by K L Conger
When Taras asked her to come back and she’d refused, she told herself she'd grown—that it was a sign of strength that she could tell him no. In the days that followed, she realized she’d been fooling herself. The day after their conversation in the hallway had been one of the most dismal of her life. Despite the conflict she felt about their relationship, she never wanted to be without him again.
Then Sergei attacked her. Too afraid to tell Taras the truth about what brought her back to him, she hid behind Sergei as an excuse. She would have gone back to Taras eventually, whether or not Sergei became problem. She wished she had the courage to tell Taras how she felt.
She worried about the coming campaign against Kazan. When dark thoughts crept into the corners of her mind, she pushed them away. Taras had proven an excellent soldier. Nothing would happen to him; she had to believe that.
“All right,” Yehvah finally said, “I think that’s everything.”
In the courtyard, Inga waved goodbye not only to the other maids, but to cooks, stable hands, grooms, and most of the other palace servants. They saw her off mostly to remind her of the messages she needed to give Natalya on their behalf.
Inga rode a packhorse weighed down with baggage. Some of the bags held supplies for her visit. Most were filled with gifts and tokens the other servants sent for Natalya. Taras rode beside her on Jasper.
They talked little in the city because the clatter of Moscow was too loud. Even when they reached the countryside, Taras said little. When they were half an hour from the estate, Inga spoke.
“You’re very quiet.”
He looked at her as though he’d forgotten she was there. “I have a lot to think about. That’s all.”
“With the campaign, you mean?”
“Yes. And you.”
She smiled, understanding his meaning. “Perhaps planning for the campaign will keep you too busy to miss me.”
“I wish that were possible.”
“I’ll only be gone a few days,” she smiled more deeply.
“I know, but this is a strange estate. I don’t know anyone—the servants or the other men here. You can’t expect me to feel secure about this.”
She gave him a don’t-be-stupid look, and he grinned. After a moment, the grin faded and he looked melancholy again.
“What is it? What are you thinking about?”
He stopped his horse and turned to look at her.
“This is nice. You and me, here in the countryside, riding and talking—laughing even—without a care in the world.”
“But we do have cares.”
“Maybe we don’t have to have them. Don’t you ever think of leaving it all behind—the palace, the city?”
Inga tensed. Taras had alluded to this sort of thing before, but he’d never asked her so directly. When he mentioned it—when she could tell he was so much as thinking about it—she felt afraid.
“We can’t do that.” She urged her horse forward again, but he grabbed the bridle. The stock horse halted without objection.
“Why not?”
“Taras, this is my home. It’s the only thing I know.”
“I understand, but that’s exactly why you’re afraid. If you could find other places where you could be happy—”
“I don’t know how, Taras. When my father abandoned me, I wanted to die. I nearly did. Yehvah introduced me to a life that has let me be content. I vowed always to cling to that life because I’ve known the lack of it. I can’t leave the Kremlin. This is where I . . . exist.”
His level stare bored into her until she dropped her eyes.
“I would take care of you, Inga.”
“Is Moscow so bad?”
“No, not at all. All I’m saying is . . . I’m still trying to explain my mother’s death. It’s going slowly, and now with this war . . . it might take years to get it all figured out. But I don’t think I’ll stay in Moscow forever.”
“Taras,” she turned her upper body in the saddle to face him, “every day you live there, you become more entrenched in the court’s politics. In another few years, you’ll be too entangled to escape. How do you expect—”
“They cannot hold me here against my will. No one can. No one can hold you either. You know that, don’t you, Inga?”
She pursed her lips, unsure how to answer. What was he talking about? She was a servant in the tsar’s palace.
“Taras, are you asking me to leave with you tomorrow?”
He sighed. “No, I suppose not.”
“Then let’s not discuss it now. Let’s not discuss it at all until we are faced with it. I don’t want to talk about things changing. I like things the way they are.”
He stared at her until she shifted in her saddle. Finally, he nodded. “All right. But, Inga, nothing stays the same for long. A day will come when you have to make a choice.”
The same cold fear gripped Inga’s heart again. “Then I hope it’s not for many, many years.” She turned to look straight ahead again. “We’re almost there. We should keep moving if you want to drop me off and make it back to the palace before dark.”
He let go of her bridle and she urged her horse forward. He hung back for a few seconds before following.
WHEN THEY REACHED THE Andreev estate outside of Moscow, the gates were barred. One of the guards went to enquire if anyone knew of Inga’s coming. She and Taras waited outside for more than half an hour. Finally, two people approached. One sat on horseback, riding sidesaddle. The other lead the horse. The spectacle reminded Inga of a scene from the New Testament: Joseph leading Mary toward Bethlehem.
As they neared, and the gates opened, Inga’s face split into a smile. She couldn’t help it. Natalya rode the horse, and Inga recognized the man leading it as Natalya’s husband of nearly a year, Alexander. He was a tall, stocky man, well-muscled, but with the face of a kindly, old clergyman. He could not have been much older than Taras, but his face made him look older.
Natalya looked radiant. Her platok was still in place, mirroring Inga’s, and she had something Inga did not expect—a bump around the middle.
Inga dismounted as Alexander helped Natalya to the ground. The two women threw their arms around each other, laughing and screeching.
“Inga, I’ve missed you so much,” Natalya screamed.
“And I you.” Inga pulled back to place a hand on Natalya’s stomach. “You’re with child.”
“Yes!”
They screeched and hugged again. Meanwhile, Taras crossed to Alexander, who held out his hand.
“Alexander Nikitin.”
“Taras Demidov.” The two men clasped forearms, then chuckled together at the two women jumping up and down and screaming.
When they’d calmed themselves, Inga turned to Taras. “Will you come to collect me in a few days?”
He nodded. “Three days, in the evening?”
“Yes.”
“I will be here.” He handed her the reins of the stock horse and their hands brushed briefly. “Until then.”
She smiled at him, hoping her eyes communicated her feelings. He smiled back before turning to go. Mounting his horse, he walked it until he stood outside the gates to avoid kicking up too much dust. Then he spurred Jasper into a gallop. Inga watched until he was out of sight.
AS HEAD OF THE KITCHENS, Natalya could not take the afternoon off to sit and gossip with Inga. Inga stowed her things in the tiny cottage where Natalya and Alexander lived, and then went to the kitchens to help. As long as she was here, she might as well lend a hand.
They worked all evening on dinner for the household and then cleanup. It was nearly midnight before the two women retired to Natalya’s cottage, clad in nightdresses and sipping tea quietly by the fire. The soft sound of Alexander’s snoring came from the other room.
“Poor, Alexei,” Natalya laughed softly, “he works so hard.”
“He lets you call him Alexei?”
“Not in public. When others are around, he’s Alexander. His closest friends and fa
mily use the nickname.”
“When will your baby come?”
“In another two months.”
“Then I’ll have to come see you again when I return from war.”
Natalya choked on her tea, spitting some of it back into the cup. Inga laughed aloud, then clapped her hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t wake Alexander.
“What?”
“I’m not going to fight the war. I’m going along to cook for the army.”
“Oh.” Natalya swallowed. “Well, that’s frightening enough, isn’t it?”
Inga shrugged. “Yehvah is going. Most of the servants are. It’s going to be a massive undertaking. We all have to help.”
Natalya seemed mollified. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“And since when am I a stranger to that? Or you, for that matter.”
Natalya nodded. “You have no idea. This estate is—obviously—smaller than the palace, so I didn’t think there would be as much work. Truly, there’s not. But my job is akin to Yehvah’s, so my workload is actually more. I don’t know how Yehvah does all this for a place as big as the imperial palace. I certainly couldn’t.”
“I think it’s sheer stubbornness.”
Natalya chuckled. “How is Yehvah? How is everyone?”
“They’ve all sent you gifts and messages. It’s all over there with my things. Perhaps tomorrow we can open them.”
“Oh, yes, let’s!”
Inga smiled down into her tea.
“And you, Inga? How are you?”
Inga shrugged. “I'm well.” It felt untrue, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Truly?”
“I’m not unwell.”
“Does it have something to do with that soldier? Taras, right? Is there something between you two?”
Inga raised an eyebrow. Taras hadn’t so much as touched her when they’d parted.
“How did you figure that out?”
Natalya laughed her delicate laugh again. “I notice it often, now. I think once you’ve experienced love, you see signs of it in others. So tell me about him.”
Inga barked a laugh. “It’s a long and rather humiliating story.”
“In that case,” Natalya scooted up close so she and Inga sat knee-to-knee, “don’t spare any details.”
Inga laughed again. “Oh Natalya, I’ve missed you.”
She told the entire story in one long, almost emotionless stream of words. Natalya listened with rapt attention, one hand absently rubbing her swollen belly. Her only responses were the movement of her eyebrows and the widening or narrowing of her eyes.
“So,” Natalya said when she'd finished, “you are sleeping in his bed, but not bedding him. He kisses you often, but nothing else?”
Inga nodded.
“I’m confused. Does he not want to take it any further? If he’s one of those men who likes other men or boys, why does he kiss you?”
“No, no, no,” Inga waved her hands for Natalya to stop. “It’s not like that. He does prefer women. It’s me who doesn’t want to take it further.”
“And he’s all right with that? He doesn’t try to force you, or coax you?”
“Force me, no. Coax me . . .” Inga shrugged uncomfortably. “When he kisses me, he often tries to do more, but I pull away. When I do, he stops. If he didn’t want more, he wouldn’t do that to begin with. Right?”
Natalya’s eyebrows went up. “Inga, that’s a rare man you have. Most men would take advantage.”
“I know,” Inga put a hand to her forehead, “And I know I’m being unfair to him.”
“Then why . . .”
“Because I’m afraid to take it any further.”
“What are you afraid of, exactly? That he would hurt you, like Sergei? Or has something happened that’s made you afraid of the physical act in general?”
“No. It’s nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
“I like him.”
Natalya’s eyes moved briefly from side to side. “I don’t see a problem, Inga.”
Inga sighed, trying to put her feelings into words. “I’ve never felt safer or warmer than when I’m with Taras. It’s not that I don’t want to be with him. I do, but that’s what scares me. I’m afraid of wanting it so much.”
“You mean you’re afraid to feel so much for him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s fleeting. It will come and go.”
“Do you mean for you?”
“No, for him. Natalya, Alexander married you. Taras is a boyar. He can’t marry a serving maid.”
“He’s a boyar?”
Inga pressed her lips together, and her eyes went to the ceiling. “Did I forget to mention that?”
“Inga, that’s a whole different battlefield. This could be dangerous for you.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve held back; it’s why this has been so hard.”
“What does Yehvah say? Surely she doesn’t approve.”
Inga sighed, feeling drained. “Yehvah told me about how she once fell in love with a boyar and became his mistress. Then he had to marry a boyar’s daughter and sent Yehvah away. She wants to save me from such heartache.”
Natalya looked like she might explode if Inga gave her one more piece of shocking news. Her mouth worked soundlessly, and she waved her hands around in front of her.
“What?”
“Yehvah doesn’t approve and for her own reasons. Because of Sergei, I must sleep in Taras’s rooms anyway. As long as I’m there . . . I don’t know what to do.”
Natalya’s eyes grew as wide as they could go. “I don’t know either, Inga. I couldn’t begin to advise you on this.”
“No, no, you have to tell me what to do. You’re my friend and I need your advice.”
“Inga,” Natalya chided softly, “you know this is not a decision I can make for you. Besides, you were always more of a leader than I.”
Inga let her head fall back, knowing Natalya was right—about making her own decision, anyway—but feeling frustrated all the same.
“You don’t want to be with him because you are afraid he’ll hurt you some day?”
“Yes.” Inga looked at Natalya. “Life is so hard as it is. I don’t know if I can take more heartache.”
“What if you don’t let your heart ache?”
“What do you mean?”
“Go into it with your eyes open, knowing how it might—and probably will—end. Know that you have him now, and enjoy the time you have together. Don’t keep up any expectations, and then you won’t be disappointed.”
“I don’t think it works that way, Natalya. Apply it to you and Alexander. Even if you knew you might not be with him forever, that he might leave you some day, no matter how hard you tried not to care, it would still hurt when he left.”
Natalya considered, then nodded. “You’re right. I’m certain you are. Only you can decide what to do. I understand your hesitance. I truly do. If you decide not to be with him, I wouldn’t judge you.”
“What would you do?”
“I’m married, Inga. My situation is nothing like yours.”
“What if it were?” Inga insisted. “I want your opinion, Natalya. It matters to me.”
Natalya thought for a moment.
“When Sergei forced himself on me, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to be with anyone. Not because no one would want me—although the thought did cross my mind—but because I put up walls around myself, like a self-imposed exile from life and emotion. I thought if I tried to be with a man, it would be horrible and scary, and the bad memories would take over. Then I met Alexei. He tore down my walls, not with force but with his love and gentleness. He healed me, in every way. And now,” she put a hand on her stomach, “I’m so happy, Inga.
“Being with someone is unlike anything else you’ll ever do. It’s wonderful. I think you ought to let yourself experience it. Maybe the nights are cold now, and maybe they’ll be colder still if he lea
ves you one day, but why not take advantage of the warmth while you can? Life is hard, so why not find a little contentment, perhaps even joy, in a good man who truly loves you? If you truly care for him, I think you ought to be with him. I think you’ll be happier than you ever thought you could be. This is a decision only you can make. Be careful you don’t give in to fear too quickly. Life is too short to not be lived.”
Inga wiped a tear from her cheek, but nodded and smiled at Natalya. She wasn’t sure she agreed with Natalya, but it gave her something to think about. Natalya was happily married—something Inga could never have with Taras.
“Now,” Natalya perked up, “give me a list of the men you think could possibly be the one Yehvah loved.”
Inga laughed, perhaps harder than was appropriate, and it felt good.
Chapter 31
Kazan, August 1548
It took nearly three months to get the tsar’s army—nearly one hundred and forty thousand strong—to the gates of Kazan. They turned aside twice; once because they received word that the Crimean Tatars planned to attack Moscow—though nothing came of that—and once because torrential rains turned the trail to mud. They’d squatted in Vladimir for several weeks before the roads became passable again.
During the journey, Taras saw Inga as often as he could, but the opportunities proved short and seldom. She rode and worked with the servants, while he worked alongside his men. They were lucky to get a handful of minutes together all day.
The army set up camp two days before. Since then, the logistics of the siege and strategy of attack had evolved. At dawn tomorrow, the Russian army would move into place.
The chilly wind cut through Taras’s coat and thick, sable-lined cloak. It was only August, but the winter chill came early this far north. If the blustery gale desisted, the cloak would lie gracefully over his horse’s rump. The wind raged constantly, and his cloak whipped unceasingly behind him like an ominous banner. The battle would begin soon.
Kazan was laid out in the manner of many old European cities. A high acropolis towered over the city wall, crowned with a fortress on the heights. On the west side, reachable only by scaling sheer cliffs, the tips of minarets, mosques, and palace battlements stood out against the gray sky.