Page 85 of A War Apart

Fyodor Yakovlvevich led me to a small building near the back wall of the castle fortifications. He stopped at the door. “I’d rather not go in, if it’s all the same to you.”

They’d been close, I remembered. Yakovlevich and Il’ich. The betrayal had to feel personal. “Thank you, captain.”

The air inside was musty and dank, and I heard the steady drip of water. At the end of the hall, torchlight flickered overTsar Borislav and Prince Radomir, who stood together outside a closed cell door.

“Han.” The tsar looked up at my approach. “Welcome back. Your journey was successful?”

I bowed. “They’ll be here within the month, your majesty. Yakov Aleksandrovich and Lada Radamirovna can join me in making a full report.”

The tsar waved a hand. “Later. We have more pressing matters.”

“I assume you’ve been informed on the circumstances,” the prince said, “since you found us here.”

“Fyodor Yakovlevich told me.” My mouth was dry, despite the damp. I swallowed. “Did he say why?”

Borislav’s face held a mixture of fury and disgust. “No. Not that there’s anything he could say to justify treason.”

“May I speak with him?”

The tsar raised a brow. “If you wish. He’s told us all I need to know. He’ll be executed tomorrow. The guards aren’t far—you probably saw them as you came in. Return the key to them when you’re finished, and meet me in my quarters to make your report.” Handing the key to me, he turned to Radomir. “I expect your daughter is waiting to see you, cousin.”

The door creaked as I opened it. Outside, I heard the retreating footsteps of the tsar and the prince.

“Han Antonovich.” Matvey’s voice was hoarse, raspy. Chains held him to the wall. Surely the man wasn’t such a danger as to merit chains. Who had given that order? And why had the tsar allowed it?

Then again, considering the rage I’d seen in the tsar’s face, Il’ich was lucky only his hands were chained.

“Captain.”

A brief expression of surprise flickered across his face, followed by sadness. “Not anymore, I’m afraid.” A coughingfit overtook him. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he rasped. “Circumstances, you understand.”

The cell held no drinking vessel, and even if it had, he wouldn’t have been able to access it, chained as he was. I pulled out my water skin and offered it.

He drank deeply. “My thanks.” His skin was gray and pallid in the torchlight.

“How long have you been here?”

“A few days. Maybe a week,” he said without emotion.

“Why did you do it?”

He looked up at me. “You know, they asked me that, but you’re the first person I believe has had any real interest in my answer.”

I remained silent, waiting.

“My sons,” he said after a moment.

“I didn’t know you had children.”

“Two of them. They’re young, just ten and twelve. Miroslav—” He choked on his words. “They were taken prisoner after I left to join the tsar.”

He still called Borislav the tsar. His reasons weren’t political, whatever else they might be.

“I received word of their arrest, along with a threat: report the tsar’s movements to Miroslav, or they’d be tortured and killed.” He coughed again.

“Why didn’t you tell someone? We could have helped you.”

He shook his head, the chains on his arms clinking slightly. “What could anyone do? The tsar wasn’t going to waste men trying to rescue my sons. And they said they’d send my eldest to me bit by bit if I disobeyed a single order. Not the younger, of course,” he said bitterly. “They needed to keep one alive to ensure my cooperation.”

---