Page 28 of A War Apart

“We will, my lord.”

As the manservant left us alone in the guest suite, a large sitting room opening into a comfortable bedroom, I watched Mila. Her posture was tense, not inviting conversation. A bookshelf stretched along one wall; she went to it and selected a large book titledMade of Stone: How the existence of the Drakra race reveals Otets’ plan for humanity.She took a seat by the window and began reading—or at least staring at the book. Her eyes didn’t seem to be moving, and though I waited for several minutes, she didn’t turn the page.

I wanted to go to her, to tear the book from her hands and insist she talk to me, but it wouldn’t do any good. She’d walled herself off from me since the day we lost our son, and I didn’t know how to bring us back together. She hid her pain from me, blanketing it in anger and aggression.

And now she wanted to help bring Borislav to the throne.

I didn’t begrudge her the desire to support our tsar, but I couldn’t bear to see her in danger again. Borislav’s journey to the throne would be the death of hundreds, possibly thousands. It was worth it—of course it was worth it—but I couldn’t let Mila face that.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

Her head jerked up from the book. “Tell you what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you wanted to help?” I closed the distance between us, reaching for her hand. “Shouldn’t I have had some say?” I didn’t want to control her, just protect her.

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t pull away. “What would you have said? That it’s too dangerous? That I should stay home and wait for news like last time? I have as much a right as you to fight for what we lost.”

“If you think I wouldn’t do anything possible to change things, Mila—” I shook my head. “Revenge against the men who hurt you isn’t going to bring our son back. I don’t want to see you in danger.”

She jerked her hand from mine. “I’m not looking for revenge. I’m looking for justice. And not just against the men who attacked me, but against the tsar who allowed it. Miroslav did this to me just as much as those soldiers did.”

“Do you think—” I broke off. I didn’t want to know the answer.

“What?”

I shouldn’t have spoken. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

“Tell me.” Her face was carefully blank of emotion.

I let out a deep breath. “Do you think I’m not hurting as much as you? Do you think I don’t mourn him enough?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

She didn’t quite meet my eyes as she said it, though. A vise tightened around my heart. “By the Blood, Mila. You do. Or,” I paused. “Do you blame me for it?”

“Blameyou?” Her voice grew shrill. “Did you attack me? Did you kill our son?”

I sank down onto the stool at her feet. “I didn't do it, but I didn’t do anything to stop it, either. What if they were there because of the fight Yakov and I had in the city?”

“They weren’t.” She was firm. Whatever had happened, whatever horrors she still refused to tell me about, had been enough to convince her the two events were unrelated.

A knock at the door interrupted, and the manservant from earlier peeked in. “Dinner is ready, if you’ll follow me.”

I took a deep breath as I stood, trying to compose myself. I offered Mila my arm, but she walked past me. Whether she had missed my offer or deliberately ignored me, I didn’t know. I brushed at an imaginary spot on my shirt and followed her, hoping it was the former.

The wing of the castle we were in was empty. The servant led us down a short hall and into a small dining room, simply furnished with only a table and chairs. The tsar and the baron were already seated.

“Please, be seated,” the baron said as we bowed. “Thank you for joining us. I’m sure you understand the need for discretion—we don’t want to draw attention to the tsar’s presence—but I hope you will make free in your use of my private wing of the castle. Only my most trusted servants come here, and my wife, so there’s no risk of discovery.”

I bowed my head. “We’re most grateful, my lord.”

“It’s I who am grateful.” The baron’s wrinkled white face was solemn. “Your service at Barbezht fills me with shame that I was not there to render similar service.”

“We’ve discussed this many times, Ilya,” the tsar cut in. “Otets designed your absence. If not for you, I would have been captured after the battle. And had you been able to openly support me in the beginning, you wouldn’t be here today to pave the way for my victory.”

“As you say, your majesty.” Baron Ilya pinched his lips together as though he didn’t agree, but the servants entered the room then. They carried fragrant trays of roast duck, stewed beets, and fresh-baked bread.

Once our plates were filled, the tsar lifted up his hands. “Pray with me, friends.” He bowed his head. “Otets, great father who gives food alike to the wicked and the good, we ask that you would bless these gifts to our nourishment and grant us victory over the wicked who would seek to do us harm. Grant your blessings to your chosen Firstborn of the Sanctioned, and lead us to follow the mandates handed down to us by Witness, Steward, and Prophet. Let it be.”

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