Chapter 4

Mine. The word clawed at my throat. Yours. I looked at the soot on his shirt. Katya's soot. The hands that had carried her to safety while I bled on the asphalt. Any child that isn't Katya's is a bastard. And bastards in this family don't live long. "A patient's," I said. My voice didn't shake. I'd had five years of practice lying beside him. "One of your soldiers knocked up his girlfriend. She couldn't afford a clinic." He stared at the photo for a long time. Too long. "For one second,"...