I didn’t belong here, in the middle of this emotional reunion. As I floundered, unsure of what to do, Chinovnitsa Ignatieva poked her head through a door on the third-floor gallery and hissed at me.

I’d never been more grateful to anyone, not even to Sanya for raising my damn kids.

Ignatieva took me through winding, empty corridors, opening dark door after dark door, and finally deposited me in a small, whitewashed room with a neat little bed, an empty bookcase, a dresser, a chair, a braided rug, and a window that looked out over the greening courtyard.

I assumed she was going to leave me there, but as I went to look out at the courtyard, she sat down on the chair.

“Don’t linger in the window,” she said.

So I went away from the light and retreated to the bed. “Who’s gonna see me?”

“Anyone looking up.” Her gnarled hands were folded on her crossed legs. The skin on her neck was loose and hanging, but her eyes were clear and sharp as a fox’s.

“How long have you worked here?” I asked. As long as we were stuck here together, we might as well chat.

“How old are you?”

I hesitated. “I’m forty, they tell me. Thirty-nine, I guess, technically.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “How old does it say you are on whatever papers you have?”

“Oh. Twenty-three.”

“That’ll have to do. In either case, I’ve been working here longer than you’ve been alive.”

“You’ve been a steward for that long?”

She chuckled. “No, of course not. I started working here when I was twelve, as a scullery maid. I worked my way up.”

“You sure did. So that means you were around when San—when Aleksandr Artyomovich was a child?”

“I was in the room when he was born,” she said. “I was Lady Varvara’s personal attendant at that time.”

“When he was born!” I had not known I was covetous of this information until she said it. For the first time, I could think of something other than what was going on in the great hall below. “What was he like? Did he cry when he was a baby?”

“It was the most talkative he’s ever been.”

I laughed.

“He was a polite boy. Bit of a tattletale. Lena hated that. Had a sulky phase when he was a teenager, but don’t you all? I always thought he’d be a good man, but he wasn’t the same after Lena died. We never really got him back after that, even before Vasilij Artyomovich took him.”

I nodded, residual laughter melting from my face. I could never be distracted from my crimes for long. For a moment, I just watched her watching me. “Why are you so comfortable talking to me?”

She looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “ I don’t know you, and what I’ve heard is not complimentary. But you’ve brought Sasha back, haven’t you? I don’t think telling you about his childhood is going to be what brings ruin on this house. He’s already brought you here.” She regarded me coolly.

“This seems like a very… good house,” I said dumbly. “His parents really love him. I was worried they would want to… or feel like they had to…”

“They would never do anything to hurt their son,” she said. “They have missed him terribly for eighteen years.”

Before, I could just imagine his parents faceless under their furs, staring at me from the Watchman’s Palace high table, cold and empty as any of them. But I’d seen a man called His Highness break down weeping because his forty-year-old son had been returned to him, and I wondered how many years of weeping had filled these halls? One child after another: first Mikhail, the baby; then Yelena; then Sanya. Eighteen years of emptiness.

“How old is this estate?” I asked, looking up at the white walls as though they were the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen.

She gave me a tight smile and began to explain the history of Snyezhnaya Polyana.

***

Ignatieva gave me a thorough accounting of the place, from when construction began one hundred years ago as a home for Knyaz Mikhail’s brother, whom he wanted away from the palace so as not to cause trouble for him and his heir. It had been a place for superfluous sons since then, and Andrej Artyomovich had been sent here shortly after he turned seventeen, before his marriage to Varvara Artyomovich, before he even reached the age of majority.

I wondered but did not ask what they would do when Knyaz Artyom died and Vasilij needed somewhere to send his own inconvenient younger brother. Would they lose the income from their vassal lands? How much income could there be in a place like this? They might have an interest, I thought, in preventing Vasilij from coming to power—if Vasilij were not Andrej’s son, too. Given how Andrej reacted to seeing Sanya, I had doubts he would enthusiastically agree to help depose any son of his.

Well, perhaps Lady Varvara would see it our way. Vasilij wasn’t any son of hers.

“Excuse me,” Ignatieva said. “Are you still there?”

“Huh?” I jerked my eyes away from the corner of white sky I was staring at through the window.

“I was speaking to you. I thought.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was listening. I just got distracted.”

“That’s quite all right, I was only talking to fill the silence and prevent you from feeling awkward. I’m perfectly happy to sit quietly. Some say silence can be companionable.”

“I’m sure you have better things to be doing,” I said. “You can go do them. I’m not going to go anywhere. I won’t cause trouble for you.” I smiled.

She smiled back. “Would you like to hear about the chapel? It’s a unique feature of the estate.” Maybe I was getting too old to evoke motherly feelings in older women.

I took a deep breath and widened my smile. “Sure.”

“I’ve told you this estate began construction just over a hundred years ago, but the chapel has been here even longer. Most estates don’t have freestanding chapels on the grounds themselves, as I’m sure you know, but—”

At that moment, the door banged open, and both Ignatieva and I jumped in our seats. Sanya loomed there, looking every bit as imposing as his father had moments before.

When he saw me sitting there on the bed, he relaxed visibly. He turned to Ignatieva and inclined his head. “I apologize, Chinovnitsa Ignatieva. Might we have the room for a moment?”

“Certainly, my lord.” Ignatieva, who stood as soon as the door opened, bowed and backed out.

Sanya stood aside to let her pass, but suddenly his face grew red, and he said, “Chinovnitsa…”

“Yes, my lord?”

“It’s very good to see you again.” He could not make eye contact.

“You as well, my lord,” she said, and it sounded like there was laughter lurking behind her words.

He closed the door behind her and took the seat she had just vacated. He braced his elbows on his knees and cleared his throat. His eyes stayed on the floor, and I knew he was trying to get the red out of his face.

“Your parents seem… they were very happy to see you.” Perhaps I should have given more thought to what Ignatieva said about companionable silences.

“Yes.”

“And, uh… Chinovnitsa Ignatieva seems very… knowledgeable. About the grounds and um…”

“We have to talk about three things.”

“Okay.” A cold fist gripped my heart.

“I’ve told my father that we need to talk to him about Vasilij Artyomovich. He has agreed to it.”

“Oh. Well. that’s good.”

“I said you had to be there, but he is not pleased about it.”

“I don’t have to be there. I’m the reason you haven’t seen your parents in so long, and it’s perfectly fine if they don’t want anything to do with me. You should be able to spend time with them without me getting in the way; you ought to be able to be with your family again. And I trust you to know what’s right, so you can just speak for me. I’ll just stay here if they want, if you want, this is a nice room, and it’s got a window so I can look out, but Chinovnitsa Ignatieva says I shouldn’t stand in it, and I guess she’s right.” I laughed nervously.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and briefly closed his eyes. “He has agreed to it. You will be there.”

“Okay, but—”

“Those are the terms we set, and that is what I want,” he said firmly. “This is difficult for everyone, but you are not responsible for this situation. Vasilij Artyomovich and I are responsible for this situation. It’s time to make that clear. We should not have to sneak around like criminals while he parades about as though he won a war when all he’s ever done is start them.” His face was red again, this time with passion.

“I know,” I said. “Believe me, I know. But we do have to sneak around like criminals, as you put it, if we want to have a chance to stop him, and if we don’t want to bring him down on your house and your loving family.”

He paused. “The second thing we need to talk about is dinner.”

I gave him a blank look.

“You will be having dinner with my family.”

“Sanya, I don’t—I just said—”

“My mother is in favor of it. She would like to get to know you. It will be a small dinner; there will be minimal servants. You will be called Miroslav Miroslavovich.”

“I just… It’s gonna get out; I just don’t think it’s safe, even if no one knows it’s me, they’ll know it’s you, and someone is gonna find out and take that to Vasilij, and—”

“If he finds out anything, he will find out that I have come home. There is no price on my head.”

“Does it matter? He’ll know I’m with you. The only advantage we have over him is surprise.”

“We will talk more about this with Andrej Artyomovich later.”

“Sanya—”

“The third thing we need to talk about is that my parents want to restore my youth.”