by Ash, Sarah
Gavril swung round to face Sosia. “You think there’s a connection?” Why must she put the worst of his fears into words? “Yet there’s still been no demand for ransom. I should have gone with Semyon.”
“What’s this about my lady?” Gorian asked.
“She went out yesterday afternoon with Larisa and no one’s seen them since then,” said Sosia. “We fear she may have been taken against her will.”
“I’ve sent Semyon up to Fire Falcon Pass to look for her,” Gavril said, slumping back down in his chair. The lack of sleep was beginning to tell on him. “I was about to set out join him when Gorian arrived.” He rubbed his sore eyes. “Is there any more coffee, Taina?”
“I’ll make a fresh pot right away.” Taina bustled out.
“I can organize the search for Lady Kiukiu, my lord,” said Avorian. “I have ears and eyes all over Azhgorod. In fact, I wish you’d contacted me sooner. Although,” He bent down and murmured in Gavril’s ear, “could we speak in private for a minute?”
Gavril rose. “Please tell Taina we’ll take coffee in my study, Karsibor.”
“You must forgive me for asking,” said Avorian as soon as Gavril had closed the study door behind them, “but do you suspect there might be a third party involved?”
Gavril heard the insinuation in the lawyer’s careful choice of words. “You think Kiukiu has a secret lover?” He heard himself begin to laugh incredulously at the suggestion and then stopped, wondering if it might be true. “It’s true that we were apart a long time when she was in Khitari. She’s never really wanted to talk about what happened to her there. And she began to act strangely after a singer from Khitari attended Larisa’s Naming Day celebrations.”
“In my work, my lord, I’m afraid I see this situation all too often.”
“But Kiukiu’s not like that—” Gavril broke off, shaking his head in vehement denial.
There was a tap at the door and Taina came in with a pot of coffee and cups on a tray.
“I’ve made it strong, my lord, Smarnan style,” she said, serving Avorian and then Gavril.
Avorian stirred sugar into the little cup. “I’ll send a messenger to you the instant I hear any news.”
“Thank you.” Gavril drank his coffee, relishing the smoky-sweet bitterness of the roasted beans, hoping it would revive his sluggish brain. “But I hope to have found her before then.”
“You don’t suppose that the Arkhels have secretly made contact with your wife?”
“Because she’s the last surviving Arkhel Praise Singer? You think Lord Ranozhir might have set up a meeting . . . or even had her spirited away?” Gavril’s troubled imagination had begun to conjure up yet more dire possibilities. “Her presence would confirm his status as rightful lord of the Waste—”
“My lord!” Karsibor called from the hallway. “Semyon’s back!”
Gavril leapt up and flung open the study door. He spotted his young lieutenant in the hall, brushing the dust of travel from his clothes as Karsibor looked on disapprovingly.
“Sem!” Gavril hurried toward him. “Did you—?” And then he checked himself as he saw Semyon’s expression, grabbing him by the arm and steering him into the study.
Semyon glanced uncertainly at Avorian who was calmly helping himself to a second cup of coffee.
“You can speak freely in front of Maistre Avorian,” Gavril said. He was already dreading what Semyon was about to tell him, but any news was better than no news at all.
“I caught up with my lady at Fire Falcon Pass,” Semyon said, his voice hoarse from travel. Gavril poured him coffee and handed it to him. Semyon drank it in one mouthful, grimacing at the taste, and continued, “She’s in good health. So is your daughter. As you guessed, she’s with Chinua, the tea merchant.”
“So why is she going to Khitari?” Gavril didn’t know whether he was relieved to hear that they were unharmed or furious that she had gone off with Chinua without a word. Chinua had adopted the role of tea merchant as a cover for his work as agent for Khan Vachir as it enabled him to come and go freely without anyone asking awkward questions. So was this some scheme of Vachir’s after all?
“She said to tell you she’s really sorry. But she has to take your daughter to someone in Khitari. And she said she has to go alone. I don’t really understand why.”
Gavril thumped his clenched fist against the desk-top. His dominant feeling was one of hurt that Kiukiu had a secret that she had kept from him. But beneath the hurt and incomprehension, something else nagged at his mind, insinuating that maybe she was trying to shield him from some far greater injury.
“And there was something else,” Semyon added. “She said, ‘Has anyone been asking for Larisa? Anyone strange?’”
“Strange?” Gavril turned on him. “What did she mean by strange?”
Semyon shook his head. “I wish I knew. She wouldn’t be drawn any further. And you know my lady, she can be quite stubborn when she chooses to.”
That decided it. “I’m going after them,” Gavril said. “I can be stubborn too.” But there was one other matter that had to be resolved before he left. “Send Gorian to me, Sem.”
***
Gavril was packing his saddle bag for the journey to Khitari when Gorian appeared. He handed over the sealed letter he had written to the Bogatyr, saying, “Take this to Askold. Make sure he understands my wishes. No one—no matter how bitter a grudge they bear against the Arkhels—is to act until I return. Keep up the patrols, as usual.”
“Suppose they make the first move?” Gorian stuffed the letter deep inside his jacket. “Suppose they attack us?”
“Then do all that has to be done to defend the kastel until I return.” Gavril heard himself give the order, yet the last thing he wanted was for the druzhina and the Arkhels to come to blows. “One more thing, Gorian. How are your sons? Are they still keeping watch over Morozhka’s Round?”
Gorian heaved a sigh. “I’m worried about my lads. They’re not themselves—not since they started this patrol.”
“In what way?”
“They used to be laughing, joking all the time, chasing after the girls.”
“And now?”
“They’ve got this distant look in their eyes. They don’t hear what you say to them.”
Gavril remembered only too well that distant look Gorian was describing. He wanted to find a way to break Lady Morozhka’s hold over the twins—but that would have to wait until he had brought Kiukiu and Larisa back. “Have they reported any unusual activity up at Morozhka’s Round?”
Gorian scowled at the mention of the name. “These Caradas workers or whatever they call themselves have been constructing some infernal contraption at the old copper mines near the Round. Pumping out water, making a mess, curse them.”
So the Arkhels had begun to mine for copper close to Lady Morozhka’s sanctuary. And the ownership of that land had been disputed territory for years beyond living memory. By rights any minerals mined there belonged to the Nagarians. This time it was Gavril who sighed, foreseeing lengthy legal proceedings while trying to prevent tempers from flaring and matters getting out of hand.
Semyon came in from the courtyard. “Krasa’s all saddled up and ready to go, my lord.”
“Then we’d better be on our way.” Gavril picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Take care, Gorian—and keep an eye on your sons for me.”
“Come back to us soon, my lord,” Gorian said as Karsibor summoned the household to line up on the mansion steps to formally bid their lord and master farewell.
As Gavril turned Krasa’s head toward the Khitari Gate under a threateningly cloudy sky, he wondered if he was betraying the trust that Eugene had placed in him by going in pursuit of Kiukiu just at the time when trouble was brewing in Azhkendir once more.
Chapter 34
“. . . and to my charming companion Madame Lilias Arbelian, I leave a pension of five hundred gold coins a year until her death. If she chooses, she may continue to live in the West Wi
ng—or if she prefers, she may ask my son Gavril to establish her in my mansion in the city of Azhgorod.”
“Frankly, Mistress Arbelian, I’m surprised,” and Maistre Avorian stared at Lilias through his pince-nez in a most unfriendly manner, “that you have the nerve to return to Azhgorod.”
“What kind of a welcome is that for one of your clients, Maistre Avorian?” Lilias stared boldly back, determined not to be outfaced by the Nagarians’ lawyer. “I’ve merely come to ensure that my legacy, the five hundred gold crowns a year, left me by Lord Volkh, is still at my disposal. The terms of his will stated that it is to be paid on the first day of the spring equinox. So here I am!”
Oris Avorian pressed his fingertips together, as though collecting his thoughts before speaking. “It is true that the late Lord Volkh left you a most generous settlement. But only because you led him to believe that you were carrying his child. And since the birth of that child, you have allied yourself with the Nagarians’ rival clan and claimed that little Stavyomir is in fact the son of the late Jaromir Arkhel. My dear lady, you can’t have it both ways.”
“Are you—a reputable lawyer—saying that you’re going to refuse me my rightful legacy because my child is not a Nagarian?” Lilias felt a sudden twinge of anxiety at the possibility that Gavril Nagarian might have instructed Avorian to stop her allowance. “There were no conditions attached!”
Avorian sighed. “That is indeed true. Yet the Nagarian estates have fallen on hard times. There is very little revenue coming in.”
“Is that so?” Lilias did not know whether she was glad to hear that Gavril was in financial difficulties or alarmed that her only regular source of income might be about to dry up. “And where, precisely, does that leave me? I distinctly recall there was a codicil that allowed me to remain in the West Wing of the kastel— if I chose to do so ,” she added, staring directly at the lawyer, wondering what his reaction would be. “Or the Nagarian town house.”
Avorian took off his pince-nez and ran one hand over his eyes. He looked weary. “Only if Lord Gavril gave his consent.”
“And where is Lord Gavril?” Lilias asked, without even hesitating. To show any sign of hesitation at this stage of the negotiations would be fatal to her plan—even if the prospect of meeting him face-to-face was the last thing she wished to do.
“I suppose I could ask Lord Gavril to allocate you some land, a cottage maybe, in lieu of the five hundred . . .”
“Me? Live in some peasant hovel and grow cabbages?” Lilias was horrified at the prospect. The Nagarians all loathe me. I wouldn’t put it past one of them to arrange for me to suffer a tragic accident . “But the will specifically states five hundred coins. There’s no mention of land.”
Avorian sighed again. “I may be able to find a way of arranging for you to receive a monthly stipend. But I can only advance you fifty crowns today.”
***
Dysis was sitting patiently waiting for Lilias outside Avorian’s office, her features concealed, as usual, by a black lace veil. “Well?”
“Let’s talk outside,” said Lilias, steering her maid toward the door.
“No funds?” Dysis said as they stepped out into the street. “How are we going to pay the innkeeper? He’ll throw us out if the bill isn’t covered by the end of the week.”
Lilias was concentrating on trying to avoid the muddy pot-holes, lifting her skirts as daintily as she could without revealing too much petticoat or ankle. “Ugh. I detest Azhgorod in spring. It’s filthy underfoot. We should have gone to Tielborg instead. At least they have pavements there.”
“But we didn’t have enough to afford rooms in Tielborg.” Dysis stopped and turned to face her mistress. “Why is there no money?”
“‘The Nagarians have fallen on hard times,’” said Lilias, mimicking Avorian’s severe tones. “He’s going to try to arrange a ‘monthly stipend.’”
“That’s better than nothing, I suppose.”
“I think it might be time to pay Jaromir’s uncle a friendly visit. We are family, after all. I understand that conditions are rather primitive out at the camp he’s set up on the moors but—” Lilias realized that she was talking to herself. “Keep up, Dysis!” she began tartly but then, looking around, she saw that Dysis was standing in the middle of the street, trembling from head to foot.
“For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together!” She marched back to her maid and caught hold of her by the wrist, shaking her. “Whatever’s the matter?”
“The D-Drakhaon,” Dysis managed to say between chattering teeth.
“Lord Gavril?” Lilias had been dreading this moment—but as she scanned the busy thoroughfare, she could see no sign of the young ruler or his tattooed druzhina. “Are you certain?”
Dysis nodded, pointing with a trembling finger to three horsemen who had just ridden past them at a brisk pace in the direction of the Khitari Gate.
“Then let’s be on our way.” Lilias pulled Dysis firmly along behind her, determined above all, that they should not run into Gavril Nagarian. Though it seemed unlikely that he should be riding through the streets of his capital city without any fuss or fanfare. But then, one could hardly call him a conventional kind of a ruler; given his liberal upbringing in Smarna, it would be just like him to go about incognito. She reached a coaching inn and dragged Dysis inside, forcing her to sit down. Dysis placed both hands over her veiled face.
“Francian brandy,” Lilias called to the innkeeper, not caring about the disapproving stares of the red-nosed old men drinking their eau-de-vie near the tiled stove. “And be quick! My companion has had a terrible shock.”
A serving girl brought over two glasses and poured a measure of the strong, golden-brown spirit into each one. “Will she be all right?” she asked, peering at Dysis.
“She’ll be fine in a few minutes,” said Lilias firmly. When the girl had gone, she raised Dysis’s veil and lifted one of the glasses to her lips. “Drink,” she ordered. Dysis obeyed, coughing as she swallowed.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Just seeing him—unexpectedly—brought back so many memories.”
Lilias drank her brandy in one gulp, nodding. It was unlike Dysis to react with such emotion; her maid had kept calm when they had escaped from debtors and irate landlords, even when they had endured terrifying storms at sea. “Of course,” she said, “neither of us has seen him since that terrible night when he broke into the kastel. And you were so brave, protecting my little Stavy.”
Dysis reached out for the brandy glass and swallowed the rest of its contents at one go. “I can never forgive him,” she said softly, “for what he did to me. Because of him, men look at me and shudder in revulsion. Women whisper words of pity. Children point at me and stare. My face is ruined.”
“He’s lost his daemonic powers, everyone says so.” Lilias patted Dysis’s hand awkwardly; comforting others did not come easily to her. “He will never hurt anyone again as he hurt you.”
“But he can’t restore my looks. He can’t make up for the pain he caused me. Or know how difficult it is each day to go out among other people, looking the way I do.”
Lilias was surprised to hear Dysis revealing her innermost thoughts. She must have been bottling all this up since it happened; and now the brandy has brought out the bitterness she’s been hiding.
“I hate him,” Dysis said with quiet vehemence. “Why should I suffer like this while he lords it over us all, basking in the Emperor’s favor?”
“We’d better be on our way.” The brandy had loosened Dysis’s tongue a little too much; Lilias placed the coins to pay for the spirits on the table and helped Dysis to her feet. It wouldn’t do to draw too much attention to themselves while Gavril was still in the city but she realized that the visit to Avorian had clarified matters. This poison eating away at Dysis’s soul could be used to both their advantages—and Lord Ranulph’s too.
“Listen to me, dear Dysis,” she said in her ear as she guided her toward
the door, “what I have set in motion will bring you all the satisfaction you could possibly desire and much more, besides.” Even as she spoke the words, she felt a delicious frisson of anticipation. “Did you not see which gate he and his bodyguard were heading for? He’s heading out—to Khitari. Which means the town house is almost certainly empty.”
Dysis turned around. “You mean—?”
“The terms of Volkh’s will were quite clear: I am owed four hundred and fifty crowns. “ Or . . . she may ask my son Gavril to establish her in my mansion in the city of Azhgorod .” As there is clearly no money in the Nagarian coffers, Oris Avorian will be obliged to honor the terms of the will. We will take up residence in the town house without further delay!”
Chapter 35
A gust of wind shivered through Fire Falcon Pass, setting the new green leaves on the overhanging trees and bushes trembling. The shadow of a bird of prey, high above the jagged rocks, skimmed across the sky. Kiukiu glanced up—but too late to catch more than a glimpse before it dipped suddenly out of sight.
Chinua was busy lighting a cooking fire at a little distance from the cart; Kiukiu and Risa sat on a brightly colored rug close by, Risa chewing furiously on a rusk of hard-baked bread.
“I’ve had this feeling all day.” Kiukiu struggled to put her needling unease into words. “As if someone’s watching us. Have you felt it too?”
Chinua nodded as the kindling caught alight. “Yet it’s not the Winged Warrior that attacked the Magus. That one, Ardarel, had a fierce, fiery aura. This is more . . . elusive.”
“Taliahad,” Kiukiu said in a whisper, not daring to pronounce his name more clearly, in case he heard and took it as a summons. “He’s a Guardian of Water, not Fire.”
“Then we must be wary around any sources of water: ponds, streams, waterfalls. He might be able to use them to manifest an earthly form.”
Risa chose that moment to let out a furious yell. Removing the rusk, she thrust it, dripping in drool, at Kiukiu.
“I don’t want it! Let’s give it to the birds.” Kiukiu reluctantly took the slimy rusk between finger and thumb and threw it into the bushes. “Look at your poor red cheek. I hope this new tooth comes through soon.”
