Sebastian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “If you give your word not to harm my mother, I will come without a fight.”
The soldier nodded approvingly. “That’s a good boy.”
Sebastian almost lashed out at him for that. People were forever calling him a “good boy,” or worse, a mama’s boy, and it was never a compliment. But it was precisely to protect his mother that he kept himself in check.
The soldier whistled shrilly. “Bring the old lady out unharmed!”
Sebastian stood shivering silently in the cold with his captors as two soldiers emerged from the house holding his mother between them. Her long hair was disheveled, but she walked with her usual quiet dignity toward Sebastian. She had never been one to show weakness.
The lead soldier looked to see if there were any more soldiers coming, then grunted. “Did we lose the rest?”
One of the men escorting Sebastian’s mother nodded tersely.
The soldier looked impressed. “Pretty good for an old guy. I’d heard stories about Giovanni the Wolf but figured they were mostly exaggeration.” He shrugged, as if he found the loss of life of little import. “Let’s move out. The commander is expecting us back at the garrison by morning.”
The soldiers placed Sebastian and his mother in the back of a carriage with bars on the windows and a door that locked from the outside. But it was surprisingly comfortable inside. Sebastian and his mother sat across from each other on benches padded with soft quilting, and there were several thick wool blankets to keep them warm during the journey.
Sebastian immediately pulled one of the blankets over his shoulders, but he noticed that his mother merely sat there, shivering as she stared blankly into a corner of the carriage. Sebastian leaned forward and draped a blanket across her back.
She gave him a sad but grateful smile as she took the edges of the blanket in her hands. “Thank you, dear.”
“Are you okay, Mother?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
“My Giovanni is dead,” she said quietly. “His loss feels like a limb has been severed from my body.”
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
Even as he said the words, Sebastian realized with an odd shock that he wasn’t as grieved by his father’s loss as he was by the pain it caused her. It was true that he had never been close with his father. For all their arguing, his sister had always been much closer to the man. Even so, surely Sebastian should feel more than fleeting grief for the death of a man who had sacrificed everything, including his life, for him.
His mother reached out her hand, her skin so pale he could see the blue veins beneath. He took it in his own hands and tried to warm it.
“Don’t worry about me, my son,” she said. “Your father is dead, and now you must be your own man and make your own choices.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Her red-rimmed hazel eyes held his. “Do what you think is right. Understand?”
“Y-yes, Mother.”
She smiled and tucked a lock of his blond hair behind his ear. “Good.”
He didn’t really understand, but his confirmation seemed to comfort her, and that was all he could do at present. He had already looked around the carriage and found neither metal nor crystal within reach. Even the bars on the windows were made of wood. These soldiers clearly understood the limits of his ability and had taken no chances.
As their carriage rattled down the road, the snowfields slipped past the barred windows, gleaming luminous in the moonlight. Mounted imperial soldiers surrounded the carriage, riding in perfect formation. Again Sebastian could not help feeling awe at their precision. His father had often spoken of the ruthless efficiency of imperial soldiers, but had neglected to mention their almost serene discipline. Every one of them seemed to know exactly what to do at all times. Sebastian envied them that surety.
3
Sonya Turgenev Portinari reached her parents’ farm just as the dawn was breaking across the horizon, staining the snowy fields a cozy pink. But the warm nostalgia she felt at seeing her childhood home was cut short when she saw the barn door wide open. It was not an oversight she could imagine her father or Mikhail allowing. Then she saw a cow wander through the courtyard, and she knew that something terrible had happened.
She had a strong urge to rush in, but she didn’t give in to it. Instead she pushed back her fur-lined hood and shook out her long dark hair. Now she would be able to hear the potential sounds of ambush better. She guided her black-and-gray stallion, Peppercorn, slowly down the path from the trade road to the farm, her hand resting on the pommel of the long knife belted at her waist.
The cow stopped along the side of the barn and began half-heartedly pushing the snow aside to see if there was any brown grass beneath it she might nibble on. Beyond the barn, Sonya saw some of the sheep milling about in the field. They were unattended, despite the fact that winter sometimes brought wolves that were hungry and desperate enough to brave human settlements.
The main house, a simple, two-story wooden structure painted a pale blue, was quiet and motionless, except for the curtains, which blew in and out of broken windows. The door to the house was also open.
“Shit.”
Sonya closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Underneath the powerful smells of manure and hay that always accompanied the farm, she caught the smell of fresh blood, bright and coppery. After a few moments, she heard someone cough wetly inside the barn. She dismounted Peppercorn and tied his reins to the hitching post. Then she drew her knife and made her way silently into the barn.
Only a feeble amount of sunlight made its way between the cracks in the wooden planks, but it was enough for her to see. Her boots made no sound as she passed the empty sheep and cow pens and crept toward the pig pens where the smell of blood was strongest.
“Mikhail,” she said quietly.
Mikhail Popov Lukyanenko turned at the sound of his name. He was an older man, with shaggy white hair and stringy muscles. She was accustomed to seeing him full of spirit, rich humor, and quiet courage. But now he lay in a trough of pig slop, clutching pointlessly at the huge gash in his belly as he slowly bled to death. He had served Sonya’s family since before she was born, but to her, the old man was far more than a servant.
“Uchitel,” she whispered as she crouched next to him. It meant teacher in the language of the Izmorozian ancestors.
“Ah, Sofyushka.” His weathered face was creased with pain. “I am rewarded… for my stubbornness… to see your face… one last time.”
“What happened?”
“Imperials.” His mouth sounded dry, even though his throat gurgled with blood. “They came…” He tried to swallow but couldn’t, so Sonya carefully poured a small amount of water from her skin into his mouth. After some effort, he continued. “They took your brother.”
“Father would never allow that,” she said.
“I saw them… put Sebastian and your mother into a small carriage… with bars on the windows…”
His mouth worked open and closed a few times, as if he was trying to form more words. She held up the skin of water, but he shook his head.
“It’s okay, Uchitel.” She tied the skin back to her belt. “I’ll figure out the rest, just as you taught me.”