She tried to collect her wits. “My brother told you the truth,” she said.

“You’re no coward, I’ll give you that.” His voice quieted. “Devushka, I can help you. But I must have the truth.”

Vasya let her eyes fill. It wasn’t difficult. Her head ached abominably. “We told you,” she whispered again.

“Fine,” said Oleg. “Just as you like. I will give you back to Chelubey tomorrow and he will get the truth out of you.” He sat down to take off his boots.

Vasya watched him a moment. “You are a man of Rus’, fighting on the enemy’s side,” she said. “Do you expect me to trust you?”

Oleg looked up. “I am fighting beside the Horde,” he said very precisely, laying a boot aside. “Because I am not eager, as Dmitrii Ivanovich seems to be, to have my city razed, my people carried off as slaves. That doesn’t mean I cannot help you. Nor does it mean that I won’t see you suffer greatly if you cross me.”

The second boot joined the first, and then he pulled his cap off, tossed it on the heap of furs. He looked her over, his glance appraising. Forget, she thought. Forget he can see you— But she couldn’t focus her mind; there was a white-hot bar of pain in her head. His feet bare, Oleg stalked over to her. Wordless, he took her bound wrists in one hand and felt her over for other weapons with the other. She was unarmed. Someone had taken her knife, after she was struck down beside Chelubey’s fire. “Well,” he said, as he ran his hands down her body, “I suppose you are a girl after all.”

She stamped on his foot. He struck her across the face.

When she came to, she found herself sprawled on the ground. He’d cut her bonds. She raised her head. He was sitting on his heap of furs, running a whetstone over the unsheathed sword across his knees.

“Awake?” he said. “Let’s start again. Tell me the truth, devushka.”

She hauled herself laboriously to her feet. “Or what? Are you going to torture me?”

A flicker of distaste crossed his face. “It might not occur to you, determined as you are to suffer nobly, but you are better off with me than with Chelubey. He was shamed in Moscow; the whole army knows the tale. He will torture you. And if he is feeling inspired, perhaps he will force you in front of your brother, to pass along a little share of the humiliation.”

“Is that my choice then? Be raped publicly there or privately here?”

He snorted. “Fortunately for you, I prefer women who look and behave like women. Tell me what I want to know, and I will protect you from Chelubey.”

Their eyes locked. Vasya took a deep breath, and gambled. “I have a message from the Grand Prince of Moscow.”

His features sharpened. “Do you? Strange choice of messenger.”

She shrugged. “I’m here, aren’t I?”