AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“She died giving birth to me.”
“Ah.” The tsar’s face crinkled with sympathy. “So you have no siblings?”
“My father had three daughters with his first wife, but we’ve never been close. My mother was the same age as my oldest sister, and they were all three married before I was born.”
“And your wife? Does she have any family?”
This section of the road was heavily rutted, forcing me to watch where I stepped as I answered. “Her father and younger sister died of Moon Fever years ago. Her mother lives with Mila’s older brother and his wife and children near the East Mountains.” Another reason I shouldn’t have let Mila go. Dobromila Nikolaevna hated me; if she found out I’d allowed her daughter to go to court as a spy against Tsar Miroslav, she’d probably arrange a gruesome death for me. I wouldn’t put anything past her.
“A pity they live so far away,” the tsar said. “It must cause her pain.”
“Her mother is a…difficult woman. I think Mila would be more pained if they lived closer.”
“Ah. I can understand the sentiment. My own mother is similarly difficult. Though I hope your wife’s mother has never attempted to have her killed?” He raised a brow in question.
I choked on a laugh. “No, I can’t say she has. Nor me, despite her dislike of me and disapproval of our marriage.” I considered the tsar before looking ahead at the Blood Brothers talking amongst themselves. “Did your mother truly try to kill you? I thought that was a rumor.” I’d heard the tsarina—now dowager tsarina—had attempted to have Borislav assassinated when she heard that her husband favored him for the succession. The throne typically passed to the eldest son, but given that Miroslav was only older by a few hours, the question had been raised bythe tsar’s advisors as to whether Borislav was better suited to the task.
“True, unfortunately.” The tsar took out his water pouch and raised it. “To difficult mothers.”
***
We reached our destination early afternoon on the second day. The Brothers had arranged housing for us in the temple, and a number of men from the town had been invited to the temple that evening, ostensibly to discuss a repair of the roof.
“The first test of your skills, Han,” the tsar said when our host informed us of the meeting. “I will await your return.”
Borislav wouldn’t attend the meeting, for his protection. The Brothers were confident that the men they had invited would be open to joining the rebellion, but it wasn’t worth the risk of betrayal. If I was captured, my life was in danger, but if Borislav was captured, the whole rebellion would be over before it began in earnest. If pressed, I was to indicate that the tsar was raising support in the east.
That evening, I sat in the corner of a small room in the temple as locals trickled in alone or in pairs. They were as widely varied as any town I’d seen. A bespectacled man with dark skin and short, coiled hair was, I assumed, a lawyer. He entered with a fair-skinned, yellow-haired man whose muscles and scars indicated he was the village smith. A small group with dirt on their clothes from a day’s hard work came in laughing, followed by a harried-looking man whose fingers were stained with ink. The first few men gave me a curious look, but once the room began to fill up, they mostly ignored me, talking among themselves.
“Heard your wife’s expecting again. What is this, number twelve?”
“Get that plow fixed?”
“Saw your oldest in the market last week. How long until the wedding?”
I tapped my foot impatiently. Why didn’t we start already? Ages passed before the Blood Brother finally stood in front of the room.
“Welcome, brothers, in the name of Otets.” The chatter died down as everyone turned their attention to the priest. “We are gathered here to honor our tsar.”
A murmur of dissent ran through the assembled crowd. The Brother raised his hand.
“Yes, to honor our tsar, for that is his due as the Heir of the Sanctioned. A firstborn son, a father’s heir, deserves the respect of his brothers, and we are all brothers of the tsar, children of our creator Otets.”
A trickle of sweat ran down my back. Had Tsar Borislav been duped into taking a supporter of Miroslav into his circle? This man, this priest, was calling for loyalty to the man responsible for the loss of my hand, for the army that ran roughshod over the country, hurting and killing at will. He was calling for honor toward the monster responsible for the death of my son. I trembled with anger, watching as the Brother paced in front of the muttering crowd.
“Our tsar has done no great crime, done nothing to forfeit our honor. He has not sacrificed his position as Heir. After all, which of you would disinherit your firstborn for such minor infractions as our tsar has committed?” He stopped in front of a stout bald man. “Would you, Abram, disinherit Mikhail for the murder of his brothers? Or you, Nikolai,” he gestured at another man, “would you disinherit Ivan for the mere offense of letting his friends make free with your daughters? Does an heir not have the right to treat other sons and daughters how he pleases?” He stared the men down, daring them to answer.
I leapt to my feet, unable to listen to another word. “No.” All eyes turned to me, but my gaze, cloudy with rage, was fixed on the traitor Blood Brother standing at the front of the room. “No, he does not. And I won’t stand here listening to you make excuses for thatbastardwho—”
“Just so.” The Brother cut me off with a nod. “An heir’s duty is to care for his brothers and sisters. When he becomes a danger to the other children, he no longer has claim to the rights and privileges of an heir. Brother, has our tsar not forfeited the title of Heir of the Sanctioned?”
The men shouted in unison.“Da!”
“Has our tsar not committed atrocities against the brothers and sisters Otets has charged him to protect?”
“Da!”
“I tell you now, until Miroslav repents and makes restitution for the crimes he has committed, he is no tsar of mine!”
