Page 21 of A War Apart

“Mila, wait.” He followed me out the door. “I need to talk to you.”

“Can it wait? I’ve got a lot to do today.” I didn’t, really, but every moment with him had my chest tightening and my heart racing.

“It’s…no.” He took a step closer, reaching for my hand, and I stepped back, ignoring the hurt look on his face. “I don’t want you to worry, but I need to go back to Tsebol.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know there was no reason to worry. The soldiers had already taken their revenge. He wasn’t in danger anymore. I’d taken the brunt of their anger. “What for?”

“I need to see Ulyana Petrovna’s husband. Pyotr was telling me during the harvest—”

“Oh, good. It will be nice to see Ulyana. You don’t mind if I go with you, do you?” It would be easier to find out about the nobleman in person, rather than waiting for letters. And being out of the house would be a relief. Away from the memories.

He frowned. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I’ll be fine. When are we going? I had a letter to send to Ulyana. I’ll add a note telling her to expect us.”

“I’ve already written to Konstantin Anatolyevich—her husband—and told him I’d be there on the first of the week.”He paused, looking me over. “Even with the wagon, that’s a long way with you still recovering.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said again. “We can get a room for the night. I’d like to get out.” It was as close as I would come to admitting my need to get away. “I’ve been wanting to see Ulyana, since we missed the wedding.”

He swallowed, memories clouding his eyes. “I’m sure she didn’t want you risking your health being out so soon after…well, after.”

He couldn’t even say the word “attack.” It was a good thing I’d lied about what had really happened. He’d reacted so poorly to finding out I’d been beaten; I couldn’t imagine how he’d have handled hearing I’d been raped. And if he figured out who my attackers were, he’d never forgive himself.

“I’ll just go and finish that letter.” I turned and disappeared down the hall before he could say another word. Truly, men were incredibly fragile.

Chapter eight

Back to Tsebol

Han

The following week, Mila and I were bundled against the frigid autumn air on the road to Tsebol. I’d taken the extra precaution of filling a glove with dry beans and strapping it to my wrist, hoping to make myself less conspicuous. Though not as big as the capital, the city was large enough that I didn’t expect to run into the soldiers from my last visit, but I preferred to be cautious.

Mila sat next to me in silence, knitting a pair of woolen socks. Despite my worries about the journey, I was glad she’d decided to go with me. I hadn’t wanted to leave her at home alone. Maybe the trip would give us an opportunity to reconnect. I understood that she was lashing out from pain, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. Every time she shrank from my touch, every time she snapped at me, every night she spent away from our bed hurt a little more.

Getting away would be good for both of us. So long as we avoided the soldiers Yakov and I had fought.

I’d first written to Konstantin Anatolyevich a week after the—a week after Mila had been hurt. Discussing the possibility of Borislav’s survival in a letter was out of the question, so I had asked the baker to meet in person. The day before his wedding, he had called on me at home and shared his belief that the rumors were true. Tsar Borislav was alive.

I hardly dared to think about what to expect in Tsebol. Konstantin Anatolyevich had seemed confident, but he wouldn’t reveal his source. Not by name, at least. The baker had said he would introduce me to someone who could give me answers, and while I trusted his sincerity, the whole thing could be a trap to weed out traitors. Or it could be a fruitless effort, a crazed beggar’s delusions taken on new life as the story spread through the countryside.

Still, after all we’d faced since the war, I had to try. We had so little left to lose. If there was a chance that Borislav was alive, was ready to take the throne, I had to join him. For the opportunity to give Mila something resembling justice against the deserters who had attacked her, to give her a better life, I had to try. She didn’t deserve what we’d been through. I glanced over at her, her brown face blank as the needles in her hands flew. I hadn’t seen her smile since the morning she’d been hurt. I’d give anything to see her smile again.

She looked up and frowned at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” I turned back to the road in front of us. We were nearing the city, the wild countryside giving way to a more developed landscape. Houses separated mown fields, and gradually the fields surrendered their place to buildings crowded around the city wall.

Inside the wall, it was emptier than the last time I had visited. Market day had passed, and with only a month until the firstsnow, most city-goers were likely at home preparing for the coming long winter.

We made our way through the streets unchallenged. I sat stiff in my seat, scanning the streets for signs of a threat. We were nearing the baker’s shop when Mila gasped.

My heart dropped into my stomach. “What’s wrong?” I followed her gaze to a pair of soldiers on the corner.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m fine.”

She’d said the men who attacked her were deserters, but was it possible she’d been wrong? My vision went red as I watched them. I rested my gloved wrist on her leg, needing to assure myself that she was there, was safe. “Mila, is that them?”

“What? No, of course not.”

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