart skipped a beat. If he lost, if he died, we would all be killed.

With a wave of Borislav’s staff, the statue of the Prophet shattered into pieces, all of them flying at once toward Radomir.

The prince rolled out of the way and with a flick of his wrist, shot a dagger of ice out as he rose to his knees. Borislav dodged, but it caught his cheek. A thin line of blood bloomed in its wake.

Borislav let out a guttural snarl and dragged his staff in a line on the ground. A set of icy spikes sprang up in front of Radomir. One caught him beneath the chin, knocking him sideways. His head hit the ground, and he lay unmoving.

Lada screamed. “Father!”

A roaring filled my ears, and I darted forward as Borislav pointed his staff toward his cousin.

Steel met wood, and Borislav’s staff cracked in two. His eyes widened. It was over—he was powerless without his staff.

But he wasn’t done fighting. He dropped the broken pieces of his staff and drew his sword. The blow clanged through my bones as steel met steel.

“I gave you that hand.” He forced me backward, the full force of his strength behind each thrust. “I made you what you are today. You dare turn your blade on me?”

I didn’t answer him. I wouldn’t let him goad me. He was impatient, his movements hastened by fury. I feinted an opening, and when he struck toward it, I slashed at his sword hand. Blood dripped from the wound, and his sword clattered to the ground.

I met the gaze of my former tsar, the point of my sword at his chest. “Surrender.”

“Well done, Captain.” Radomir’s voice cut through the rush of blood in my head.

I glanced back to see the prince on his feet, eyes glazed. He swayed but remained standing as he said to his cousin, “Accept your Disinheritance.”

“Never.” Borislav’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

“If you won’t abdicate, I’ll have no choice but to see you executed.”

“So bloodthirsty.”

Radomir turned away, ignoring the taunt. “Fyodor Yakovlevich, Han Antonovich, please escort my cousin to the palace dungeon.” He glanced back at Borislav. “I’ll give you three days to reconsider your position. If not, you will be executed for crimes against Otets and against the Blood.”

I dropped my sword to my side and stepped forward to take Borislav’s arm, but he shook me off. “I am unarmed. You will not manhandle one of the Sanctioned.”

I looked to Radomir for confirmation. When he nodded, I gestured for Borislav to go ahead. The tsar—former tsar—held his head high as he walked through the assembled crowd, followed by me and Yakovlevich.

Over. It was over.

I’d forsworn myself and ended the rule of my tsar.

I’d helped ensure not one, but two Disinheritances over as many days.

Only time would tell if I’d made the right decision.

Chapter forty-four

Execution

Han

Istared at Borislav through the iron bars of the cell. “Please, reconsider. You made the wrong choice—many wrong choices—but you don’t have to die for it. Radomir respects you. He would give you a position of honor, listen to your counsel. You can still lead this tsardom, even if you don’t wear the crown.”

“Whether I die tomorrow or not, he’ll have to kill me eventually.” He didn’t look at me from his seat next to the tiny window. “Radomir is no fool. My claim is stronger than his. He knows that if I remain alive, I can become a focal point for future rebellion. Oh, yes,” he said before I could contradict him, “legally, if I accept my Disinheritance, I can make no future claim on the throne, but what does the common man care for the finer points of religious doctrine? Radomir is unpopular, and I was their chosen tsar. I wasyourchosen tsar.”

“You were my tsar until you betrayed your people. You turned your Gifts against unSanctioned. You attacked citizens, nobles in your court.” He opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off. “And before that, you betrayed your army. Matvey Il’ich deserved mercy. Maybe he deserved to die for his betrayal, maybe not, but he still deserved mercy, and you had him slaughtered like an animal. Worse than an animal. And the men who had flocked to your cause, believing you would set the country to rights, you betrayed them, too. When their families were threatened, when they were afraid of the consequences of their actions and tried to return home, you didn’t offer them the reassurances they so desperately needed. You murdered them. And you agreed to sell your people, men who had done nothing but fight for what they thought was right, into slavery. You became no better than the man you were trying to overthrow.”

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