by Ash, Sarah
The carriage juddered as it went over a pot-hole, then slowed; he heard the coachman calling to the horses as he pulled on the reins.
But what will Kiukiu make of this Tourmalise connection? Whatever happens, it’s going to open up old wounds that have barely healed. It could split Azhkendir in two again. And I can’t let that happen.
Gavril leaned forward to raise the blind on the window. We must be back at the mansion. He could just make out the tall pillars of the gateway, lit by the ocher flare of torches, as the coachman guided the horses into the courtyard. The druzhina on guard at the gate saluted as they closed the gates behind them.
“Home at last.” Gavril stepped out of the carriage as Semyon went on ahead to open the door for his master. He called it “home” but he was already missing Kastel Nagarian: he had been loath to leave just as the sharp, sweet scent of spring blossoms and rushing snowmelt from the mountains transformed his winter-bound domain. But Kiukiu and Larisa were waiting for him—and wherever they were, he knew he would always feel at ease.
He hurried after Semyon, eager to see them both and apologize for his late arrival.
Perhaps Larisa’s new tooth has come through at last . . .
But before he’d reached the open door, he heard voices inside.
“So she isn’t with Lord Gavril?” he recognized Sosia’s shrill tones.
“He’s been in council with the boyars all day,” Semyon was explaining.
“What’s the matter?” Gavril entered the hallway to see the members of his household huddled together in animated conversation. “Sosia?”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but it’s just that my niece—I mean, my lady—hasn’t come back.”
“You mean Kiukiu?” Gavril, not understanding, looked from one anxious face to another. “She went out?”
“With the baby.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
Sosia shook her head. “The only person who saw her leave the mansion was Ryska, the new scullery maid.”
“And you’re sure she hasn’t left a note?”
“Her gusly’s gone too.”
Gavril’s relief at arriving home turned to dismay. “No one called at the mansion, asking for her services?” Since she had become his wife, Kiukiu had given up practicing her calling as a Spirit Singer.
“Your druzhina would never let anyone suspicious past the gates, my lord.” Vasili spoke up.
“I know that, Vasili.” Gavril was trying to fight the rising sense of alarm; he knew he must try to stay calm in front of his household. “Did any of the boyars’ wives invite her to take tea?” Even as he asked the question, he could sense Sosia’s eyes on him; no one said anything, but everyone knew that his choice of wife had not pleased the boyars who had expected him to marry one of their daughters—or a foreign princess. His mind was racing, with all kinds of horrible possibilities scuttling in. He had made plenty of enemies, both here in Azhkendir and in Smarna. “We’ll go out to search for them.”
“But where shall we start?” Semyon looked blankly at him. “Azhgorod’s a big city—and it’s dark.”
“Was it market day today?”
“There’s a market every day, my lord; this is the capital city.”
Gavril looked up to see Karsibor, the elderly major-domo appointed by his father to look after the Azhgorod mansion. Sosia tutted loudly, evidently offended that Karsibor had corrected his young master in front of the servants.
“Did you see my wife leave, Karsibor?”
“I regret to say that I did not, my lord. If I had, I would certainly have counseled her not to set out alone. It’s not safe for a lady to wander unchaperoned around the streets at night.”
“I am fully aware of that fact.” Gavril forced himself to keep his voice low; to lose his temper now would accomplish little.
“If I’m not mistaken, my lord has not yet eaten supper—” began Karsibor, undaunted.
“I’ll eat later. Something cold. Don’t keep the kitchen staff up waiting to serve me.” If Gavril had been hungry earlier, he had lost his appetite.
“I’ll organize a search party, my lord,” said Semyon.
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready.” Gavril went up the stairs to the rooms he and Kiukiu shared on the first floor to change out of his formal clothes.
The dust sheets had been stripped from their bed and folded neatly, a fire was burning in the grate, and Kiukiu’s nightgown was laid out on the blue and gold embroidered coverlet. A little wooden rabbit, carved lovingly by Semyon, lay in the baby’s cot; Larisa liked chewing on the pointed ears to soothe her aching gums. He picked it up, absently stroking it, as if by holding it he might sense some clue to her whereabouts.
There was no sign of a struggle. No one had broken into the mansion.
There has to be a rational explanation. Kiukiu wouldn’t just run away.
As he was standing there, lost in thought, Sosia came in.
“Forgive me for prying, my lord,” she said in a confidential undertone, “but you haven’t had some kind of falling out with my niece, have you?”
Gavril shook his head. Though even as he did, the specter of an old argument rose to haunt him. I said some harsh things to her after that singer Khulan came from Khitari. But she was acting so strangely . . .and she’s never really spoken about the months she spent traveling with Khan Vachir’s caravan .
“It’s just . . . she doesn’t seem to have been herself of late. Having a baby can change a woman. It might be that she’s been brooding about poor Afimia.”
“Her mother?”
“You know the story, my lord.” Sosia’s face looked drawn with worry in the candlelight. “Her parents were torn apart and destroyed by the clan war.”
“But she used her skills as a Spirit Singer to bring their souls peace. She told me so.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about your own mother a few times after Larisa was born.” Sosia stared accusingly at him. “Becoming a parent alters how a person looks at the world.”
“I’ve saddled up Krasa, my lord!” Semyon called up the stairs. Gavril hastily handed Risa’s carved toy rabbit to Sosia and hurried past her. I can’t stay here. Anything was better than pacing the empty room, waiting for news.
Chapter 30
Chinua stopped at a farmhouse up in the foothills and the farmer’s wife (an old acquaintance of his and a loyal customer) offered them shelter.
Kiukiu, still in a daze, fed Larisa, gratefully ate hot, spicy cabbage soup and black bread, then fell asleep, wrapped in her cloak beside the blue-and-white-tiled kitchen stove with Larisa snuggled up close to her.
Next morning, she was awakened by Larisa’s energetic wriggling. For one moment she lay blinking in the dull light of early morning, wondering where they were. And then the farmer’s wife came in to open the shutters and all yesterday’s fears came crowding back to haunt her. But Larisa, who had woken in a good mood for once, stretched her chubby little hands out to the farmer’s wife and cooed a greeting.
“And good morning to you, little one.” The farmer’s wife smiled broadly in return. “What bright blue eyes you have! You must be hungry; how about some porridge?”
Only then did Kiukiu realize that she had fled the mansion with very little money in her purse—but Chinua paid their hostess with a couple of tea bricks, one green, one black, each stamped with a pattern of lotus flowers and cranes “for good fortune”.
As they set out, fortified by hot porridge sweetened with honey and cinnamon, the raw spring morning air sharpened Kiukiu’s dulled mind. She had slept fitfully, woken twice by Larisa’s demands for a feed, and troubled by ominous dreams.
“If Gavril comes after us . . .” she began as Chinua led the pony and cart out along the churned farm track toward the road that led to the pass.
“If?” Chinua echoed softly, clambering up into the driver’s seat. “Do you have so little faith in your husband?”
Gavril will come after me. an
d then what can I say to him? “Go away?”
Kiukiu felt the color flooding into her face. She lowered her head, ashamed.
“No. I’m the one who’s at fault here. I’ve treated him horribly, running away, not even leaving him a message.” Even as she said the words, she began to realize the enormity of what she had done. “But I don’t know how else to protect Larisa. And Lady Anagini is the only one I can turn to.”
“You haven’t told him, have you?”
“I can’t.” Kiukiu stared at the stained boards beneath her feet. She felt numb. “I can’t even talk about it with you. If I tell anyone the bargain agreed on between us, I’ll—”
“I understand,” Chinua cut in. “She’s bound you and you’re returning to honor your part of that bond.”
But I’m also bound to Gavril. We took vows to stand by each other, no matter what happened. He may never forgive me for abandoning him like this. I just don’t know what else to do.
As the damp morning mists lifted, the fresh green of the foothills was slowly revealed. The piping of little mountain birds: snow finches, and buntings, echoed shrilly overhead. Catkins trembled on the birch branches and the grassy verges were starred with glossy yellow celandines. After the drabness of an Azhkendi winter and the white pallor of the snowfields, Kiukiu was dazzled by the vibrant colors of spring flowers and unfurling new leaves.
And I was so looking forward to spending our first spring with Larisa at the kastel; we were going to clear the overgrown rose garden outside the summerhouse so that she could play there safely while Gavril painted.
Larisa grabbed a handful of her hair. “Ouch! That hurts!” Larisa looked up at her as she extricated the stray lock and let out a chuckle. “You want to play? You’re bored?” She lifted her onto her knees facing forward so that she could see where they were going.
“Am I doing the right thing, baby?” she said, resting her chin on the top of Larisa’s head. “Your father must be beside himself with worry.” Every time she thought about Gavril she felt a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach. He may never forgive me for abandoning him like this.
Or suppose the vision Lady Anagini showed me was false? Is she manipulating me? No, surely she wouldn’t use me so cruelly. Kiukiu swiftly dismissed the thought . She’s always helped me, as has Chinua. Chinua’s stood by me. He’s even shown me his true soul, his wolf form . She stole a sideways glance at the shaman who was softly humming under his breath, eyes half-closed against the sparkle of the morning sun. If he hadn’t protected me, I’d never have survived those difficult months in Khitari.
“It might be best not to draw attention to yourself,” Chinua said as they traveled on up the winding track. “Don’t use your skills as a Spirit Singer for a while. Every time you play your gusly to enter the Ways Beyond, whether to lay a wandering soul to rest or pass on a message from the living to the dead, they will be aware of you.”
“Oh no.” Kiukiu realized the wisdom of his advice. “I’ve already drawn attention to myself.” Had they been aware, the Winged Guardians, that she was listening to them?
Taliahad. The Warrior sent by Prince Galizur to track them down and destroy her daughter had such a noble, beautiful name. The glimpse she’d caught of him had revealed a youthful face, almost painfully innocent and eager to do his commander’s bidding. It was hard to believe that one so pure would be sent to kill a mortal baby.
How would he set about finding them? She gazed agitatedly around the tranquil valley, sensing no unnatural presence close by. But he’d probably disguise himself. If he walked around with his wings visible, he’d draw far too much attention to himself. And even if he could hide his wings, with hair that color, ice-blue, he’d stand out.
“How can they call themselves our Guardians,” she said, still unable to comprehend the warning that Anagini had shown her, “when they’re planning to take the life of an innocent child? Auntie Sosia taught me that angels are there to watch over us, and protect us.”
“What do you think your grandmother would have advised?”
Kiukiu looked away, remembering what Malusha had said to her in the Ways Beyond.
“ Accept that you’ve borne Larisa for Lady Anagini; she’s always been the snake goddess’s child and you’re merely acting as her nursemaid until she’s old enough to go back to her mother.”
This is how it has to be. Gavril must stay in Azhkendir to carry out his duties as High Steward, and I will look after Larisa and serve Anagini at the Jade Springs. And as time passes, perhaps he’ll forget about us and find someone else to love.
The brilliance of the sparkling spring morning blurred as her eyes filled with tears.
Chapter 31
After several hours fruitlessly searching the ill-lit streets of Azhgorod, Gavril returned to the mansion, tired and sick at heart. He picked at the cold supper served him by Taina, the housekeeper, but he had no appetite and pushed the plate aside, the roast fowl hardly touched.
He climbed the stairs slowly, unwilling to face the empty bedchamber again, yet knowing he must try to sleep to gain the strength to start the search again in the morning.
Kiukiu must have been abducted. Kidnapped. There’s no other possible explanation. Soon there’ll be a ransom note.
Taina had lit the candles on the mantelpiece and turned back the sheets on the bed.
They know. They know I’m just an ordinary man again. That I’m Drakhaon in name alone. The Son of the Serpent has no fangs.
He looked up, and caught sight of his drawn face in the mirror. He stared at his candlelit reflection, seeing the desperation in his eyes, and turned away, disgusted at his helplessness.
“Where are you, Kiukiu?”
Only then did he notice the little lacquer tea chest that Khulan, the Praise Singer, had brought as a Naming Day gift.
Kiukiu used to come to Azhgorod with Malusha to visit the market. “Grandma loved her tea,” he remembered her saying with a wistful smile, “but the special Khitari blend from Chinua’s shop was always her favorite.”
He lifted the box and opened it; a faint, dusty scent escaped. Had it contained more than fragrant tea? A secret message, perhaps? Gavril had never fully understood the deep friendship that linked Kiukiu and the Khitari shaman merchant; all he knew was that Chinua had protected her on her long journey to the Jade Springs. Although he had always suspected that Chinua’s shop was a front for other activities; the shaman was probably acting as Khan Vachir’s eyes and ears every time he crossed the border to sell his teas in Azhkendir.
Yet in spite of his tapping and prodding, no secret drawer was revealed and he put the chest down again, frustrated.
Nothing for it but to go and look for Chinua’s shop.
***
With directions from Taina, Gavril and Semyon set out for Chinua’s Tea Emporium. But when they eventually found the little shop, tucked away in a side street off a leafy square, it was securely shuttered up. Gavril knocked but there was no answer; the place looked deserted.
“You’re too late to buy tea,” an elderly woman called out as she swept her doorstep. “Chinua left last night.”
Gavril hurried over to her. “Left? Where has he gone?”
“Khitari, of course.” She looked at him pityingly as if he was slow in the head. “He always goes straight back when the snow melts and the high passes open up.”
Semyon came over to join him. “Don’t speak to my lord so rudely, Grandma,” he said.
“It’s all right, Sem.” Gavril preferred not to be singled out for special attention. “And when will Chinua be back?”
“Oh, not for a fair few weeks. He usually opens up again around midsummer’s eve.”
“Midsummer,” Gavril muttered, wondering how easy it would be to trace a tea merchant across the high passes into Khitari without the benefit of wings. “You didn’t see a fair-haired young woman pass by here yesterday afternoon? Carrying a baby?”
The old woman shrugged. “All sorts of folk pass by and
at all times,” she said and carried on with her sweeping.
“Do you think my lady’s gone with Chinua?” Semyon said.
Gavril hardly heard the question . If she went with Chinua, did she go willingly? And why didn’t she leave word for me? She must have known I’d worry.
“Let’s go ask the guards at the Northern Gate.” Semyon, ever practical, was pointing out the way ahead. “They keep a record of who goes in and out.”
Gavril nodded, following Semyon. More people were already about, laborers hurrying off to work, women dragging reluctant children to school.
The piercing spring sunlight, leaking through clouds, made his sleep-deprived eyes ache. I need coffee to keep me awake. But the good people of Azhgorod prefer a steaming mug of hot spiced ale on a chilly morning. He drew one hand over his face, feeling the grate of stubble against his fingertips. At least, unshaven and still wearing yesterday’s rumpled clothes, I’m unlikely to be recognized as the High Steward.
***
“The records of yesterday’s travelers passing through here? You’d need an official permit from Lord Stoyan to see those, son. Next.” The guard turned from Semyon to the next man waiting in line to leave through the Northern Gate.
“Now just wait a moment!” Gavril heard Semyon’s raised voice and sighed. “I’m one of the High Steward’s bodyguards. I’m here on Lord Nagarian’s business.” Why must he always charge in like a wild colt? Will he never learn to be more diplomatic?
“Official permit,” repeated the guard, opening the papers presented to him by the next in line.
“My lord!” Semyon’s cry of frustration made everyone in the queue turn to stare at Gavril. “He won’t listen to me!”
So much for my attempt to do this incognito. Affecting as nonchalant an air as he could manage, Gavril strolled across to the guard post. Ever since the Tielen invasion, Lord Stoyan had introduced much more stringent checks at all eight city gates, often resulting in long trails of frustrated travelers and farmers on either side. And as he approached, he became even more aware of the intense—and furious—stares boring into him . I must speak with Boris Stoyan about this; we need to deploy more guards so that the queues don’t build up.
