by Ash, Sarah
“But an assassin who climbs up walls and lurks outside windows in the freezing cold?” Gavril shook his head, mouth creasing in a smile of incredulity.
“We heard tales in Khan Vachir’s caravan of subtle killers from the islands of Cipangu, who can slip past the best bodyguards unnoticed.” Why would Gavril not take her worries seriously? “Shino something, they’re called. And they use magical shadow skills to infiltrate their victims’ houses—”
“Kiukiu.” He put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her close. “Why would anyone go to the trouble of sending assassins all the way from Cipangu to kill me? Besides,” and he stroked a stray lock from her forehead and gazed into her eyes, “Eugene’s agents are looking after us. If someone had put a price on my head, the Emperor’s spies would have warned us long before now.”
The warmth of his fingers caressing her face, her hair, moving down to her shoulders, sliding off the soft folds of her nightgown so that it fell in a whisper of cloth to her bare feet, drove all worries from her mind—but one. Naked, she pressed herself against him, seeking his heat, and they sank back together onto the bed.
“What about Risa?” she whispered, longing to give in to her desires yet still aware that they were not alone.
“She’s sound asleep,” he said, his lips moving against her throat, her breasts, kissing the scars that would never fade, deep-scored by his teeth and sapphire claws when he had been daemon-possessed. “We must take advantage while we can.”
***
Kiukiu lay lost in dreams, one hand clutching a lock of her own hair, like a little child. After they made love, Gavril usually drifted effortlessly into deep slumber. But tonight, that much-desired repose was eluding him and all he could think about was the pallid face she had glimpsed at the window.
Is there a revenant haunting the kastel? Or could it be Lady Morozhka?
He had sensed nothing. Well, maybe a slight chill but that could have just been the bitter cold seeping in from the snowy gardens beyond. The oriel window was encrusted in jagged icicles, some as long as a rapier blade, its panes frosted over.
Kiukiu’s a Spirit Singer, after all. She’s more sensitive than the rest of us to the presence of troubled ghosts.
Spirit Singer. All day he had been remembering Eugene’s warning, and wondering whether to tell Kiukiu about Ranozhir Arkhel . Heaven knows, we have worries enough of our own without the Arkhels returning to claim their lands. And suppose Lord Ranozhir wants not just his lands but his Spirit Singer too? Kiukiu had confessed, the night before they were married, that she had made a vow of allegiance to the Arkhel Clan. At the time he had told her not to worry about what she had done . But then I truly believed that all the Arkhels were dead.
What shall I do if Lord Ranozhir comes back and demands that Kiukiu returns to his clan to serve him? How binding is the vow of allegiance she made to his father?
***
Kiukiu woke to find Larisa sitting up, grumbling in a low ominous voice that promised to grow into a full-throated yell if no one took any notice. Accustomed by years in service to rising before dawn to clear the kastel grates, Kiukiu swept her daughter up and out of the cradle, whispering, “Who’s awake bright and early again? Let’s not disturb your daddy; let him sleep a little longer.” She wrapped a soft shawl around them both, then tiptoed out of the bedchamber and down the stairs, heading for the warmth of the kitchen.
Ninusha was already up, warming some milk over the fire for Kion. The little boy was safely confined in one of the wooden baby chairs Semyon had carpentered, enthusiastically beating a spoon on the tray. Larisa’s eyes lit up at the sight of Kion and the grumbling instantly ceased, replaced by excited wriggling so that Kiukiu had to use all her strength to secure her in the other chair.
When the babies had been fed and were contentedly chewing on rusks of hard-baked bread, Kiukiu looked down at Larisa and sighed. “There’s almost as much porridge on your face and hair as in your tummy.”
“And all over the kitchen table,” muttered Ilsi, tying her hair back in her embroidered headscarf before she began to clean up after the little ones.
“Let’s take them both to the bath-house,” suggested Ninusha.
“Yes, please do,” said Ilsi pointedly as Dunai came into the kitchen.
A deep blush spread over Ninusha’s face as the young estate steward greeted them. Ever since Dunai had endured excruciating torture at the hands of the Francian Inquisition, he had been making a slow recovery from the injuries that had left him lame.
“Just in time, Dunai,” said Ilsi, shoving a pile of bowls into his hands. “Set these out, will you?”
“How are you feeling today, Dunai?” Ninusha ventured in an uncharacteristically shy voice. “This cold weather must make it harder for you to get around.”
“A good soak in the bath-house helps,” Dunai said, grinning at her as he laid the table—although his face had also turned red.
What’s going on here? Has Ninusha fallen for Dunai? Kiukiu wondered, gazing from one bashful expression to the other. He may not be one of the druzhina anymore, but with his white-blond hair and blue eyes, he’s still the best-looking man in the kastel—after Gavril, of course.
“Ah, Dunai; the very man I was hoping to find.” Gavril came in just as Kiukiu was about to pick up their messy baby. Larisa let out a happy shout at the sight of her father and shot out both hands, inviting him to hold her. After one glance at the lumps of porridge in her hair, Gavril hastily retreated. “I see you enjoyed your breakfast, Risa.”
“Coward,” Kiukiu whispered as she whisked Larisa out of the kitchen, wishing that the baby hadn’t decided to hang on to her hair with one sticky hand. As she followed Ninusha and Kion down the passageway, she heard Gavril saying to Dunai, “Since we can’t do much today except clear the snow from the courtyards and make sure there’s enough firewood, I suppose it’s an ideal day to start on the year’s accounts.”
Poor Gavril. He hates anything to do with accounting and figures.
“Serves your daddy right,” she said to Larisa as a drift of steam from the bath-house wafted out. Several of the druzhina came tramping in, greeting her as they stamped the snow from their boots. The fears stirred up by the ghostly face she had glimpsed the night before melted away like the frozen snow on the floor tiles, banished by the banal but reassuring morning routines.
I must have imagined it.
***
When Gavril and Dunai didn’t appear for the midday meal, Kiukiu went to the study to ask if they wanted their food brought to them.
She found them almost hidden from view by towering piles of estate ledgers which lay open on the desk in front of them.
“Why the long faces?” she asked, turning from one to the other; Dunai exchanged an uncomfortable look with Gavril. Gavril gestured to the open ledger in front of him and she saw several columns of figures etched in red ink. “Oh dear. But I thought that Avorian said your father had set aside funds to see us through difficult times.”
“These have been exceptionally difficult times, my lady,” said Dunai. “The rebuilding of the kastel after the siege exhausted most of the reserves.”
“But didn’t we make any money from the firedust?” Kiukiu turned to Gavril. “Did all the revenue go into the Tielen coffers?”
“The Emperor promised us a percentage of the profits—but the final shipment was destroyed at sea, so . . .”
“Is any money coming in from the estates at all?”
“The tenant farmers are barely making enough to live on,” said Dunai, “let alone to pay us their rents. And it’s been a poor harvest again.”
“Are we in debt?” It would bring shame on the clan if the news were to leak out that they were penniless. “Then there must be something we can sell.” Kiukiu stared pointedly at Gavril.
“Lilias made off with what little jewelry was left; she claimed my father had given it to her and who are we to disbelieve her?” Gavril said, suppressing a sigh. Kiukiu could see
that he was longing to be elsewhere: in his studio, most likely.
“We’re going to have to find some income soon.” Dunai looked down at the columns of figures and shook his head, like a physician called too late, Kiukiu thought, to tend to a dying patient.
“I can’t ask Eugene for a percentage of profits he never made. And Tielen is still recovering from the collapse of the Spice Trade. There must be something on our lands that we can sell to generate some funds.” Gavril sat back in his chair, stretching his arms wide above his head in a gesture of bored frustration.
“Firedust,” said Dunai bluntly.
“Too risky.” Gavril said, with equal bluntness. “It’s volatile, it’s difficult to mine—and it’s disrespectful to all those who died in the siege.”
“The Emperor was not as fastidious as you, my lord, and his countrymen died here in their hundreds.”
Gavril closed the ledger with a bang; Kiukiu shook her head at Dunai. Gavril did not like to be reminded of the acts of slaughter he had committed when he was possessed by the Drakhaoul.
“What else have we got?” he asked. “Timber in the forest? Minerals, precious stones, ores in the mountain foothills? How did my father maintain the estates?”
Dunai looked down, as if unwilling to meet Gavril’s keen gaze.
“He was Drakhaon,” he said softly.
A floorboard creaked as a tall figure appeared in the doorway. “What my son is unwilling to say out loud,” said Askold, “is that the local landowners paid a yearly sum into your father’s coffers on the understanding that he would leave them in peace.”
“My father was extorting money?”
Kiukiu heard the shock in Gavril’s voice and placed her hands on the back of his chair, wanting to protect him from any more painful revelations.
“Your father was a good ruler. But he was also an embittered man, tormented by the role he was forced to assume as Drakhaon. I was only third in rank in the druzhina; I didn’t know him as well as old Kostya or Jushko did, but I do know that the tradition of tribute stretched way back through the centuries.”
“Tribute? You don’t mean—”
“I realize it must sound barbaric to your ears, my lord, with your Smarnan upbringing, but the local families used to offer up their daughters to the Drakhaon in return for his favor. All your father did was to change the virgin bride barter to a sum of money. And that money, I believe, he sent to Avorian to be put in trust for you, when you came of age.”
“But what did my father do in return for that money?” Gavril’s voice was stifled and his words were hardly audible; Kiukiu saw that he was struggling to contain his feelings. Almost without realizing she was doing so, she moved her hands to rest on Gavril’s shoulders.
“A few drops of Drakhaon’s Blood bought them some protection.”
Gavril closed his eyes. “I remember,” he said distantly. “The first time I set foot on Azhkendi soil at Arkhelskoye as Drakhaon, I was mobbed by the crowd. Kostya forced me to ‘give them proof’ of my birthright. They fought over the snow where the drops of blood had fallen. Of course, I didn’t understand then what it meant. And now that the Drakhaoul is gone—”
In the awkward silence that fell in the draughty study, Kiukiu left his side to place more wood on the fire, wishing with all her heart that there was some way to share this burden of responsibility with her husband.
“Bogatyr,” Gavril said, “how long is it since the Nagarians mined for precious metals in the Kharzhgylls?”
Kiukiu dropped the poker with a clang in the grate. “Sorry,” she whispered, retrieving it.
“That’s how the last Clan War began, my lord,” said Askold heavily. “A dispute over the mining rights.”
“Join us.” Gavril gestured to the chair next to Dunai’s and Askold sat down beside his elder son. “Suppose we opened a mine of our own. There’s a great demand for metal ores in the new empire.” Kiukiu could hear the earnestness in Gavril’s voice. He’s trying to think of new ways to raise money. Surely Askold will listen to him? “Emperor Eugene is building a new fleet; his shipyards will need iron and copper. I’m sure he’d be interested in establishing a trade treaty. We could invest in the latest mining expertise from abroad and employ ingenieurs to train our men.”
“The druzhina are warriors, my lord,” said Askold in affronted tones. “They were only forced into the mines against their will when they were Tielen prisoners of war. It would insult their honor as fighting men to return to such menial labor.”
Gavril let out another sigh. Kiukiu sensed his frustration building again; trying to persuade the druzhina to change from their old ways was a fruitless task. If they insist on staying stuck in the past, we’ll soon find ourselves penniless.
“If only there was some way to communicate directly with the Emperor again.” Gavril pointed at the Vox Aethyria on his desk, its crystal facets dull in the snowy light. “Ironic, isn’t it?” he said with a regretful little smile. “It survived the bombardment of the kastel only to break down completely after the Second Darkness.”
“So what’s become of that old Magus, the one who invented it?” said Askold, scratching his head. “Why hasn’t the Emperor sent him to fix it?”
“Kaspar Linnaius?” Gavril said and Kiukiu twitched at the sound of his name in spite of herself. “He’s vanished. The Emperor’s had his men searching for him throughout the Western Quadrant. But no one knows where he’s gone. Perhaps he’s trying to find a way to make the Vox work again. For now, there’s nothing for it but to send a letter to Eugene the old-fashioned way: by courier. ”
***
As Kiukiu wearily climbed the stair, she could hear Ninusha happily chattering to the two babies, as she prepared them for bed.
“Who’s a pretty girl, Larisa? Look, Kion, Risa’s showing you her new teeth. How many teeth have you got now, Ki—” Ninusha broke off suddenly, letting out a shrill scream. Kiukiu grabbed her skirts and ran up the last of the stairs, bursting into the room to see Ninusha clutching the two babies to her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s outside,” gasped Ninusha as both Larisa and Kion began to cry.
Kiukiu went straight to the window as Sosia came in, followed by two of the druzhina on duty .
“How can there possibly be someone outside?” chided Sosia, taking the wailing Larisa from Ninusha. “We’re on the first floor—and the balcony is covered in snow and icicles.”
“We’ll go and check the gardens, my lady.” The druzhina went clattering back down the stair, their booted footsteps echoing hollowly around the lofty hallway.
“Who did you see?” Kiukiu, her heart thumping, turned to Ninusha who was trying to hush Kion.
“A woman. I’m sure it was a woman,” Ninusha hugged Kion to her, stroking his fair hair to calm him down.
“Now you’ve frightened the babies.” Sosia jiggled Larisa up and down until the sobs subsided. “You must have been seeing things, Ninusha. Are you sure you didn’t add a dash of Oleg’s aquavit to your tea?”
Kiukiu tried to calm the rapid beating of her own heart. “The other night,” she said quietly, “I thought I saw a white-haired woman outside our bedchamber window.”
“A ghost,” said Ninusha, wide-eyed. “It has to be a ghost.”
“Don’t say we’re being haunted again,” said Sosia, fishing out the little golden crook of Saint Serzhei she wore around her neck and kissing it fervently. “Abbot Yephimy won’t want to come over from the monastery to perform an exorcism in all this snow.”
“And she only appears when Risa’s there.” New anxieties had begun to ferment in Kiukiu’s mind. What does she want with my daughter? Is it one of the Drakhaon’s Brides come back from beyond the grave for revenge?
Or has she been sent by Anagini?
Chapter 18
Since the winter solstice feast, fresh snow had been falling steadily on Kastel Nagarian for five days and nights, covering the last ragged russet bracken on the moors
with its chill, white purity.
Beware the jade-haired witch of the spring. Kiukiu stood at the bedchamber window, gazing out at the falling flakes. The ominous refrain from Khulan’s song had begun to wreathe round and round her mind again. Before she realized what she was doing, she had begun to sing softly, “ She never gives without taking something in return —”
She stopped, clapping one hand over her mouth to stifle the mocking words. “How can I protect Larisa?” she whispered, her breath frosting the diamond panes.
If only you were still alive, Grandma, you’d tell me what to do.
“ Something in return ,” echoed a man’s voice.
She started, turning around to see Gavril watching her. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t even heard him enter.
“Ever since that singer came, you’ve been so . . . quiet.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, gazing searchingly into her eyes. “Did something happen in Khitari last year that you haven’t told me about? Does Khulan have some hold over you?”
She had never hidden anything from him before. It made her heart ache to know that she could never share this burden . A wound leaking life’s blood that never heals . . . She must lie and go on lying until she could fathom out a way to save Larisa from a lifetime of service bound to Anagini. And she hated to deceive the one she loved so dearly.
“No hold,” she said, forcing herself to smile.
“Or was it the song? You never did tell me exactly what happened at the Jade Springs.”
“Lady Anagini healed me. She restored my lost youth.” Kiukiu couldn’t look at him directly. She would have to dissemble better than this if she were to allay his suspicions.
“Yet in Khulan’s song, the refrain said that the witch never gives without taking something in return. What did you have to give her, Kiukiu?” His grip tightened.