“Don’t be afraid,” I murmured, placing my hand on his arm. He drew in a deep breath, steadied his features.

“You must be Toma’s mama and papa,” Vanya said, his voice wavering ever so slightly. He rested the crate on the bench that ran the length of the wall and brushed off his hands on the seat of his pants. As he stepped forward to greet them, the apprehension drained from his gaze, and he smiled warmly. “Ivan Zoravich, but I’ve never been one for formalities, so Vanya will do.”

Mama and Papa dipped their chins in mute greeting. From their silence, I realized they were afflicted by the same nervousness that sent my stomach fluttering.

“Mama, let’s try you first.” As I turned to her, I couldn’t keep from grinning.

She came forward tentatively, laying her outstretched hand in mine. As I began to untie the suede cords crisscrossed over her layers of wraps, she hesitated and slipped her fingers away.

“What is it?” I asked, baffled.

“No.” Her voice left her like the rustle of the breeze through tall grass.

“No?” I repeated, certain I had misheard.

She turned to Papa, and though their carved faces remained unmoving, I felt a tension crawl over me.

I stepped forward. “Mama.”

“Toma, we have lived for so long.” She drew her arm against herself. The folds of fabric slipped away to expose what I had never seen before—the pale swell of her knuckles, held together by copper splints of Papa’s careful creation. There was no skin left at all in places. “We are so tired.”

“But Vanya and I can heal you.” My voice warbled. I swallowed hard, feeling dangerously close to tears. “We can bring you back.”

“You will bring us back to sickness. To pain. To thirst and hunger.”

“Allow us this,” Papa said quietly. “Our remaining time here, and then a deep and well-earned rest.”

I choked for a response. “How can you—”

The airship’s whistle pierced the izba’s confines, cutting off my cry in my throat.

Vanya glanced toward the door. He furrowed his brow as the dirigible blared twice more. “Toma, they’re not going to wait forever. Do you want me to ask them for more time?”

“No. Go.” The words pushed from between my gritted teeth one at a time. It felt like spitting out nails.

“Toma.” His hand closed around my shoulder. I couldn’t even look at him. How could I?

“You have a war to win, Vanya.” I had known in my heart all along that we weren’t destined to be together. That was why he had left the residency permit and pardon unopened in the envelope Mikhail had given him. He had never intended to linger. “Please. Just go.”

“Won’t you just look at me and talk—”

“I said, go!” I wrenched away from him, swiveling around to confront him. He stared at me in shock, but then his face smoothed over. He too knew how to make farewells less painful—he had done it once before.