In the end, Aksana got what we needed from him, though she didn’t bother asking his name again. I didn’t know why that stuck in my mind later, that she never got an answer to her first question. I’d never have a name to put to the face, either for him or the man laid out in the wheat field.

What we did have was the name of a town where the man had last seen Yelena Artyomovich, where he thought they might have been taking her, and a laundry list of other rebels’ names and descriptions. We wanted the name of their leader, but he insisted there wasn’t one at first. Pressed hard enough, he just repeated one of the names he’d already given: Pavel Viktorovich Polunin.

When we were done, Afanasij took the body out to burn it. Dasha had sent cousins to scour the fields and woods by the creek, and they found a campsite but no evidence anyone other than the two men we’d already killed had been staying there. Aksana was suspicious that the townspeople and khozyain knew and were hiding them, but the camp out in the woods made it plausible enough for them to deny knowledge, though Dasha groused about “woods” being a very generous term for the smattering of trees down by the creek. After that, we sent messages to the other families and told them where we’d be going. In the morning, we’d slaughter livestock to drain before we set out.

Now, it was past sunset, and Aksana told us to get to bed early so we could be ready to go first thing in the morning. I was rattling with energy and unwilling to deal with the quiet. I suggested we go that night, but Aksana said we’d kill ourselves trying to make speed at night and we needed to rest. There wasn’t even a moon out.

We stayed at the khozyain’s manor, and the minor cousins stayed in the town because even though the khozyain called his abode a manor, the servant’s quarters were inadequate even for our small contingent.

The room Semchik and I were in looked like it hadn’t been used in years. The furniture must have been covered in sheets because there were dustless patches around the chairs and bed and dresser and tea table. The bedding smelled stale.

Semchik had been quiet all afternoon, and I wished I could room with Dasha because, imperious though she may have been, at least she’d keep me occupied. Semchik would just, well, mope and say things like, “I don’t know why we had to kill him.”

“Are you serious?” I groaned. I was sitting at the window, peering out into the courtyard through the slats in the shutters. It was empty, lit only by torches in its four corners.

“Not like that,” he said. I heard him shift on the bed behind me. “I just mean we could have used him. He gave us names, but he could have pointed people out. Maybe there were things we didn’t know to ask that could be useful.”

“It would have slowed us down, having to carry him.”

“Sometimes it’s better to be slow and careful.”

“Now you’re just doing this to be contrary. Whatever Mamushka does, you think we should do the opposite.”

“That’s not true. I’m just thinking.”

“You should be supporting her. You should be learning from her; you’re going to be in charge of this family one day, and she’s been running it since we were babies, so you should be paying attention to how she does it.”

“Okay, for fuck’s sake, I’m not questioning Mama. I don’t know why you’re so up in arms about it; you always do whatever you want to do whenever you want to do it. It just so happens that what you want to do lines up with what she wants to do this time. You even go out and kill a man on your own, and she doesn’t say a word.”

My face got hot. “It’s a war.”

“It’s not a war. It’s an ass-kicking.”

“A well-deserved one.”

He sighed in a long-suffering way I did not think he’d earned. “Do you ever think about how things would be if your father hadn’t died? If he’d married your mother?”

I slid down in my seat and knocked my forehead against the shutters. “What, you mean besides me being named something stupid like Vyacheslav Vyacheslavovich?”

He snorted. “You know what that means. Vyacheslav, the greater glory.”

“What’s your point, Semchik?”

“I don’t have a point. I just mean, if your parents had been married, you’d be the one.”

“Yeah, well, like you said: we’re all glad that’s not going to happen.”

“Are we? I think Mama would prefer it.”

“Are you kidding me? Look, I know she didn’t want my father to die, but she was born to lead this family.”

“Sure, but don’t you think if she could choose between us, she’d pick you?”

“Semchik.” I turned to face him for the first time. He was sitting up under the sheets, hugging his knees. “Of course not.” I gave him a warm smile. “She’d pick Dasha.”

He chuckled half-heartedly while I cackled.

When I got my breath back, I jumped on the bed next to him and slung my arm around his neck. “Don’t be stupid. You’re Mamushka’s only son, and she couldn’t have asked for a better one. You’re probably just moody now because all these things are happening. Life isn’t the same as it was before, so you feel… I don’t know, adrift. But you’ll get used to it. Just focus on what we’re doing here. Make Mamushka proud.” I squeezed his neck in a sloppy headlock and buried my face in his hair.

“Okay, get off of me.” He grabbed my arm, and I was still shocked at how easily he could peel me off. “Why are you always climbing all over me?”

“See, look at that,” I said, shaking my wrist in his grip. “How could Mamushka want me when you’re so much stronger?”

He dropped my arm and pushed me away.

“You used to play around with me,” I said. “You used to like it.”

“No, I just used to be too small to make you fuck off.”

“There’s a change you’ve had no trouble getting used to,” I said, sliding off the bed in defeat.

“Where are you going?” he asked, suddenly sounding worried.

I hadn’t intended to go anywhere, really, but now that he mentioned it. “My flask is empty. Bet I can find something to fill it up with somewhere around here. I’m too keyed up to sleep, and I need to let you get your beauty rest.”

“Yusha, don’t. Just lie down and be quiet.”

“I’m just going around the courtyard and see if they have any yasno.”

“Please don’t get drunk.”

“Look at it this way: if I get drunk and fuck something up, you look better to Mamushka.” Before he could respond to that, I was out the door.

He was being a real drag lately, and I could use the fresh air. It wasn’t very kind of him to bring up me killing someone like I had meant to do it and like Aksana should have been angry with me for it. I could still feel the man's nose crunching under my knuckles; I had washed my hands for so long that they were still raw and red. I didn’t know why it seemed like he didn’t like anything I did lately, but I was sure it had something to do with Filipp Artyomovich. Asking about what if my father had married my mother. That came from Filipp Artyomovich. I was sure.

I didn’t know where anything was in the manor, so I wandered around, poking my head in storerooms and stables until I came to the kitchens. The fire was still burning in the stove, but it was light enough only to cast very dramatic shadows all about the room. I didn’t even notice the kitchen boy sleeping on a pallet on the floor until I nearly tripped over him, but he stayed still as the grave as I stepped over him and started searching for yasno. I didn’t find any bottles on the counters or shelves near where the cooking was done, but the shadows in the back indicated boxes and barrels, which seemed promising.

I crept to the back of the room, careful where I put my feet in the dark. I had started shifting through the stacks of boxes and barrels when, improbably, the dirt floor creaked under my boots. I stopped, took a step back. Dirt. A step forward, another creak. Wood. I pressed it with my toe, and it creaked again and gave a little. Perfect, a cellar. They might even have wine down there, which would be an interesting change.

I crouched down and started to brush the dirt away in front of me when the hair rose on the back of my neck. This would be a perfect place, wouldn’t it, if you wanted to—