“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 Siha s, 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… pliable.”
“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?”
Atiana didn’t answer; she merely watched. It seemed as close to innocence as Ishkyna had come for as long as Atiana could remember. It felt nice to sit with her sister of old, the one who used to speak with her of her plans for her future, the days before she had been promised to Iyagor.
Ishkyna let the curtain drop. “ What?”
“Nothing.”
She glanced back at the curtain and then sat back, feigning indifference. “I suppose you’ll grow tired of it before long.”
Some of the merchants began approaching the wagons, offering dates and fried sweetbread on b
rass platters until the driver and coachmen yelled at them in Yrstanlan to keep moving. That, however, only seemed to draw them like flies to sitting fruit.
The crack of a whip cut through the air, and for a moment the din of the market subsided. From the rear of the coach that was directly ahead of Atiana’s, one of the janissaries hopped down and yelled at an old merchant who lay on the ground writhing, his sweetmeats spilled over the street. The guard pulled his whip back and lashed the man once more. The whip cut a line through his shirt, and blood welled beneath the bright yellow cloth. Only after the man had crawled away and the crowd backed up did the coaches resume their slow trek.
At last, after what felt like endless hours through the city, they reached Kasir Yalidoz, a massive and expansive palace that dwarfed Galostina, at least in terms of the land it covered. Atiana was led by a dozen servants to her apartments, a set of three rooms that looked eastward toward Vostroma. The servants offered her hot mint tea and candied lemons. They asked if she wished to be bathed, offered to help her dress, gave her a list of small plates she might enjoy before the masquerade that evening. She knew it was an insult, but Atiana declined all of their offers, preferring the help of her handmaid, Yalessa, over this cadre of servants. Finally they left, and Yalessa helped her to change into her dress.
“Will you see Bahett tonight?” Yalessa asked.
“I imagine so, though this is more to put the Kamarisi at ease than anything else.”
After brushing Atiana’s blonde hair and pulling it up into a bun, Yalessa opened a case and began to powder her hair. In the mirror, Atiana could see her staring into the corner, her mind clearly wandering. “Bahett is beautiful, is he not?”
“I suppose he is.”
Yalessa snapped her head toward the mirror, meeting Atiana’s gaze. “I’m sorry, My Lady Princess.”
“Whatever for?”
“Nikandr…”
She didn’t like speaking of Nikandr, and Yalessa knew it. Why she would bring him up now-particularly when Atiana was away from home and unsure when she’d get to speak with Nikandr again-Atiana didn’t know, but it grated. “Don’t fear that I’ll be watching who enters your chambers,” Atiana said.
“It isn’t that.”
“Then what?”
“It isn’t my place to say.”
Atiana stared into the mirror, meeting Yalessa’s innocent face with a serious stare.
Yalessa broke her gaze, brushing the powder carefully from Atiana’s neck and shoulders. “It’s just that, the prince… You’ve waited for so long to be with Nikandr. Why throw that away?”
“I’m throwing nothing away. Bahett is a powerful man. He can do much for Vostroma. For the entire Grand Duchy. Why should I throw that away for a marriage that might never happen?”
Yalessa nodded. “Of course, My Lady. As you say, the Kaymakam is a fine man.”
Atiana stood, unwilling to let Yalessa bother her any longer, but as she did a soft knock came at the door.
“Send them away,” Atiana said. “There’s nothing else I need.”
In the mirror Atiana watched as Yalessa moved to the next room and opened the door.
From the hall outside came a soft voice, polite but firm. “The Lady of Aleke s ir, Arvaneh um Shalahihd, wishes to speak with the Princess of Vostroma.”
Atiana felt her face flush. She found herself looking about, for what, she didn’t know. But then she composed herself. She had known this time would come; she just hadn’t expected it so soon.
Yalessa bowed and stepped back, sparing a quick glance in Atiana’s direction.
Through the doorway strode a woman wearing an elaborate headdress of citrine stones that complemented her long, golden hair. Her richly embroidered takchita was a dress that had long since fallen out of favor in the Empire, but Arvaneh wore it not just with confidence but with a bearing that made it seem as though she were the first woman ever to wear one.
“Leave us,” Arvaneh said, never taking her eyes from Atiana.
Atiana gave Yalessa a small nod, and she left.
Before the door was even closed, Atiana’s heart began to pound. However prepared she might have been, she hadn’t been ready to stand before such a beauty, a woman with clear power in her every move, her every motion.
Arvaneh faced Atiana, regarding her with beautiful blue eyes. Her ruddy skin made her look like one of the Aramahn, but she dressed more like one of the southern tribeswomen. “Your time on the wind was not uncomfortable, I hope.”
“It was as pleasant as it could be.”
Arvaneh smiled, an act that seemed to tax her. “That is the way of things on the islands, is it not? You cling to rocks and complain when the wind takes you away.”
“I wouldn’t describe it so,” Atiana said.
Arvaneh walked along Atiana’s bed, casting an uncaring eye over the dresses that had been laid out-some of Atiana’s finest. “And how would you describe it?”
“We are proud of our rocks, as you call them. We stand upon them with pride, and if the winds blow, we do not complain. We shoulder it as we do everything else.”
“You take pride in this? Shouldering the wind?”
“Like everything on the islands, it is something that must be dealt with.”
“That is where you’re wrong, you and all of Anuskaya. Were you to embrace the wind, you might never have faced the opposition you do now in the Maharraht.”
“And if the Maharraht were true to their beliefs, they would not be scrabbling for a piece of our islands.”
“ Your islands…” Atiana had shown no signs of anger during this exchange, yet Arvaneh smiled as if she’d already won this short trade of blows. She strode to the window, stared out over the Mount with a melancholy expression. “You are royalty, so perhaps your conceit should be forgiven, but do you think that once Anuskaya is gone, once the people of Galahesh are forgotten, once Yrstanla is no more, that they will still be yours?”
Atiana paused, confused at such a statement, especially from someone who had the ear-and the bed-of the most powerful man in all of Erahm. “Doesn’t the line of the Kamarisi believe that all lands are theirs?”
Arvaneh paused and turned back toward Atiana. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then a knock came at the door and in swept Ishkyna. Arvaneh looked between the two of them, confusion playing across her face. “I wasn’t aware that the other Vostroma sisters would be coming.”
“Only one other.” Ishkyna pulled the skirt of her dress wide and bowed her head politely. It was not the full bow that was commonplace in Yrstanla, but neither were they in Yrstanla proper. Galahesh was something of a meeting ground between the two powers, not only geographically but culturally as well. “The other,” she continued, “is sufficiently chained to her husband that she couldn’t think of making the journey.”
Atiana motioned to her sister. “Arvaneh um Shalahihd, meet Ishkyna Radieva Vostroma, eldest of the sisters Vostroma.”
“Eldest by a mere seven minutes. Had I not fought so hard in those opening moments of life, I might have been forced to the donjon to take the basin as Atiana does.”
Atiana felt her face flush. As sensitive as her purpose was, she didn’t want the subject of taking the dark touched on if she could avoid it.
The look on Arvaneh’s face was one of light amusement, but to Atiana it seemed forced, as if she found it difficult to suffer Ishkyna’s presence but didn’t want to offend. “You are no Matra then?”
Ishkyna smiled. “Not if it can be avoided.”
“And why is this?”
Ishkyna glanced at Atiana-Atiana could tell she wanted to fire back a scathing reply-but thankfully her thoughts, and her sharp words, lay hidden behind her lips. “It isn’t common knowledge as far west as Aleke s ir, but the basin requires water as cold as the northern seas, as cold as the bones of the earth. It’s no joy taking those waters, I can assure you.”
It seemed that Arvaneh could no longer hold her feelings back. The smile she wor
e was patronizing, which made it clear just how much contempt she harbored not just for Ishkyna, but for the entire Grand Duchy.
“Forgive me,” she said. “You have just arrived, and I have taken enough of your time. I hear we will see you at the dinner tonight.”
Atiana bowed her head.
As Arvaneh strode toward the door, Ishkyna widened her eyes at Atiana.
Atiana could only shrug.
A moment later, Arvaneh was gone, leaving in her wake a cold sense that everything they had tried to hide from her had just been laid bare.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
W hen Nasim turned the last of the switchbacks on the path leading up to the top of the ridge, and the celestia came into full view at last, he stopped, humbled. Without speaking, Rabiah and Sukharam did the same. It was so large that it seemed to take on different dimensions the closer they came, but the true immensity of it did not strike him until he approached the concentric steps that led up to the marble floor.
Before he reached the first of the steps, he stopped and merely stared. This was a wonder he would not rush. It was high noon and the sun was bright, casting much of the floor in shadow, but from six arched openings built cunningly into the center of the dome above, crepuscular rays shone down, creating six bright ovals that forced Nasim to squint when he looked upon them. Several of the fluted stone columns were overgrown with vines. They crept up and up, reaching even the exterior of the dome far above.
The vines did not, however, grow against the underside of the dome. In fact, the beautiful mosaics there looked pristine, untouched since their construction over four hundred years before. Much of it was a beautiful shade of blue, the blue of the deepest, clearest water in the ocean, but against this backdrop were constellations that Nasim could only guess were made of mother of pearl, for the stars shone like the brightest stars on the darkest of nights. He could make out the constellations of the winter solstice easily-Iteh and Almadn and Qyleh and Osht and all the others-but there was so much more than this: the smaller, lesser constellations that rested above them or between them in the firmament; major comets that graced the sky as the fates allowed; glinting lines that tracked the path of the moon at summer and winter solstice. The patterns were not just brilliant, but alive.
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