Page 27 of A War Apart

The temple was empty but for a stocky brother in his white robes, cleaning the statue of Tsar Fima with a rag. At our entrance, he set the cloth down and approached.

“What can I do for you, honored children?”

“My wife and I would like to pray together before we return home,” Han said.

“Follow me.” He led us to a small prayer room with a wooden kneeling rail, closing the door behind us. On one wall was a giant wooden icon depicting Tsar Fima’s victory over Inzhria. The Brother pulled on one side, and it swung open to reveal a dark hole. He gestured for us to go through.

Han went first, descending into the darkness. I felt my way after him, down a narrow set of stairs, until I reached a stone floor. A small click sounded, and torchlight illuminated an underground tunnel.

“We have a bit of a walk now,” the Brother said, waving the torch ahead of us.

The tunnels twisted and turned. Every so often we would come to a split in the path, but the Brother knew his way. The corridors grew damper and colder the further we walked. Were we nearing the river? We had to be traveling underneath the city. A faint scent of mildew hung in the air, and occasionally, I heard a rat scurry by. I hated rats.

Han noticed my discomfort, and he reached out, offering me his hand.

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing my muscles to relax. He already thought of me as weak. I didn’t need to give him more reason to patronize me.

Finally we stopped. We stood outside a closed door, similar to many we had already passed, but voices came from the other side. The Brother knocked.

A deep voice answered. “Enter.”

The room inside was dimly lit, an old, repurposed wine cellar. Standing at a low table strewn with papers were two men. One, an old nobleman with a long gray beard, I recognized as Baron Ilya Sergeyevich. Out of the country when Miroslav ascended to the throne, he hadn’t been involved in Borislav’s failed rebellion, although I’d heard rumors that he favored Borislav over his brother.

Next to the baron stood a man I’d never seen before, but his bearing and black hair and beard were identical to statues and paintings I’d seen of Tsar Fima. There was no doubt in my mind that this man was Fima’s heir, that he carried the Blood of Otets in his veins. This was Borislav, the true tsar of Inzhria.

I bowed low, and Han said, “Your majesty, my lord, I present to you your loyal servant, my wife Lyudmila Dmitrievna.”

The tsar stepped forward and took my hand. “Your husband told me of the trials you’ve recently faced, Lyudmila Dmitrievna. You have my deepest sympathies for your loss. If it were in my power, I would erase the injustices done to you and restore your child.”

My throat tightened as I looked into his dark eyes, crinkled with sympathy and reflecting my grief. Tears filled my own eyes, and the tsar handed me a handkerchief.

Crying in front of the tsar. I must have looked every bit as weak as Han thought me. “Forgive me, your majesty.” My voice was strangely hoarse. I wiped my eyes and tried to hand back the handkerchief, but the tsar closed my hand around it.

“There is nothing to forgive. You’ve suffered so much in the years since my brother came to the throne. If I could ease your pain, I would. Alas, all I can promise is to give you justice.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“Your husband told me of your bravery following the battle at Barbezht. You must be the strongest of all my subjects, to overcome what you have.”

“Bravery?” I didn’t understand. Nothing I’d done in the past few weeks could be considered brave.

“To nurse a defeated soldier back to health, to marry him, knowing the difficulties you would face. To align yourself with someone called a traitor, despite the stigma it would bring you.And more recently, to survive the trauma you have and not let it break you.” A sad smile played on his lips.

I didn’t feel brave. I’d been cut down to raw rage and grief. But if this fury was bravery, I would channel it. During the last uprising, I’d sat at home waiting for news. I wouldn’t do that again. “We’re with you all the way, your majesty. Whatever it takes to bring you to the throne, my husband and I will be there.”

Han put his hand on my shoulder. When I glanced up at him, pride and concern mingled in his eyes. I looked quickly away.

“My cause can only be helped by an ally such as yourself, Lyudmila Dmitrievna. In fact…” He paused, glancing at Baron Ilya. “I was just speaking to the baron of you before your arrival. We have a proposal for the two of you, but it’s best if we discuss it over dinner. Ilya has made accommodations for the two of you. Please, stay with us tonight. We can dine together and discuss our plans at that time.”

A muscle flickered in Han’s jaw. He wasn’t pleased with this turn of events. A proposal from the tsar was an honor for him, but if he could, he’d be happy to lock me away to keep me safe. Still, he wouldn’t refuse an invitation from the tsar. He bowed. “Thank you, your majesty.”

The tsar took my hand and pressed a kiss to it. “We will speak again at dinner, Lyudmila Dmitrievna. Han Aleksandrovich.” He extended his left hand and shook Han’s. “Thank you for returning, and for bringing your wife. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

***

Han

Baron Ilya led us out of the tunnels, directly into his castle, where a tall manservant in simple gray livery waited. “Our guests,” he told the servant, who didn’t blink at the strangers appearing from underground with his master. “Please see that they’re well taken care of.” To us, he added, “I ask that you remain in this wing for the duration of your stay. For your own safety, and for the tsar’s.”

---