Page 48 of A War Apart

Borislav smiled sadly as he sat. “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought perhaps you had mourned my loss and were glad to hear that I was alive.”

Radomir fixed him with a deadpan look. “You know as well as I that we knew you were alive. You can thank me for your survival. If it hadn’t been for my council, Miroslav would have hunted you to the ends of the earth. I convinced him you had learned your place. It seems I was wrong.”

“It’s not I who has failed to learn my place, Radomir.”

“I never discuss business on an empty stomach.” The prince bowed his head and said a brief blessing over the food, hearty bowls of cabbage soup swimming with ham, black bread fresh from the oven, and large cups of dark kvass. He waved at the food. “Eat.”

True to his word, the prince didn’t let us speak until we had all eaten. At last, he pushed his plate back. “Very well, Borislav. Make your case.”

Borislav cast a wary glance at the servants that were clearing food from the table.

“Speak, cousin. My servants are completely loyal to me. Nothing said in my house leaves these walls unless I wish it. Not even for Tsar Miroslav.”

The tsar’s mouth formed a line, but he nodded. “You’re a pious man, Radomir. You’ve read our scriptures, the words of theWitness, Steward, and Prophet. What does Otets require of the Heir?”

“That he be just and merciful, a wise ruler, caring for all those he has charge of.” He took a drink of his kvass. “What of it?”

Borislav leaned forward, his expression earnest, brow knit together. “Can you say, truthfully, that Miroslav meets all those requirements?”

“That would depend on how one perceives it, I suppose.”

I gritted my teeth to keep from speaking. No one could pretend Miroslav cared for his people. Not for the common people, at least. Perhaps for the nobles, but not for me. Not for Mila. If this prince thought Miroslav was a fitting tsar, he was either a fool or wicked, but either way he would be no help to us.

“Do not mince words.” The tsar’s eyes narrowed. “My brother is neither just, merciful, nor wise. He cares for no one but himself. Don’t the scriptures say that an Heir may be Disinherited if he fails to discharge his duties as Otets commanded? Miroslavhasfailed to do so. Wemustrise against him.”

“The standards for a Disinheritance are high, Borislav. Are you certain they’ve all been met?”

I thrust my right arm forward.“Thisis Miroslav’s ‘mercy,’” I snarled. I was speaking out of turn, but I couldn’t stop myself. “You know what he did to those of us who knelt after Barbezht. Most of my brothers in arms were killed when he ordered their hands removed.”

Radomir looked dispassionately at me. “The Heir is required to uphold justice in the land, not just mercy. This was nothing more.”

I clenched my fist. “There is nojusticein maiming and killing a defeated enemy. Especially if that enemy has surrendered.”

Before I could speak again, the tsar leaned forward. “Han Antonovich speaks the truth, Radomir. What my brother offersthe people is neither justice nor mercy. This new army he has built is not a means of caring for the people, but for serving himself and bringing himself glory. Soldiers in this army are given freedom to do whatever they wish. They commit crimes with impunity. We passed through a town here on your lands just yesterday where the soldiers took half of their winter stores. Tell me, does that sound like Miroslav is caring for the people he has charge of?”

Biting my cheek to keep from speaking, I watched as the prince considered our words. “You have a point,” he said. “But your last rebellion failed. What makes you think this one will be any different?”

Maybe he wasn’t the fool I’d thought. Some of the tension in my body dissipated. I could respect a man who didn’t rush into war, as long as he didn’t claim that Miroslav was a good tsar. Still… “This uprising won’t fail. The people are desperate for a change. Even if Tsar Borislav loses, if he dies, the people will continue to rise up. They’ll make a Disinheritance themselves, and once they’ve removed one of the Sanctioned from the throne, they won’t be eager to accept another.”

The prince narrowed his small eyes at me. “Is that a threat, Han Antonovich? The Blood of Otets runs in my veins. I will not be frightened by the unSanctioned.”

“No threat,” Borislav said, leaning forward, “but a fact. Our ranks are already growing at an unprecedented rate. The people of Inzhria are going to end Miroslav’s reign, and they are going to end whoever supports him, as well. The only reason Miroslav won at Barbezht was because he brought in a foreign army. Once they see the rebellion is still alive, no other country will be willing to lend him aid. This uprising will be Inzhrian and Inzhrian alone.

“Cousin.” Borislav took the prince’s hand, his voice going low and earnest. “You can ensure the safety of our people. Youknow I will care for them as Otets intended. Join me, make a Disinheritance of my brother, and we can ensure the tsardom comes through this war in one piece.”

The two men stared at each other. Silence rang in my ears, unbearably loud. I clenched my fist, digging my nails into my palm. What would we do if he refused? How would we defeat Miroslav without Radomir’s men?

At last, the prince nodded. “I will join you. But bear in mind, Borislav, this is not for your glory. This is for the faith and the good of the realm. Were you found to be as undeserving an Heir as your brother, I would not hesitate to make a Disinheritance of you as well.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Borislav answered.

Chapter seventeen

Miroslav's Court

Mila

The clatter of plates and the sound of raucous laughter filled my ears as I entered the dining hall, searching for a familiar face. The entire court—royalty, nobles, trade workers, and servants—had been invited to a feast to celebrate the annual gathering of the nobles. It was the first of many celebrations, Izolda had told me, balls and pageants and banquets that would last until Prophet’s Day.

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