by L.K. Hill
***
Thirty minutes later, Taras spurred his borrowed horse hard toward the gates of Sparrow Hills. He’d gotten the attention of a man on the fringes of the mob, who gruffly and succinctly explained the situation. Taras did not know how this could resolve itself. Even if it did, the resolution would be ugly.
His men opened the gate as he rode in. Ergorov waited for him, feet planted far apart and arms crossed over his chest.
“Well?”
Taras dismounted.
“There is a rumor in the city that the Glinskys are responsible for the fire, sir.”
“What? Why?”
“The people believe the tsar’s grandmother is a witch and sprinkled magical water around, which created the flames.”
“First the serdechniki, now this. Why are they coming here?”
“They believe Prince Mikhail Glinsky and Princess Anna Glinskaya have taken refuge here under the tsar’s protection. They are clamoring for the blood of the entire family. They already dragged Prince Yury Glinsky from a cathedral and put him to death in the streets.”
“What? Prince Yury is dead?”
“Yes, sir. The mob thinks they did right. They think he was justly punished for the crimes of his family. Now they want the other two.”
Ergorov cursed. “The Glinskys aren’t here. They are staying in an estate miles from Moscow.”
“Yes, sir,” Taras handed his horse’s reigns to a groom, “but we must find some way to convince them of that.”
Ergorov heaved a breath. “Take your post, soldier. I must speak with the tsar.”
“Yes, sir.”
