“When your father told everyone explicitly they were to do no such thing.”
Atiana shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I have? The Khalakovos had all but ceased their investigations.”
“I would think by now the reason for that was clear. They already had the ones who did it and were protecting them.”
“Perhaps, but if it were that cut-and-dry, why would they not simply hand them over?”
Borund smiled, the patronizing one he saved for his sisters when he thought they were being foolish. “Come, Tiana. You’re not so naive as that.”
“What? You still think they hired a Landless qiram and a witless boy to summon an elder spirit to kill Bolgravya? Nyet, Borund, it’s not so obvious as you think.”
He stared at her doubtfully.
“The spirits are not easily bound,” she continued. “It might as easily have attacked them.”
His face pinched into a look of annoyance. “There are things we will never know about the Aramahn. The man, Ashan, was arqesh, and the boy clearly had powers that can only be guessed at.”
“And what if they had summoned it? It is a dangerous thing to banish them once they’ve come. We know this. Why did it slip back through the aether if it had been consciously summoned?”
“Times change. In our lifetimes alone, the world has begun remaking itself. Who knows how the spirits might have changed in that same time or over the course of centuries?”
“You’re trying to give the crossing more meaning than it has.”
“Spoken like a true bride of Khalakovo.”
“They are the words of a woman who doesn’t like seeing lives wasted”-she pointed south, toward Volgorod’s eyrie-“which is exactly what’s happening now.”
“They brought it upon themselves.”
“ Nyet, Father brought it upon them.”
“And he was right to do so!” Borund’s face was turning red. “Khalakovo has been lording their gems and windwood over us for two decades. And for you-a daughter of Vostroma-they give us three windworn ships and a handful of gems? Did you know I told Father to throw their offer to the winds? He refused because we needed those ships, but then Iaros murders the Grand Duke himself so that he can have the mantle he’s been lusting after for years… It’s too much, Atiana. Too much. I don’t know how you can expect us to stand idly by when we were there to witness it. I thought your blood ran thicker than that.”
“Perhaps that’s the difference between us, Borund. I don’t look at the surface of a thing and make judgment.”
“ Nyet, you pitter and patter like your sisters, pretending to play at games where you hardly know the players much less the rules.” Borund waved a hand at the cabin door. “Go. I can’t stomach to look at you. Get belowdecks and stay there until we meet with the Fierga.”
The Fierga was an old warship that had been relegated to patrol duty around Vostroma. Atiana was surprised it had been sent, and even more surprised it had made the journey across the Neck. Still, it made it clear that Mother had ordered her home, and this was something she could not allow.
Summoning all the authority she could muster, Atiana stood and stared at Borund squarely. “I would stay, Borund. I wish to remain until the conflict is over.”
“And I might have allowed it if our Matra hadn’t already spoken. You will return home, Atiana.”
“Let me stay until I can speak with her.”
He shook his head.“Mother has been awake for nearly a week preparing for this day. Her hands are full, and as soon as the violence has eased-which should be soon-she will sleep.”
“A few days will matter little, Bora.”
“I have given my word.” Borund stood and pointed at the door again. “Now go.”
Atiana stood, her shoulders square, refusing to move.
“Go!”
She knew that to stay and argue would only harden his stance, so she bowed her head and left the cabin, hoping she could speak with him once more before she left, though she already knew that if she did his answer would be the same.
When Atiana reached the Fierga, the kapitan of the ship escorted her to an empty cabin, a spare place that smelled of garlic and windsmen. It was a room that was meant to sleep four, but with only a skeleton crew aboard, there was plenty of room to spare.
She sat there for a long while, wondering how she was going to escape, when she heard a scratching at the oval window. She opened it to find a black rook flapping its wings to remain standing on the narrow sill. It was Zoya, Mother’s favorite. It hopped down to the floor and then flapped its wings to sit upon one of the top bunks.
Atiana bowed her head. “Matra.”
The old rook cawed. “I see you made it back alive. Perhaps next time you won’t be so quick to ignore our warnings.”
After a moment of confusion, Atiana recognized Ishkyna’s biting tone, even through the raw voice of the rook.
“You said you’d never take the dark again.”
“And leave my poor sister alone in the world? Never.”
Atiana scoffed. “I should burn this old rook while you writhe inside it.”
The rook craned its neck and cawed. “Why, because we gave you more time to do what you needed to do?”
“You left me on Khalakovo.”
“A place you clearly wanted to remain.”
“The Duke nearly murdered me.”
“But he did not. It would have been an utterly foolish thing to do.”
“ Da, and men think so clearly when their blood has risen.”
“The Duke of Khalakovo, no matter how much you might admire him, dear sister, is nothing if not calm of heart. He might have tried to scare Father-he might have even meant in his heart to kill you-but his tender soul would not allow it.” By tender, she meant weak, something she had said while referring to Atiana, as if tenderness were a vice to be rooted out as quickly and efficiently as one could. The rook stretched its chipped beak wide, shook its head furiously, and continued. “Now that I think of it, it was a terribly apt union Mother had arranged. Too bad it will never happen now.”
Atiana reached up and grasped the body of the rook, pinning the wings tight. “If you’ve only come to chide me”-she moved toward the open window-“then I’d rather be alone.”
The bird pecked at her hand. Atiana ignored it until blood was drawn from her knuckle, at which point she flung the rook away. It flapped to the floor and hopped back up to its previous position on the uppermost bunk. “So defensive, sister. I’d have thought you’d be glad to have company aboard a ship like this.”
“Not if all you’re offering are barbs.”
The rook cawed. “Barbs aside, I did want to make sure you were healthy and hale. We were worried.”
Atiana laughed. It was as close to an apology as she was going to get from Ishkyna. “You can see well enough I’ve made it through the war alive.”
“War… This is hardly more than posturing, Tiana. A rustling of feathers.”
“Says the woman speaking from the depths of Galostina.”
“Well, since you’re in the thick of it, why don’t you share with your dear sister what you were about? Surely the need for secrecy has passed-or are those pretty lips still sealed?”
Atiana could ill afford to give her sister too much, so she gave bits and pieces: her time in Radiskoye, her escape through the sea, the mad dash through Volgorod and the explosion at the bridge-only enough of what really happened to appease her and only because she had to give information in order to get it.
“And what now?” Atiana asked when she was done. “What has happened to the eyrie?”
“If you couldn’t guess by my presence, the eyrie is ours.”
“And Radiskoye?”
“It has been left intact for the time being. The attack on the eyrie was largely symbolic. The true threats are the ships massing near Mirkotsk.”
“Then why take it now?”
“To pressure Khalakovo to step down peaceably. Father has said that h
e would accept a written declaration of fault, a ceding of his seat to Ranos, and a grant of a dozen ships.”
“Iaros will never agree to that.”
“Don’t be so sure. No one wants war, least of all the most remote of the Duchies. Rhavanki and Khazabyirsk have been even harder struck by the blight than we have, and Lhudansk practically begged Khalakovo to settle this before Father left. The only Duchy that has any strength of will and the canvas to back it up is Mirkotsk, but even they would stop beating the drums of war if an opportunity for peace presented itself. Khalakovo knows this, and even if he does urge for an attack, he knows it may push Lhudansk to step down, and if one goes, all will follow.”
“You underestimate Saphia. She is a persuasive woman.”
The rook bobbed its head up and down, releasing a ragged call. It sounded more than a little like Ishkyna’s grating laugh. “You have not seen much of her since the attack, Tiana. She is feeble now, both in heart and in mind. She can hardly take the dark for more than a few hours at a time.”
This was surprising and unsettling news. Atiana had thought Saphia a woman who would never weaken, never break. But perhaps her ordeal with Nasim had been more taxing than she would have guessed.
“Shkyna, I need your help.”
The bird flapped its wings, a small loss of control by the inexperienced Ishkyna at this sudden and perhaps unexpected request for help. “What could a young bride need from an old matron like me?”
“Do not jest. My need is great.”
The rook stared at her for a long time. Its eyes blinked, as if Ishkyna were trying to measure the truth in her words but was having difficulty through the foreign eyes of the rook. It reminded Atiana of Ishkyna so much that she felt suddenly homesick, and the cumulative weight of the events since she had arrived on Khalakovo threatened to bury her. She nearly cried, but this was not a time for such a thing. She needed now more than ever to keep her mind to the task at hand.
“I need you to speak with the kapitan. I need you to tell him that we are to return to Duzol and for him to leave me there.”
“And why would the kapitan believe…”
The rook stopped. Ishkyna had realized what Atiana meant for her to do. She wanted Ishkyna to present herself not as the daughter of the Matra, but as the Matra herself. The old kapitan had worn a soulstone around his neck, but he was a lesser officer, a man relegated not just to the rear of the blockade, but to transport duty-hardly a position of importance-and so the Matra would hardly know him and he would hardly know her.
“He will see through it,” Ishkyna said.
“You know better, Shkyna. Have you even heard of Kapitan Malorov?”
“I am not the Matra.”
Atiana was surprised. There was fear in her sister’s voice. She would have to be careful. “Mother keeps as much track of the military as you or I do. You have little to worry about there.”
“What if she touched stones with all of them before they left?”
“As quickly as the blockade was cobbled together? Unlikely, and I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be eager to spread dissent in this-how did you put it? — farce of a war…”
“Farce or not, Mother would find out soon enough what I’d done.”
“And you’ll simply tell her the truth, that I asked to go.”
“For what purpose?” “Unfinished affairs.” “Nikandr?”
“I’ll reveal everything when I return to Vostroma.”
The rook flapped over to the open window and clucked. “I’m afraid, sister, that this is something I cannot do. I may like to pull at loose strings, but this is too much.”
“Shkyna, please! It will work.”
“I know it will work. I’m worried about my hide once it has.”
“Mother won’t do a thing.”
“ Nyet, but Father will. He has changed as much as Borund. It’s too much to ask. When you reach the island, we’ll play trump-you and I and Mileva, like we always have. You’ll be a world away from your troubles, and in no time you’ll forget Nikandr and his stubborn family.”
“Ishkyna!”
The rook had already flapped out of the window. Atiana watched it wing through the rigging and climb higher into the overcast sky until it was lost in the white canvas of the landward sails.
CHAPTER 54
Rehada entered the mouth of the cave at dusk. The height of it was so low that she had to bend over to reach the interior. She could smell wood burning, and when she turned a corner she found the source. In the center of the natural cavern burned a meager fire. The smoke trailed upward and was lost through a long crack in the stone ceiling. Soroush kneeled on the far side, pointedly ignoring her approach as he stirred the fire with a partially burnt switch. When his brother, Bersuq, saw her, he stood and motioned for the two others sitting next to him to follow. They were forced to hunch over, making them look like a line of the walking wounded.
Rehada kneeled on the opposite side of the fire and watched as the orange light played across Soroush’s dark skin. His turban lay on top of his folded outer robe. His long black hair was pulled over one shoulder.
“Where is Muwas?” Soroush asked without looking up.
“Taken. Burned.”
The silence between them lengthened, deepened. Soroush had been burned himself five years ago. Rehada could only imagine what it must feel like, to be cut off from touching Adhiya, to never again feel the bond with a hezhan. It would be an empty life. At least for a while. Perhaps forever.
Rehada reached into the pouch at her waist and retrieved the azurite gemstone. It was smooth, no larger than a thrush’s egg, and even though she wasn’t aligned with water, she could feel the power emanating from within it.
“At least he was able to find this for us.” She set it down near the fire, close enough for Soroush to reach.
He picked it up, turned it in his fingers as the firelight played against the silken surface. “You witnessed it, the burning?”
“I did.” “You did nothing to protect him?”
“I-there was nothing I could have done.”
“Nothing?”
“You were not there, Soroush. He was caught with blood upon his hands.”
After setting the stone down next to the fire, Soroush regarded Rehada. “The woman I knew-the woman I sent to this island seven years ago- would have fought for his freedom.”
“You would prefer that I had? That I were dead like Ahya?”
Anger flared in his gray-green eyes. “I’ve never told you, Rehada, but the men who murdered Ahya… Nearly all of them are dead, most by my hand. It took years, and by the time you left for Khalakovo, I had begun to feel thin, worn down, as I do now. Like a hawk no longer hungry for prey, my thirst for revenge faded.”
She glanced toward the cave’s entrance, making sure the other men had truly left. She had never heard Soroush speak this way. His anger was fading before her very eyes.
“And if my own thirst is thus,” he continued, “I wonder what it must be like for you.”
“You think I don’t have the stomach for it any longer?”
“Our minds are not made for such things.”
“My mind is as filled with hate as it has ever been.”
Soroush shook his head. “I doubt that, daughter of Shineshka.”
“You doubt that I would wipe them from the islands if I could?”
“If it were so easy as that, neh, I think you would. But it is not easy. It is harder than I ever thought it would be. And I have seen the same struggle within you — don’t think I haven’t. The Aramahn are a clean people, are we not? But it is impossible to lie in the mud and not have it cling to you when at last you rise.”
“What of you?” Rehada shot back. “How can you go on if your will has left?”
Soroush was silent for a time. The fire had begun to die, but he stoked it back to life. “There was an attack years ago on Nodhvyansk. Lohram and Bersuq and I had just landed on the island, and we heard of a g
roup of our people being chased by a Landed warship. We didn’t find the windship in time, but we found the six who had fallen to their deaths when their skiff was blown to bits by the ship’s cannons.
“One of them, a woman who had seen eighty years, had nearly saved herself. We found her lying in the tall grasses, the gem within her circlet dim, her body broken. She took my hand as I kneeled next to her and looked into my eyes. She could barely take breath, but she forced these words out before she died: ‘Forgive them… Please, child, forgive them. Do not take revenge on my account.’ I asked her how she could say such things when those men had caused the deaths of so many she had loved, and she said: ‘Because I love them as much as I love you.’” Soroush took in a deep, halting breath. “She loved them as much as she loved me. I stayed by her side until she died, but I will not lie and say that I comforted her. I hated her. I hated the words she had spoken, not because she could find it within herself to love those that deserve none of it, but because the Landed have forced us to this, squabbling amongst ourselves while they take everything.
“It is easy for me to sustain myself now. I admit that I do not think of Ahya as often as I should, but I think of that woman every day. I think of her and reflect on what has become of us. I long for the day we can move freely among the winds, as we once did, but I no longer believe it will happen in this lifetime.”
Rehada watched Soroush with a mixture of sadness and regret and anger. She wished the same determination ran through her veins, but she had to admit-to herself if no one else-that it no longer did. Something had been burned out of her by the lake when she had asked Atiana for forgiveness. She saw-for the first time in a very long time-some of the promise that her mother had spoken of when she was young. She had believed that the Landed would eventually reconcile with the Aramahn. It may take lifetimes, she’d told Rehada, but it would happen.
Without saying another word, Rehada stood and held her hand out to Soroush. He stared, the fire and the shadows warring against his face, and then he dropped the blackened switch into the fire and followed her to the blankets that lay on the far side of the cave.
With slow deliberation they pulled the clothes from their bodies until it was just the two of them, skin-on-skin, embracing and kissing, then exploring and finally groping. Rehada lay down, pulling Soroush with her. When he entered her she arched her back both in pleasure and in pain. Soroush had always been a gentle lover, but he thrust into her powerfully now. It felt as though he was filled with anger-or perhaps regret-that they might never see each other again.
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