The Straits of Galahesh

by Bradley P. Beaulieu

  He fell into the pillows across from her and took a healthy swallow of his own drink. “In truth I didn’t, but your sisters are not so easy to miss—Ishkyna especially—and there are few other Matri to account for.”

  She stared down at him, lying there as if he was fully expecting to bed her once the drinks were done and the foreplay of conversation was over.

  He caught her look, and then stared at the pillows.

  And then he laughed.

  “We can get chairs if you like, sit on opposite sides of the room…”

  She felt her face burn. “We’re not accustomed to such behavior.”

  “The islands are cold, Atiana, but the blood of the Landed runs hot. Do we have to pretend it does not?”

  “Chambermaids may be lulled by your beauty, Bahett”—she set her glass on the travertine floor nearby—“but believe me when I say that I am not.” She stood, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist, preventing her from rising.

  “Please,” he said, rising in one smooth motion to sit cross-legged on a pillow the color of coral. “There are important things to discuss.”

  Slowly, so as not to offend, she pried his hand from her wrist, but she remained where she was. His face was earnest. There was even a note of panic in his eyes. If there were even a chance it was important to Vostroma and the Grand Duchy, she would hear it.

  “Thank you,” he said, situating himself as if it pained him to sit upright.

  She motioned for him to continue with a nod of her head. “Please.”

  “The Grand Duchy is headed for difficult times—even more difficult than she’s had over these past many years.” He paused for effect. “Her coffers are low. Her shoals offer fewer and fewer fish. Her fields are worse, and her people, let’s face it, have begun to starve—”

  Atiana found herself seething at these words. “Her people are strong and her ships mighty. Her will is indomitable.”

  “Conceded, daughter of Radia, but she cannot stand forever, not without the help of the Empire.”

  “Your point?”

  “My point is to make you painfully aware of your position, because—trust in me—the Kamarisi is very aware.”

  Atiana paused, choosing her words carefully. “The Kamarisi has been our ally since he came to power, as had his father and his father’s father before him. We aided Yrstanla when the hordes in the hills stood at the doorstep of Alekeşir herself. We traded her stones and windwood when we had no need to do so. Power rises and falls, Bahett. Better to weather the storm with an ally than to brave it alone.”

  “Your words are pure gold,” he said, bowing his head, “but I fear the Kamarisi will never listen to them.”

  “Then your words smack of either betrayal or deception, both of which would lead to the gibbet were I to share this conversation with my father.”

  For the first time since the conversation began, fire lit within Bahett’s eyes. “I do not lie, Atiana, and I am fiercely loyal to the Kamarisi.”

  “Then explain yourself.”

  “When I am done, you will be left with a choice, but whatever you decide, you cannot tell anyone. It would bring ruin on us all.” His eyes bore into her, and he paused to let the words sink in. “On us all, Atiana. Do I have your word?”

  “If it does not leave me betraying my own family, I will keep our words between us.”

  This seemed to appease him, for he nodded and continued. “A year ago a woman came into the Kamarisi’s harem. She was beautiful, as are they all, but she was of the Aramahn.”

  Atiana could not help but think of Rehada, a woman she had loathed, but had somehow—through everything that had happened on Khalakovo—come to respect.

  “There was power within her,” Bahett continued. “Everyone could see it. I think it’s why the Kamarisi agreed to keep her, even after she exhibited these qualities.”

  “He doesn’t keep qiram?”

  “He does not. In the past, it has led to … regrettable circumstances. But no matter. The Kamarisi kept her, and she rose in favor. She went to him often, and even began to accompany him on official functions. The Kamarisi made the decision to come to Galahesh this month, and the woman, Arvaneh, has joined him while the ilkadin remains in Alekeşir.”

  Atiana raised her brows. Traveling to a place where treaties of such import might be signed was the place of the ilkadin, the Kamarisi’s first wife, who was by all accounts an exacting mistress. Word had reached even the islands of the ruthless ways in which she defended her authority. Women of the harem had been whipped and scarred; some had even been found floating in the muddy waters of the Vünkal, their bodies ravaged, all for overstepping their bounds. Influence, indeed, if Arvaneh had begun to supplant her in even the smallest of ways.

  “He has spoken to me of his intent. He will discuss the treaties your father and I and Sihaş may draft in the coming days. He may even sign it. But then he will come, with all the power that can be spared, and he will take the islands back.”

  “He will not win.”

  Bahett was already shaking his head. “Remember how this conversation began, Atiana. He will win. Have no doubt about this.”

  “Then again, I ask you, why would you reveal this to me?”

  “Because the Kamarisi is not himself. He has been taken by this woman. As has the ilkadin. As have his generals.”

  “And why not you?”

  He raised his thin eyebrows. “Have you not noticed that the Kamarisi has sent his own man to the proceedings? He no longer trusts me. Or she doesn’t. Either way, I will soon be left out in the wind while the lion’s share of the negotiations are given to Sihaş.”

  “You still have considerable power, Bahett. You would not be here if you didn’t.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps I do. Perhaps I do not. What I do know is this: if the Kamarisi comes for the Grand Duchy, he will win, but in doing so we will give up his hold on the west. The Haelish have been massing again, and this time, with so much being diverted toward the taking of the islands, we will be overrun.”

  “Is the Empire so fragile?”

  “I would not put it so bluntly. Our resources are considerable, but they have also been drained for decades. We cannot sustain two wars along with our other, tenuous borders. Not now.”

  “Then why would the Kamarisi do it?”

  “Have you not been listening? It is Arvaneh. She has taken hold of him. His will, his mind. It is not his desires that drive him, but hers, and she has decided that she wants these islands—for what purpose I do not know. The point is that she does, and she doesn’t care what happens to Yrstanla as long as she gets it. And I tell you this as well: it was Arvaneh, not the Kamarisi, who wanted the bridge built over the straits.”

  “The Spar?” Atiana asked. “Why would she care that a bridge is built over the Straits of Galahesh?”

  “She takes no council with me, Atiana.”

  “Then what would you have of me?”

  “Come to Galahesh. In Baressa you will be well watched, but there is a place… I have had a drowning chamber made there.” He paused. “For you.”

  “You would have me spy on them for you?”

  The hint of a smile came to his lips, quickly hidden. “Would you not have done so long ago had you had the power?”

  He was speaking, of course, of her inability to tread close to, or beyond, the straits. She and all the Matri before her—for generations—had wished to watch over Galahesh, but it was simply not possible, not without risking one’s life in doing so. But if she were there, in Baressa, the distance she would need to travel in the aether would be greatly reduced. It might work. At the very least, it was worth the attempt.

  “What do you wish to know? Specifically.”

  “I wish to understand her nature.”

  “Before you have her killed?”

  He did not answer, but his eyes—the color of a rich bay stallion—were deadly serious.

  Atiana was already shaking her head. “There are a dozen ot
hers you could find who would be better suited.”

  “I wish it were so, Atiana, but it is not. The few who see things as I do are too afraid. The rest are either too loyal to the Kamarisi or they are powerless to oppose him.”

  Atiana stared into his eyes, trying to weigh the truth in his words. There was no doubt that in time the Kamarisi could crush the Grand Duchy if he so chose. What did it matter to her, or Father, if Yrstanla was in turn done in by his ambitions?

  “Did you not tell me,” Bahett continued, “that were Bahett ül Kirdhash to whisper in your ear, you would listen? Well, I’m whispering now, Atiana, none too softly.”

  She considered for only a moment longer. “I will go with you to Baressa, and we will see what this Arvaneh is about.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ten days later, Atiana watched from the deck of her Father’s windship as the city of Baressa came into view. She had been to the city a half-dozen times, but never from the air. She’d insisted over the kapitan’s protestations that it was too dangerous.

  “I will soon live here, Kapitan,” she’d said. “I will see it from a ship before that happens.”

  The kapitan had grudgingly agreed, but had told her that they could not come too near the straits, and if any sort of wind picked up, he’d take the ship back to the eyrie at the southern end of the island straight away.

  Baressa was massive, much larger than Evochka, which was the largest city in not just Vostroma but the entire Grand Duchy. It wasn’t surprising. Baressa was three centuries older than Evochka. One could still see the mix of architecture that had developed over the years—squat stone manses near the Mount, the spiraling minarets of Kasir Yalidoz, the sprawl of the bazaar with her rows and rows of tents and ramshackle buildings. As large and as populous as the city was, there was still one section to the southwest that remained a gutted husk of what it once was—a reminder from the War of Seven Seas, the Grand Duchy’s twenty-year war of secession with Yrstanla. Why the line of the Kamarisi had never replaced it was anyone’s guess, though if Atiana had to guess she would say that it was an indicator of their penchant for draining their coffers for the wars they waged in the west.

  Beyond the city—barely visible from this distance—was a jagged line that bisected the island. The line revealed the ivory cliffs of the straits. To Atiana it looked like the island had ripped, half of it striving to remain with the Empire, the other half reaching for the Grand Duchy. It was not so far from the truth. Many on Galahesh had family and interests on both the continent and the islands.

  Behind her, the old kapitan approached. “This is as close as we dare, My Lady Princess.”

  “It’s close enough,” Atiana replied.

  They were still several leagues from the straits, but the kapitan was worried over the ley lines that twisted and kinked the closer one came to the straits. Were they to attempt to fly over the gap itself, or even around it, they would risk being caught in a whorl, and there was no telling what might happen then. In all likelihood the ship would never make it out. It would crash to the ground or into the sea, as so many ships had while attempting to pass through it. Of all the advancements the Grand Duchy, Yrstanla, and even Galahesh had made over the centuries, they still hadn’t found a way to unravel the mysteries of the straits, which was why nearly all of the goods being shipped between Yrstanla and the Grand Duchy were brought to an eyrie on the northern end of the island, ferried over land by wagons, across the straits on special barges, and reloaded onto waiting ships in Svoya on the southern end of Galahesh.

  “By our fathers, just look at it,” the kapitan said, his voice full of wonder.

  He was referring to the bridge. It hadn’t even been completed yet and people had already started calling it the Spar. And Atiana could see why. The straits at its narrowest point was nearly a half-league, and the land on either side was four hundred feet above the sea. Nearly five years ago the foundations of the bridge had been laid, a thing that had never been considered in the hundreds of years the Empire had controlled this island. The distance was simply too far to span.

  Or so it had been thought.

  This Kamarisi, this young man, apparently thought it necessary, and he had poured vast amounts of resources into the effort. Twenty-six columns—one for each of the emperors in Hakan’s line—supported the bridge from below, and the spans between were nearly complete. Only in the middle, at the center of the bridge, was the stone still being worked.

  “It’s impressive.”

  “Impressive... Unnatural is what I say. Men shouldn’t build such things.”

  “It will help trade, Kapitan.”

  “It will bring Yrstanla one step closer to the Grand Duchy.” He strode away to tend to the ship. “And mark my words, nothing good can come of that.”

  Indeed, Atiana thought. The straits was a natural barrier between the two powers, and even though Galahesh had been in the hands of Yrstanla ever since the Great War, it was a fact that gave both sides some comfort that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to catch the other off-guard.

  It fouled the aether as well, making it doubly dangerous for her when she prepared to take the dark. There were dozens of stories from Mother and Aunt Katerina and every other Matra old enough to remember the ancient tales of those who had wandered too close to the straits and had become lost. Most recovered in time, but Atiana’s great-grandmother Tatiana had never returned. She died seventeen days after trying to spy upon the Kamarisi of Yrstanla, who at that time had been threatening war with the Islands.

  Atiana turned when she heard light footsteps making their way across the deck. It was Ishkyna, who had convinced Father that she might prove herself of use on this journey. It was an excuse for Ishkyna to leave her husband’s side—a game Ishkyna never tired of—but Atiana also knew that Ishkyna had become smitten with Sihaş, the Kamarisi’s envoy.

  “It does look grand, doesn’t it?” Ishkyna said, gripping the shroud and leaning over the gunwales to look out toward the city.

  “It looks dangerous,” Atiana said, her gaze drawn toward the shattered remains of the city’s southwestern section.

  “Sometimes they go hand in hand.” Ishkyna swung back and struck Atiana with her hip. “What of your man, Bahett? You haven’t spoken of him.”

  “There’s little enough to tell, Shkyna. I’m beholden.”

  “You mean smitten. With another…”

  Atiana considered the two pieces of the island, split from one another by the straits. It felt like her and Nikandr, close at times, but never quite able to touch.

  “Come now,” Ishkyna continued. “You know how such things work. A man like Bahett will not begrudge you a man like Nikandr coming discreetly to the city for a time. You’ll be the ilkadin. You could go for days, even weeks at a time. Besides, after a few months, Bahett will hardly remember you.”

  It was Atiana’s turn to hip her sister.

  Ishkyna laughed—a genuine laugh, not the one she used when she was stalking men. It felt good to hear. “You know what I mean. As pretty as you are, the Kaymakam of Galahesh has duties, and many women who might divert him from it. If you wish to see Nikandr, accept the hand of Galahesh and everyone will look the other way. Besides, we must look beyond the halls of Baressa, mustn’t we? The Kamarisi stares ever harder beyond the shores of Galahesh.”

  Atiana knew her sister’s words were false. She could not even allow herself the fantasy of believing in them. Even if she were willing to break her marriage vows to Bahett, Nikandr would not. He knew, as Atiana did, that it was too risky. Both of them could, and probably would, be put to death if they were found together.

  Instead, she changed the subject. “Is that why you’ve hounded the envoy every moment you’ve had?”

  Ishkyna stared at Atiana flatly. “He’s no joy between the sheets, Tiana, believe me. Were it not for his station, I would gladly have looked to his servants.” Her stare turned into a wry smile. “In fact, I already have. They’re much more … p
liable.”

  “I don’t know how you live with yourself.”

  “Don’t wrinkle your nose at wine you haven’t tasted. You’ll know soon enough...”

  The ship bucked in the wind, forcing Atiana to hold to the nearby shroud to steady herself.

  “There’s a surge coming,” the kapitan said. “Best you wait in your cabins.”

  “Best you tend to your business,” Ishkyna said, “and let us attend to ours.”

  The kapitan left with a sour look on his face. The winds continued to kick, though, and Ishkyna soon went to her cabin at the rear of the ship. Atiana remained. She wanted to study the straits from the air as long as she could. She wanted to fix them in her mind for the next time she took the dark. The straits were dangerous, as she had known even before her recent visit with Saphia.

  The winds eventually died down, but only after they’d turned and headed east for several leagues. The rest of the trip went uneventfully. They landed in Svoya and were met at the eyrie by a host of Bahett’s servants. They took her and Ishkyna and the rest of their retinue overland in a train of coaches. The land was dryer here than among the islands, and so the landscape seemed spare, almost desiccated.

  When they finally reached Baressa, they received a completely different view from the ground. Galahesh was by and large a long plateau of land. Indeed, except for the Mount, the massive hill that housed Kasir Yalidoz and the wealthiest homes, the city was flat. It felt strange, as most of the cities in the Grand Duchy were built onto slopes or mountainsides. And the people. They choked the streets. The traffic became so bad near the Mount they came to a standstill. They were in a street that had market stalls on either side. Hundreds became thousands as people wearing all manner of bright clothing wandered along the street, considering the stalls of silk and wool and knives and fruit and wine and dates.

  Ishkyna pulled the curtain aside and stared out at the crowd. Her eyes were wide and a soft smile was upon her lips, an expression Atiana hadn’t seen in years, not since their childhood. “Wouldn’t you love to live here?”