“Oh, Effie.” Captain Blackwell moved to the easel and took the poster down. “Don’t feel obligated to answer her, Marin. She’s forever looking for an ally in her stand against propaganda.”

The captain’s wife waggled her brows. “And one of these days I shall find one.”

Well, this was certainly an interesting introduction to the collection of strangers. Zivon took a moment to let their movements solidify in his mind. So far as he could tell, there was no real tension in the room. The guests wore the small, amused smiles that said they’d all heard this argument many times before. Even Captain Blackwell’s posture bespoke ease. Confidence, even. Why else would he have brought out the poster to show his guests, knowing his wife’s opinion?

Only Mrs. Blackwell herself displayed an undertone of . . . not distemper, not anger. But disappointment. A shadow beneath the brightness of her jesting.

How many times had he seen that same expression on his matushka’s face when she tried for the thousandth time to convince Batya and Evgeni to give up their love of fighting? To pick up a book? To take an interest in the church?

He couldn’t help but want to soothe her a bit, as he’d always endeavored to do for his own mother. So he stepped closer to the poster Blackwell held and studied it. The bottom of the image showed people at work on the home front—a blacksmith at his anvil, a woman loading ammunition. Behind them, a nurse on the battlefield. In the back, up higher, were two uniformed men, one beside a cannon and the other holding a rifle. A Union Jack flapped in the breeze above it all.

Tacked to the bottom on a rectangle of paper was the proposed caption: GLORY AWAITS, AT HOME OR IN THE FIELD.

Zivon pursed his lips. “Is it the artwork you find fault with, Mrs. Blackwell, or perhaps the caption?”

He stepped to the left, knowing the question would spur her to rise from her seat and come to join him, which she did, a few seconds later. “Well, aside from the fact that the art isn’t my preferred style, I take no issue with it. It’s an accurate enough representation of the war effort. But glory? Come, now, Thomas, everyone at this point knows that war isn’t glorious.” She sent a pointed look to her husband.

The captain sighed. “What about honor in place of glory? Would you find that less offensive?”

“That’s my sister,” the ginger-haired man said from the couch. “Insisting the efforts of the Crown be edited to suit her.”

Mrs. Blackwell laughed. “Oh, quiet, Geoff.”