Danika had warned me that Elena had seen through her, understood what she was trying to do. I wasn’t surprised; I had expected nothing less from her.
“You are the widow of the enemy.” The words were enough to irritate me.
“And that means I know all his secrets?” Her green eyes snapped back down to me. Some part of her looked like she wanted to climb down from her niche and yell at me face to face, but she didn’t move. Perhaps she preferred being taller for once. “Well?”
I shrugged. “Do you?”
“No. You know women in this world aren’t privy to their husband’s secrets.”
I didn’t bring up Danika—or Roksana and Tatiana. Instead, I asked, “Would you stay if they were?”
Elena’s entire body tensed. Her mind seemed to go a million miles an hour behind her eyes. I could see her absorbing the question, calculating the answers and implications. She gripped her book so hard her knuckles went white.
Her silence made me smile mockingly. “Ah, my empathetic girl, of course, you would.”
She scowled. “I’m not your anything, Konstantin.”
Not yet. “If you wish to stay after curing Tatiana, I could offer you a position. Not an interrogator like Danika, but something else. How about our resident scientist? I’m sure Rifat would adore having someone else with intellect around. I fear we bore him.”
Elena opened her mouth, then scowled and closed it again. Then she snapped, “I’m not staying.”
“It is up to you,” I replied. “What do you plan to do with your freedom?”
“Anything I want,” she said. “That’s what makes it so alluring. You can offer me all the jobs in the world, but I am never going to serve a man ever again.”
“Who said anything about serving?”
Elena cut me a look. “Oh, please. Like I’ll be allowed to speak to you the way I do now if I work for you. Sure, that’s going to stand.” She rolled her eyes like I was an idiot.
I cocked my eyebrow. Her fierce refusal didn’t hide the fact that for a second she had considered it.
I pressed a hand to the tree’s thick trunk. “Ah, but what are the hierarchies of man to a tree that has stood for thousands of years?”
Elena sucked in a sharp breath, snapping her eyes down to me. I didn’t need to be telepathic to know what she was thinking. Does he know? Surely not. How would he know? He couldn’t. What does he know? Nothing.
In my own mind, my own questions were tumbling through. Will she figure it out? Or do I have a little longer to enjoy my secret? My pride?
“Trees don’t have thoughts,” she said, the words heavy with confusion. “The hierarchies of man are nothing to them.”
I smiled. “I thought you would say that.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Why, Konstantin?”
Before I could answer, a voice floated over the gardens, “Breakfast! Quick—before Roman steals all the syrup!”
As soon as we entered the kitchen, Elena beelined for her usual spot, like she couldn’t bear to be in my presence any longer. Her hands and feet were dirty from climbing trees, but nobody said anything. Most mornings, Elena came into breakfast with some garden left on her, be it dirty feet or twigs caught in her hair.
My attention moved from Elena as Tatiana swept into the room. Dmitri followed closely behind, prepared to catch her if she needed it, but Tatiana didn’t. Her cheeks were flush, her eyes bright.
Though she still didn’t look like her usual self, she did look healthy. Strong.
I kissed her cheek in greeting as we took our seats. “You look like you’re feeling better,” I said.
Tatiana nodded, smiling brightly. “I am, Kostya.”
Elena noticed her patient as well. “Have you been taking the dosage I prescribed?”
“Of course,” lilted Tatiana, her voice like music instead of croaky and phlegmy. She pressed an affectionate hand to Elena’s head; Elena nearly snapped her neck trying to get out of it. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“Don’t thank me,” Elena responded tightly.
The rest of the family came to sit down, including Anton, who took up position on Dmitri’s lap. His mother feeling better meant his father was in a better mood—something Danika was convinced Anton could sense.
I thought she might be onto something.
“Save some syrup for the rest of us, Roman,” Artyom scolded, taking the pitcher off him.
Roman scowled and tried to snatch the syrup back. “Start making more syrup if you all insist on having some.”
“Just take less, Rom.” Danika pointed a fork at him. “If all of