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“Shouldn’t be serving these types, girl,” he said, just loud enough to be heard.
“Beg your pardon, sir?” I laid my hand on Yakov’s arm to forestall any rash reaction. There were at least ten soldiers in the inn, and attacking the tsar’s men was a hanging offense.
“I’d heard there were some Barbezht survivors in this part of the country.” He nodded at our arms and spat on the ground. “Traitors.”
Yakov jumped to his feet, fist clenched. “Say that again.”
“Ooh, look at this, boys!” he told his companions, who had joined him. “The cripple thinks he can take on the tsar’s men.”
The whole room had gone silent, watching the scene.
I stood and grabbed Yakov by the collar. “Let’s just go,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “We are loyal supporters of Tsar Miroslav, and we meant no offense. We’ll leave you to your supper.” I steered my friend toward the door but found our path blocked by one of the other soldiers.
The first man sneered at us. “Miroslav should have hanged you all.”
Yakov’s fist connected with the man’s nose.
The room erupted in shouts, and Yakov disappeared under a pile of soldiers. I dove into the fray, swinging wildly at anything in reach. Something hit my lip, and I tasted blood. I grabbed a mug from the floor and smashed it over the head of the nearest soldier. He turned on me, too drunk to see straight but still flailing his fists.
Yakov stumbled out of the mass of bodies, breathing hard. I grabbed his arm, and we ran for the door, momentarily unobserved.
As we rushed down the street, the inn door opened behind us. We ducked around a corner into a dark alley in time to see several of the soldiers run past.
I waited a moment to ensure our pursuers were out of sight before turning to my friend.
“Home.”
Yakov nodded, pinching his bleeding nose.
I didn’t draw an easy breath until we left the city gate. As we pulled onto the moonlit road home, I looked at my friend.
“What were you thinking?” I hissed.
He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wagon seat. “They were asking for it.”
“Do you have a death wish?” His temper was going to get us both killed. “You’d best pray they don’t find us, or we’ll both be hanged. And that’s nothing compared to what Mila’s going to do when she finds out.” She’d already been worried; if she found out I’d been in a fight with some soldiers, she’d lose her mind.
“What was I supposed to do, just take it?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do!”
“Maybe you can handle being treated like scum, but I can’t.”
I sighed. Sometimes it was easy to forget how young he was. “I hate it, too, but Mila needs me. I deal with the abuse so I can go home safe to her.”
He didn’t respond, scowling down at the horses’ heads in front of us.
“Let’s just go home,” I said. “You can stay with us tonight. There’s no need to wake your mother.”
***
It was late, well past midnight when we finally made it home. Not wanting to wake anyone, we left the wagon fully loaded in the barn, stabled the horses, and crept into the dark house.
I left Yakov to find the spare room by himself, making my way to my own room. Mila must have been warm; she’d left the window open, and the breeze coming through the room chilled me. I closed it, stripped off my clothes, and climbed into bed with my wife.
She rolled over, frowning. “Han?” Her voice was slurred with sleep.
“I’m sorry,dorogusha,”I whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
