Citadels of Fire

  ***

  “The tsar? He’s going to ask the tsar for you?” Yehvah sounded on the verge of hysteria. Inga had finally staggered, unnoticed, to her room. When Yehvah came to wake her hours later, she found Inga curled up, with a bruised face and blood smeared across her jaw.

  Yehvah brought Anne to get Inga cleaned up, and Inga told both women everything. Yehvah went to see to dinner duties. She excused Inga so she wouldn’t have to deal with questions. As a result, Inga spent the better part of four hours alone and brooding. Now dinner was long over and most people were settling down to sleep once more. Both older maids had returned and Yehvah now paced hard enough to leave marks in the rug.

  “Yes.”

  Yehvah ran her hands through her hair, sighing in frustration. Tears welled up in Inga’s eyes. Yehvah offered no answers. It sunk in for Inga that she had no choice. She would be Sergei’s mistress, and she could do nothing to prevent it.

  “Surely something can be done,” Anne volunteered. No one answered. They all knew better. Inga’s tears flowed more freely, and Yehvah crouched down, putting her hands on Inga’s knees.

  “I’m so sorry, Inga. I’ve tried to protect you from this. I don’t know . . . if there was anything I could do.” Yehvah rested her forehead in her hand, her face anguished.

  Inga’s head came up. Yehvah’s choice of words sparked an idea. A terrible idea. She shuttered to think of it. Yet, the idea of Sergei was worse.

  “Inga, what?” Anne watched her closely.

  Yehvah frowned at Anne quizzically.

  “She thought of something. I can see it. Inga, what is it?”

  Yehvah turned to Inga expectantly.

  “I’m . . . not sure.”

  “Surely nothing can be as bad as Sergei,” Anne pressed. “Come, girl. Let’s hear it.”

  Inga shrugged uncomfortably. “Yesterday,” she addressed Yehvah, “when Taras talked to me in the courtyard . . .” At the mention of his name Yehvah’s eyes narrowed. “Do you remember when I was a child and he and Sergei pelted me with snowballs?”

  Yehvah’s eyebrows went down in puzzlement. “Yes.”

  “He remembers too, and…apologized for it.”

  Inga imagined Yehvah’s face looked much like her own when Taras approached her.

  “What?”

  “I know. He’s the strangest boyar I’ve ever met. He said he’d felt guilty about it for years and wanted to make it up to me.”

  Yehvah’s look went from confusion to alarm. “You didn’t take anything from him, did you?”

  “No. I told him he owed me nothing. He said if I ever needed anything, to come to him and he would help.”

  Yehvah studied the ground, her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. How could Taras help with—” Then comprehension dawned in her eyes. “No, Inga. Absolutely not. I forbid it.”

  Inga’s shoulders slumped. “Why not?”

  Yehvah stood up so she towered above Inga. “You would be doing no more than substituting one man’s bed for another.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Inga stood up aggressively. Yehvah took a step back, surprised, and Inga moderated her tone. “Yehvah, I don’t want this—any of it. It’s being forced on me. Taras has been kind to me. As Anne said, surely anyone is better than Sergei.”

  “You don’t know that, Inga. He’s a foreigner. We know nothing about him.”

  “Well he can’t be any worse.”

  Yehvah was silent and out of arguments, it seemed.

  “Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?” Anne asked quietly. “We are assuming he is willing to do this. He may not be. I know he said he’d help, Inga, but this . . .”

  Inga nodded. “You’re right. I’ll have to go ask him.”

  Yehvah's brow furrowed with worry. Putting her hands on Inga’s shoulders, she turned Inga to face her. “Inga, you’re sure you want to do this? Between the two, you’d rather it was Taras?”

  Inga nodded silently.

  “You’ll have to ask tonight. Sergei will go to the tsar first thing tomorrow.”