Once they were back out in the sunshine, in a section of the city that looked nearly as run-down as her neighborhood in Petrograd, Paul turned to her again. “I have put out a few queries about a room for you. I have no doubt that someone will offer something by nightfall.”

She looked behind her at the name of the métro station, then forward again to note the street signs, the buildings. “You needn’t bother.”

“It is no bother. We are soviets, we look out for one another. Besides, you are an old friend.”

A stretch, but she wasn’t going to contradict him. “I will stay with Evgeni. We have much to plan.”

Silence pounded her for three steps. Five. Ten. Paul cleared his throat. “I . . . respect that you have much to plan. But you will still need to sleep.”

Nadya shifted her bag to the other shoulder. “Must I spell this out for you, Paul? I will stay with Evgeni.”

His scoff sounded disgusted. Or jealous. Something, anyway, that made her hackles rise even before he opened his mouth again. “I’m sure your mother would be thrilled to know th—”

“My mother died a slave to the old ways. Giving birth to her tenth child, though she was too old for it. Too weak. A babe that couldn’t last more than a day anyway.” Like six of the others. Nadya shook her head, clenched her jaw. That had been the very day she’d stomped from her father’s house. From the farm. The day she’d hitched a ride all the way to the city and sought out the women’s battalion she’d heard about.

If she was going to die, it would be for something bigger than herself. Fighting an enemy she could see.

“I am sorry. About your mother. I hadn’t heard.”

Nadya didn’t look at him. “I won’t be enslaved to the same outdated institution. I won’t accept the archaic idea that a man can do what he wills, but it is a woman’s duty to stay at home and give him baby after baby in the hopes that one will survive. I will live the life I please.” She shot him a glare. “And I will sleep wherever I please.”

And in the new Russia, they could all do the same. Those women who actually liked tending squalling children could do so for them all, when they turned the children over to the state to be raised. This was a cause, a goal worth fighting for. Freedom.

Paul pointed to the right at the next intersection. “How very . . . forward-thinking of you.”

His shin may yet taste the bite of her boot. “Are you judging me, Paul?”