Page 65 of A War Apart

“Yes. Her brother, Sergey, trades with the Drakra.” I couldn’t rely on their introduction, though. Mila’s mother was a staunch supporter of Miroslav, and my relationship with Sergey was tenuous at best.

“And your wife? Is she actually recovering from Moon Fever?”

I tensed. I hadn’t had to lie about Mila since the army had gathered. Still, if it kept her safe… “That part is true,” I said, my grip tightening on the reins. I shouldn’t have to be lying to protect my wife. She shouldn’t be in a place where sheneededprotection. I gritted my teeth, fighting against my growing resentment.

“I’m sorry.” Lada must have sensed the shift in my mood, because she didn’t question me further. “How long have you known Han?” she asked Yakov.

Whether from the cold or the conversation, he was finally alert. “Since Barbezht. He saved my life. Him and Mila, I mean. His wife.”

“How did you end up at Barbezht in the first place? You can’t be older than me, and I was only fifteen when it happened.”

“I was thirteen,” he said. “My father fought for Tsar Borislav. When he was killed in battle, I wanted to take his place. Mama nearly murdered me for running off. If I hadn’t come back missing a piece, she probably would have. Still better than Han, though,” he added cheerfully. “Mila almost castrated him.”

“For leaving?”

“No. When he came back, he tried to break their engagement.” I could hear the mischievous grin in his words. “She’d spent long enough fighting her mother over the wedding, she wasn’t going to let a little thing like an unwilling groom stop her.”

“That’s not what happened,” I protested.

“You came back and said you wouldn’t marry her, she called you a bastard and an ass, and the next day you got married. What part did I miss?”

Lada laughed. “I hope I can meet her someday. I think we’ll get on wonderfully.”

I rolled my eyes. “He makes it seem like I didn’t want to marry her. I was trying to protect her.”

“From what? Being stuck with an old grouch for the rest of her life?”

“Is the whole trip going to be like this?” Lada asked. “Or do you two ever stop fighting?”

I grinned. “No, this is pretty much it.”

She sighed with feigned long-suffering. “Well, at least you’ll be comfortable among the savages.”

I chuckled. “What about you, Lada? How did you become a Blood Bastard?”

“Well, I’m a bastard, and my father is third—or rather, second—in line for the Blood, so…”

I glanced back at her, frowning. Was she serious? I’d thought being a Blood Bastard required extensive training. Inzhria was filled with illegitimate descendants of the Sanctioned, but only a small fraction of them became Blood Bastards.

“That’s really all there is to it,” she said. “My father doesn’t have any other children. Miroslav wouldn’t let him marry, probably because he feels threatened by my father’s power. As a servant’s daughter, I didn’t have many options, but as a child of the Blood, even a natural one, there were more opportunities. And Father’s never been inclined to deny me what I asked for. When I was ten, a traveling Blood Bastard came to visit. I asked to train with him. When my training was done, I came back home, and I’ve been the resident Blood Bastard ever since.”

“I’ve never met a Blood Bastard before,” Yakov said, his voice full of admiration.

“That’s probably a good thing,” she replied. “Most of us are asses.”

I coughed to hide my laugh.

It was late evening before we reached an inn. After a brief stop during which we rested the horses and ate a cold midday dinner, Yakov had taken over driving, but even so, I was exhausted. I pulled my fur cap down over my brow, covering my scar, and tightened the strap on my bean-filled glove as I climbed down from the sleigh.

The inn was empty but for the owner, and I didn’t know if I should be glad or worried. The fewer people we saw, the lower our chances of being recognized, but there was something to be said for the anonymity of a crowd. Inside, a fire burned low in the corner, its heat not quite reaching the entire room.

The innkeeper approached, his ruddy face bright with a welcoming smile. “Looking for a room?”

“Two, if you have a spare,” I said. “And a hot meal.”

“I do. Have yourselves a seat, and I’ll bring out some nice hot bowls of shchi with this morning’s bread.”

As he left the room, we seated ourselves at the table nearest to the fire. Lada and Yakov removed their hats and coats, but my only concession to the warmth was unbuttoning my coat.

---