The Winds of Khalakovo loa-1

by Bradley P. Beaulieu

  “You have always preached patience.”

  “I have, but where has patience gotten us these last dozen years?”

  “We have done much,” Rehada said, insulted.

  “What have we done? Stolen a handful of ships, destroyed a few more, and all the while the Landed have pushed us from two more islands in the north and further cemented their hold on one of the others despite the blight.”

  “They cannot hold forever.”

  “And neither can we. You have been gone a long time, Rehada, and I’ve hidden much of the truth from you, so you have no idea how thin our ranks have become, but believe me when I tell you that the situation is dire. We have so little food that some are taking to the winds simply to feed themselves, and who can blame them? More of our qiram have been scarred by the Aramahn, leaving our ability to attack the Landed tenuous at best. We are in much more danger of driving ourselves off the edge of our islands than the Landed will ever be.”

  “We will recover, as we always have.”

  He waved his hand as if she were a girl offering him dates.“There comes a time when one must act and trust to the will of the world.”

  “The will of the world may be against the Maharraht.” Rehada surprised herself by voicing those words, but Soroush’s response was even more surprising.

  He shrugged and avoided her gaze, not with any sense of discomfort, but with contemplation. “If it is so, then it is so. I am willing to give myself to the will of indaraqiram, but I will have its answer now, before there are none of us left to hear its words.”

  Rehada considered this thought, finishing her drink while doing so. They were strong words. Had they come from any other man, she might have found herself repulsed, for such had been her upbringing, but Soroush’s ways had always been an intoxicant for her. She had found herself attracted to him from the first day they’d met.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  Soroush stood and held his hand out to her. “We’ll have those words soon. For now I would simply hold you, as we once did.”

  She paused and found herself thinking of Nikandr, and what he would think of this. It wasn’t fear of discovery, she realized-her life would be forfeit were Nikandr or any of the Landed to discover the truth-it was fear of how it might hurt him. She had never wanted to fall in love with Nikandr. Their first meeting had been a random one, and she had taken it for a blessing of the fates. In their four years together, she had always felt in control until these last few months-the point at which, she realized with growing horror, Atiana had come into the picture.

  “There is fear in your eyes,” Soroush said, still holding out his hand.

  She took a deep breath. “Not fear, my love.” She stepped forward and fell into his embrace. “Uncertainty.”

  She warmed herself and in so doing warmed him.

  “Treat me not like a man from the Hill bearing coin.” He pulled the circlet roughly from her brow. A chill fell over her as if she had plunged into the waters of the sea.

  She hid her eyes from him. It was an insult, what he’d just done, but the look on his face made her feel like she was the one at fault. “I am sorry. I did not mean-”

  He pulled her chin up until she was gazing into his deep brown eyes. He leaned down and kissed her. His beard tickled her neck, but his lips were warm, and she could feel him rising as she held him longer and their breath fell into time.

  Without another word, they pulled their clothes from their bodies. She saw upon his shoulder a fresh wound-stitched-a puncture from a gunshot, perhaps. When she moved to examine it, he grabbed her hand and stared down into her eyes fiercely, as if acknowledging the wound were an insult. He had always been this way-proud, too proud at times-and she knew better than to challenge him.

  She pulled him down among the pillows, kissing him to make him forget. As the night deepened, as their bodies became one, for the first time in a long while she no longer thought of the Prince of Khalakovo holding her.

  She woke with Soroush watching her. They were in her bedroom, and he was propped up on one elbow, watching her as the faint light of dawn shone through the small window on the far side of the room.

  He was holding in one hand a stone of red jasper. When she had propped herself like he was, he slid it toward her. “Take this to the woman you were speaking with today.”

  Rehada picked it up and examined it. It seemed unremarkable. “Why?”

  “It will accelerate the wasting. Bersuq believes that when someone of stone dies, he will be able to summon his vanahezhan.”

  “Gierten doesn’t have the wasting.”

  He shook his head, slowly but seriously. “ Neh, but the babe does.”

  “How can you know?”

  “I know.”

  Rehada felt the blood drain from her face. The babe. Gierten’s ninemonth-old daughter.

  “The Matra will take notice.”

  He nodded, a sober gesture. “We hope that it is so.”

  “But why?”

  “Because it is nearly time.”

  She pressed him for more, but that was all he would say on the subject. He pulled himself from the bed and began to dress. He stopped as he picked up his turban cloth. “Do you find this distasteful?”

  The babe has done nothing to us, she thought. The words were on her tongue, ready to speak, when Soroush cut her off.

  “The fates play strange games, do they not?” He began wrapping the cloth around his head. “The babe had two cards played against her. She is of earth, and she was born to the Landed. That is enough.” He finished with his robes and stared down at her while cinching them around his waist.

  She returned his gaze, emotions warring within her. She had resolved herself that doing what she did on this island might lead to deaths, even those of children. She might even be called to take up the knife herself. But to inflict something upon a babe when her Ahya had suffered the very same fate. It didn’t seem right.

  But Soroush’s smoldering expression of anger reminded her of how strong she needed to be. He was an undying flame, a ceaseless wind. If he could do all that he did, even after losing his ability to commune with hezhan, then she could give up one child.

  “What must be done?”

  “Place the jasper near the babe. The stone will do the rest.”

  She stared at the jasper, an unremarkable stone the color of salmon flesh. Such a dangerous game they were playing. It felt like they were stepping in the paths of the fates, and it rested uneasy in Rehada’s gut. But perhaps that was what needed to be done, as the fates had so far seemed unwilling to aid their cause.

  “It will be done,” she said shortly. He nodded once, and then was gone.

  Rehada approached the house, her heart thumping madly.

  Gierten was sitting on the front porch in a chair, her hands working quickly to repair the fishing net that lay across her lap. A basket was nearby, the same one that had been hanging from the donkey two days before.

  Gierten looked up, her thin face staring at Rehada with a mixture of confusion and charity. “Rehada, welcome. What brings you?”

  Rehada shook her head. “I was on my way to Izhny, and I thought I’d stop by to offer you a present for your daughter.”

  Gierten waited, her hands pausing in their work, as Rehada stepped onto the porch.

  Rehada could see the babe from the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t find it in herself to look at her just yet. Instead she held out a string with a piece of coral in the shape of a windwood tree. She had made it for Ahya, and though parting with it was like chopping off a finger, she would give Gierten’s babe something to guide her in her next life. “We give them to our children for luck. I have no need for it anymore, so I hope you’ll accept it for Evina.”

  Gierten didn’t move, and she looked like a woman who was about to make excuses for a gift that made no sense to her, but Rehada talked over her before she could protest.

  “You would be doing me a favor. It brings only bad me
mories. It would please me to know that it was doing some good in the world instead of dredging up the past.”

  Gierten paused for a moment, and then she smiled. She accepted the gift, nodding once. “It would be an honor. Thank you.”

  Before she lost heart, Rehada kneeled before the babe, palming the stone of jasper in one hand. “Do you mind if I held her?”

  She plunged her hands into the basket and picked Evina up without waiting for permission, leaving the stone among the folds of the padding blanket at the bottom as she did so.

  She held the baby, staring into her eyes, fighting off the tears that were threatening to surface. She knew she should be rocking the babe, should be bouncing her on her hip and telling Gierten what a wonderful child she had, but she could not. She could not go so far as that when she had just condemned this child to die with the simple act she’d just performed.

  She laid the baby back down as quickly as she’d picked her up, to the confused looks of Gierten. Then she made her excuses and left, unable to stare Gierten in the eye any longer.

  It had been so simple. Soroush dealt with death often; perhaps it came easily to him. But it was shocking just how much this simple act shook Rehada. By the time she had reached the path leading back to the road between Izhny and Volgorod, she was running, her tears flowing freely.

  CHAPTER 21

  Atiana stood before the tall windows in Radiskoye’s solarium, staring at the maelstrom raging outside. Cold rain fell down along the thick glass in heavy sheets. Lightning flashed. In the ghostly image that quickly faded she could see the blinding brilliance of a dhoshahezhan. They often slipped into the world for split seconds during lightning strikes, but it seemed to her that there were many more than one would normally see. The unseasonable storm had settled over the islands two nights ago and hadn’t budged since. It had brought life on the island, especially the palotza, to a standstill. Father and several of the other dukes thought it strange timing after the suurahezhan, but Khalakovo’s Matra claimed it was benign, a coincidence.

  “As likely a coincidence as Stasa’s death,” Father had said. But their own wind master, Kaeed, doubted Saphia was lying. Father’s reply had been to send Kaeed away and to recount all the ways he’d been wrong over the years.

  Each of the families had been given their own wing of the palotza, but the solarium had become a council chamber of sorts for those dukes that stood behind Zhabyn and Grigory in this slowly building crisis. Borund and Grigory were sitting on a curving couch, listening to Duke Leonid boast about his son’s exploits over the southern seas.

  She returned her attention to the skies, drawn to the lightning and the ghostly images, losing herself as the chill from the windows settled over her skin.

  “You’ll catch your death.” Borund came to a halt next to her. In one hand he held a snifter filled with a healthy amount of rosemary vodka, which he handed to her before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He was warm, and it felt good to be held.

  She took a sip, feeling the pleasant burn trail down her throat. “Then you’ll just have to protect me,” she said, handing the snifter back.

  “Don’t I always?” Borund replied.

  Atiana smiled and tipped her head until it rested on his shoulder. “Soon you won’t have to.”

  Borund went silent and deathly still.

  “He will be my husband, Borund.”

  “Things are not so clear as they were a week ago.”

  “How surprising you’ve sided with Father.”

  “This Council smells foul, Tiana. I know you sense it too.”

  Atiana pulled away and faced him. He wore a brown kaftan, and his beard had grown longer, giving him the look of a scowling bear.

  “Why are men so distrustful?”

  “Because there’s always trouble about, especially when you’re not looking for it.”

  Atiana reached up and smoothed the cloth of his kaftan. “Don’t think it isn’t appreciated, but really, I think there’s little enough to worry about.”

  “There you’re wrong, sister. Trouble has come, and it’s already started to simmer. Father has ordered two more ships sent to Khalakovo.”

  Atiana’s brow creased. “What of Leonid and Bolgravya?”

  “Them as well.”

  “Why?”

  “To prevent Khalakovo from dictating terms.”

  “They’ve done nothing of the sort.”

  “Tiana, just because a dog has never bitten you is no reason to believe it won’t someday do so. It’s why you put them on a leash and whip them when they misbehave.”

  “This is madness. Everything will be resolved shortly.”

  “If that is so, then the ships will be sent home. No harm done.”

  “Perhaps no harm, but certainly insult. Saphia will learn of it.”

  Borund shrugged. “The offense to Khalakovo is a risk we’re willing to take.”

  “We are guests here.”

  Borund snorted anddowned therestof thevodkainone gulp. “Guests… Have you not been here these last five days? We have heard nothing from the Khalakovos since Stasa’s death. Nothing. Ranos has come twice, and he did little more than prattle about inquiries. Nikandr came once to ask me to hunt with him. To hunt! As if we were still boys hoping to while away our time far from the foolishness of Council. And Iaros, that coward, has hidden himself away ever since that farce of a speech by the Matra. Nothing will come of their inquiries. They will attempt to blow this over as if it had never happened, and then-mark my words-they will attempt to install Iaros as Grand Duke, and they’ll expect us to smile as he takes his seat.”

  Borund’s face had filled with color as he talked until he was positively red. She had had no idea he was so angry over the matter. He had, for the last several years, become progressively more absent from Galostina as he shouldered more of the shipping contracts to Yrstanla. Their time together had become by necessity more brief and perfunctory. Here, with the death of the Grand Duke so fresh in everyone’s minds and tempers starting to rise, she realized how similar to their father he had become.

  As she worked this through in her mind, another realization struck her full in the face: she had become protective of Nikandr, even against Borund. She had come to Khalakovo dutifully, ready to fulfill the needs of her family. She hadn’t expected to feel more for Nikandr than that. Yet the way he had tried to best her at the dance those many nights ago-he had been obstinate about it, true, but she also felt like he had been doing it to win her over, like he had truly wanted to show everyone in the room that he would win her affection. Perhaps she was fooling herself, but she felt in her heart she was right.

  Aunt Katerina waved Atiana over. “Come, niece. I grow tired of winning.”

  Katerina and Ishkyna were sitting at a large ebony table pitting their skills at trump against those of Mileva and Grigory’s young cousin, Ivan. Katerina wore a fine black dress and her dark hair was tucked under a beaded cap. Her traditional raiment contrasted sharply with Atiana and her sisters, who wore embroidered dresses of emerald green, their hair high and powdered with lazy ringlets falling near their ears. Ivan, a boy of only fifteen, looked like a peasant among queens, but he didn’t seem to mind-or notice for that matter-for he could be caught staring doe-eyed at Mileva as often as he did his cards.

  Atiana’s stomach was turning too much for her to sit still for any amount of time, but before she could decline, the doors of the solarium opened, and in strode Father, bootsteps echoing, looking as cross as he ever had.

  Without saying another word, Borund moved to meet him. Katerina stood as well, her dress sighing as it slid over the parquet floor. “What news?” she asked.

  Father glanced at Atiana and then pulled Borund and Katerina away to speak with Grigory and Leonid.

  A shiver traveled along Atiana’s frame. Father had been treating her as if she’d already married Nikandr, as if Ishkyna’s prediction of shifting allegiances had already come true. She moved casually to the card table a
nd took the vacant chair, doing her best to feign indifference.

  “Don’t mind him,” Ishkyna said while dealing the cards with practiced ease. “He only fears you’ll let something slip should you ever be allowed to meet Nikandr again.”

  Atiana sorted her hand, unwilling to admit that Father had gotten to her over the last few days. “I bid three.”

  Ivan, having paid much more attention to the three sisters than he did his own hand, quickly ordered his cards. “Four,” he said, more of a question than a statement.

  Ishkyna glanced at Ivan and rolled her eyes. She leaned in toward the table. “It’s just us, Tiana. You don’t have to hide the fact that you’re enamored of him. I bid six.”

  “Ah, but she does, Shkyna,” Mileva said. “What would good Bolgravya think if she were to show any outward sign of affection toward Khalakovo? Seven.”

  Ivan’s face went bright red. Had he been older-or had hotter blood run through his veins-he would have stood from the table and left, but he was clearly enamored of the sisters, Mileva in particular.

  Atiana set down her cards, allowing Mileva to capture the blind. “Show some respect.” She squeezed Ivan’s wrist tenderly. “He has lost much this week.”

  “Ivan knows how much respect I have for him and his family. It was a warning for you, sister.” Mileva finished selecting her final hand and they began playing, the sisters moving quickly, practically without thought, Ivan choosing his cards carefully, often looking to Mileva for approval as if she could somehow see his cards before he played them.

  “And why would I need a warning, Leva?”

  “Because,” Ishkyna answered forher, “it’s clear to everyone you’re chafing at the bit to gallop for Khalakovo when you should be headed home.”

  Atiana slapped her highest trump onto the table and swept in the trick. “I had a notion that this was my home now.”

  Mileva took the next. “The longer we stay, sister, the likelier it will be that your wedding bed will forever stay cold.”

  Atiana wanted to scoff, but there was a ring of truth to those words. She had thought the matter would be settled within a day, but then came rumor that the Khalakovos had found a Landless qiram and were questioning him deep beneath the palotza. They neither confirmed nor denied the rumor, but Leonid had men asking about Volgorod for news, and they said that some of the Landless had come to the palotza, treating with Iaros to have their kinsman back.