Despite himself, a corner of Zivon’s mouth turned up. “I think you are right. Even so . . . I know it is not mine to seek revenge. That belongs to the Lord. But is it wrong, Father, to work against them? Politically?”

Smirnov lifted his brows. “God does not tell us what political party to associate with or forbid us from working for them. And that means there will always be those we work against. What He does tell us, though, is that we must still find joy in Him, no matter who rules us. We must be obedient citizens.”

“I know the passage.” Zivon had to grip his knees to keep from springing up. “But Paul is supposing a government where it is not in fact illegal to do good. This is not always the case anymore in Russia, Father. For doing good, I was branded an enemy. For remaining an obedient citizen to my lawful government, my czar, my life was threatened and my fiancée’s taken. I know the Lord will have His vengeance—”

“And if He doesn’t?”

Zivon froze, still gripping his knees. Breath caught mid-heave in his chest, drawn in but not shoved out.

Smirnov sat forward again. “The Lord will punish, yes. He will judge—individuals. And every nation, every political party, will eventually fall. But what if, Mr. Marin, you do not live to see it? Can you accept that?”

The balled-up breath burned. In all his thoughts, it had never once occurred to him that the Lord’s justice, His vengeance, might not happen in his lifetime, might not be visited on the very men who had done this to him, whoever they might be. He shuddered with his exhale. “Surely that will not be.”

“I do not presume to know. But I do know that when we are told to leave vengeance to the Lord, it is not so that we can glory in it when it comes.” Smirnov tapped a finger against the arm of his chair. “God’s wrath is a mighty and terrible thing. We should not be wishing it on others—we should be trying to save them from it. To turn them back to Him. Because if you are wishing vengeance upon the Bolsheviks, my son, remember you are wishing it on each individual, whether they have committed these mortal sins or merely wanted the promise of bread in their children’s bellies. And we have already established that it is not every Bolshevik you hate.”

Zivon tried to swallow, but his throat wouldn’t quite work. “So it is wrong, then, to want justice?”