Atiana stood. She felt dismissed and confused, both. She recalled Ebru as the short woman with the saucy tongue. “Forgive me, ilkadin, but wouldn’t it be better if you taught me?”
“It might,” she said, smiling, “but in two weeks I’ll be gone.”
“I don’t understand.”
“To my home, far to the southwest.”
Atiana shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You will, in time. I’ve lived here in Baressa for twenty-five years. Not once in that time have I returned to my home. I was ilkadin. There was always more to do, and I’ve sired Bahett three sons and two daughters. I’ve earned the right to leave this place and run one of his households there.”
“I thought we’d have time with one another, so I could learn more.”
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” And now a bit of the reception Atiana had expected revealed itself. Meryam stared at her coldly, as if she wished she could watch Atiana flail, watch as Atiana floundered in the myriad of tasks that lay before her. “Now forgive me, there is much to attend to.” Meryam bowed her head, clasping her hands near her forehead as she did so. “Enjoy your time with the Kamarisi.”
For a moment, Atiana could only stare. Meryam returned to the wives, ordering them around the terrace, making everything just so. She wanted to speak more with her, or perhaps Ebru, but in the end decided that Meryam had the right of it. The Kamarisi, and surely Arvaneh, would both be in attendance today. She needed to clear her mind before she met them.
The lords and ladies of Galahesh began to arrive in ones and twos. Atiana moved among them, greeting them, learning their names and where they were from. The talk was idle, and she soon found herself taking in more of the city, which was in full display. As high as the Mount was above the city, the terrace smelled of little more than fresh air and the late-blooming bluemists in the garden below. The western end of the city occupied the largest expanse of the horizon, but the northern run of the straits could also be seen, yet Atiana often found her gaze drawn northward, where the cemetery lay.
“My dear Atiana,” Vaasak Dhalingrad asked near the noon hour, “what keeps drawing your attention so? And what turns your mood so sour? Did you have too much to drink last night? Or have you taken ill like your sister?”
“I have not taken ill,” she replied, wondering when she would see Bahett again. “I only worry over what will come of these talks.”
He smiled and patted her wrist. “All will be well. Do not worry.”
She slapped his hand away. “There are troubled winds ahead, Dhalingrad. Best you remember it. Sihaş surely does, and the Kamarisi as well.”
“The talks are proceeding smoothly,” Vaasak said.
“Then you aren’t paying enough attention.”
“I have my orders, My Lady, and I’ll see to them well. I suggest you see to yours.”
He said the words as though he knew of her conversations with Bahett, as though he knew of what had happened last night. But he couldn’t possibly…
Before she could respond to him, the golden doors to the terrace opened wide and out stepped four tall guardsmen dressed not in ceremonial armor, but hardened leather, the kind the men from the south of Yrstanla wore, the ones who trained with the sword day and night. They were the Kiliç Şaik, the Singers of the Blade, the Kamarisi’s personal guard.
Shortly behind them came Hakan ül Ayeşe, the Kamarisi himself. He was young, several years younger than Atiana at least, and he was handsome. She could see why he was so loved, so protected—at least until now.
Behind the Kamarisi was Sihaş ül Mehmed, the tall envoy, the one treating most closely with Vaasak until Father arrived.
Atiana wondered where Arvaneh was, but she didn’t have to wonder long. She strode out from the doors as Hakan began speaking with two old, bearded men from the north of Yrstanla, men wearing wide belts and large turbans with tall feathers pinned behind ornate brooches. Arvaneh did not tarry behind the Kamarisi. Instead, she walked among those gathered, conversing lightly, studying each carefully.
Atiana was surprised to see the Kamarisi break away from the two kaymakam—both of them bowing low—and come toward her and Vaasak.
“Good day to you,” he said smoothly to Vaasak.
“And you, Kamarisi,” Vaasak said as he bowed and stepped away. “By your leave, there are things I would discuss with Sihaş.”
Hakan merely smiled.
Vaasak—his face coloring—bowed again and took his leave, leaving Atiana alone with the Kamarisi. He had a musky scent about him, redolent of sandalwood and open fields of hops. It smelled of confidence, of the assurance that all was as he’d planned. She was used to walking the halls of power, and yet before this man—several years her junior—she felt ill-equipped. She found herself shivering, though she tried to cover it, and unbidden, her throat began to close.
“Walk with me,” he said in Yrstanlan.
He headed toward the northern edge of the expansive terrace, and he came to a stop when they were not only alone, but had an unobstructed view of the cemetery.
“Congratulations to you,” he said, smiling and taking both of her hands. He kissed them quickly and held them out, regarding her as if he were a proud uncle.
“Thank you, Kamarisi.” She cleared her throat. The language of Yrstanla was still thick on her tongue, but since her arrival on Galahesh it had quickly returned. “I’m lucky to have found a man like Bahett.”
“Bahett is a good man, though I fear he has been placed in a difficult situation.”
“How do you mean?”
“In these days of strife, these days of disease and blight, we are all put-upon, are we not?”
“We will survive, Your Majesty.”
“I don’t mean the islands. I mean us all. We are put upon in the west and the south. Our fields to the north have gone fallow despite all efforts to revive them. I fear the blight is moving west, for good or ill.”
“And yet the Empire is strong. She will persevere.”
“As will the islands.” He smiled and turned to lean upon the white marble banister that lined the terrace.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“But Bahett, he is caught between our two worlds, is he not? Galahesh has always had one foot among the islands, and another on the lands of the Empire. I’m glad he’s decided to take someone from Anuskaya as his wife, and even gladder that he’s chosen you.”
Atiana smiled. “I was the closest at hand.”
Hakan laughed. It was a pleasant sound. “You are more than that, Atiana Radieva Vostroma. Word of your exploits has reached even the halls of Irabahce.”
“I would hardly call them exploits.”
“My dear, you saved the islands. Surely much would have been lost had the Maharraht had their way. We would have lost much.”
Atiana bowed her head, wondering why the Kamarisi was showering her with compliments, wondering as well what his consort would think of it. She glanced toward the crowd that was now surrounding Arvaneh. Bahett, though ostensibly watching Arvaneh as well, was clearly keeping an eye out for Atiana and her conversation with the Kamarisi.
“I thank you.”
“I was ... disappointed when you did not come to the ball. I’ve heard much about your dancing as well, and was sad when it couldn’t be put on display.”
“Your Majesty?”
Hakan glanced sidelong at her. “It’s difficult for your sister to go unnoticed, even when she’s trying not to be. You, on the other hand, are more subtle. There’s a quiet strength to you that may be overlooked by some, but not those with a more discerning eye.”
Despite his simple words and his apparent indifference to her deception, she began to fear this man, as one fears the blackness in the depths of the sea. “I’m most sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t feel well. Travel has been difficult for me ever since Duzol.”
“I hadn’t heard. But why send your sister?”
“I didn’t wish to disa
ppoint.”
Hakan smiled mischievously. “Did Bahett know?”
“He did not.”
His smiled deepened. “Then we’ll keep it between us. A secret between east and west.”
“Evet.” Atiana smiled. “A secret.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“It’s time you take the dark,” Ishkyna said as she burst into Atiana’s room four days after the meeting with the Kamarisi.
Atiana was penning a letter to Mother, but she looked up in annoyance. “What are you talking about?”
“The Lady Arvaneh, she’s retreated to her tower.”
Atiana returned to her writing. “What of it?”
“I’ve been watching her. She goes there often. At times she looks haggard when she enters and she returns refreshed. Other times she seems drained.”
“You’re making no sense.”
Ishkyna flopped down into the chair across from Atiana’s writing desk.
“Set down your quill.”
Her voice was so serious that Atiana complied. Ishkyna, so often ready to nip at her heels with a snide remark, was looking at her with a deadly serious expression.
“Go on,” Atiana said.
“I may avoid taking the dark, Tiana, but it’s provided me a certain amount of perspective that you and Mileva may lack. I can see the way Arvaneh is after her time in her tower. Often her eyes are dulled. Her words come more slowly. And her card play is, frankly, disastrous.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve taught Bahett’s wives trump. Arvaneh joined us one day. She’s become quite enamored of it. I think at first she only wanted to learn more about you, but over the days she’s become more and more wily at laying her cards, not unlike Mileva.”
“What does this have to do with me taking the dark?”
“I didn’t see her this morning, but Ebru did. She said that Arvaneh looked not just exhausted, but pale, her skin ashen, her eyes haunted, as if she’d aged thirty years in a week. She’s done this before and returned rejuvenated, resplendent, as we saw her on our arrival here. I don’t know what she does in the tower when she’s like this, but she isn’t taking the dark. It would be too dangerous, and besides, she would return looking even worse if that was the case. If there was ever a time to watch her, Atiana, it would be now.”
Atiana considered this. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Ishkyna smiled a mischievous smile. “Nyet. It doesn’t.”
Although there were times that Ishkyna was too impetuous for her own good, Atiana would never deny that she was not sly, that she didn’t know people. She knew them. She knew how to read their moods with but a word.
“Bahett wanted me to wait until his return from the hunt.”
Ishkyna raised one eyebrow, her smile turning to genuine amusement.
“Wipe that grin off your face,” Atiana said as she stood, “and tell Yalessa to begin preparations.”
Ishkyna stood and sketched an elaborate bow.
When Atiana finally found Bahett, he was in the stable yard, preparing to leave with a dozen other men for a stag hunt in the forest south of Baressa. Before Atiana had even finished explaining, Bahett interrupted her. “It wouldn’t do well to go now,” Bahett said, looking over Atiana’s shoulder to the servants, who were loading the last of the provisions to the coach that would accompany the men.
“You brought me here to help, did you not?”
He took her hands in his. “I did. Of course I did. But Atiana, I’ll be too far away to help if anything goes awry.”
She chose not to say that he didn’t help the last time—the man at the willow did. “It’s important to find her when she’s in her tower. You said so yourself.”
“I did, but not now. We’ll return in three days. And we’ll find a time—the proper time—on my return.” He squeezed her hands, as a father might to a daughter he was trying to talk down from a foolish decision. “As we planned.”
“Bahett—”
He squeezed her hands. Hard. “Atiana, I forbid it.”
She stared into his eyes. His face was as calm and pleasant as ever, but his eyes… They were not only fierce. They were fearful. He was afraid of what would happen were Atiana to take the dark.
Ishkyna’s instincts were good, but Atiana hadn’t been sure, up until that point, that she was right.
“Of course,” she said, swallowing hard to make as if she were cowed by his actions. “Of course you’re right. Please, forgive my eagerness. It’s only that the islands…”
“Say no more.” He stepped in and gave her a warm kiss on her cheek, one she immediately wanted to wipe off. “We’ll speak soon.”
She nodded and waved as he left to complete his preparations.
And then she returned to her apartments to make final preparations. They would go as soon as everything could be arranged.
That night, she left, though this time with Ishkyna instead of Yalessa. “You need proper looking after,” Ishkyna had said, though it seemed more likely that she had only agreed to come because Sihaş had already left for the hunt.
She chose a man from her father’s guard as well. His name was Irkadiy. Irkadiy Adienkov. And he was a man who had been in her father’s service for fifteen years. He was a trustworthy soldier, and she felt far better for having him with her—not to mention foolish for thinking she could do without such protection the other night.
Bahett’s servants were easy to manipulate, especially when they knew she would soon be his first wife. Bahett would find out upon his return, but that gave her three days to investigate.
A different servant came this time, of course—the impostor who’d taken her had never been found, and Atiana was sure he never would be. This one—small, bald, soft of voice—looked nearly the same as the first had, which gave her no comfort whatsoever. He led her through the kasir and out once more through the rear door.
As soon as she and Ishkyna stepped from the kasir and onto the lawn behind it, she scanned the sky and saw a rook flying in the air. The rook, spotting them, winged away, and was lost in the cemetery.
Atiana felt better knowing that Mileva was watching over them. Her sister had become quite proficient in the aether, and though taking the dark was dangerous so near to the straits, the danger was muted while taking the form of a rook. The animals had a way of deadening the ill effects that could come from treading the aether’s currents.
Together, the four of them—the eunuch, Atiana, Ishkyna, and Irkadiy—wove through the cemetery, and soon they came to a different section than they had the previous night. Far off, she heard the caw of the rook, the signal that all was well.
Ishkyna couldn’t apparently keep herself from a look of disgust as they walked past row upon row of mausoleums. “Isn’t it dreadful?” she asked loudly enough for the servant to glance back at them.
For the moment, Atiana didn’t care if he heard. “Da.”
At a large marble tomb at the end of a row, he knocked thrice upon a heavy copper door thick with bright green patina. A moment later the door swung open on creaking hinges. Inside was a woman as old as Atiana’s mother, dressed in white robes.
The woman glanced at them over the eunuch’s head. She leaned forward and whispered softly, after which the eunuch bowed his head and left.
“Come,” the woman said, and retreated into the darkness.
Ishkyna looked at Atiana seriously. “Pray to the ancients you never marry that man, Tiana.”
For some reason that struck Atiana as funny. She laughed long and hard, and it did not ebb until they had made their way inside the darkened tomb, which was lit only with a small lantern held by the old woman. She stood by a stairwell that led down into the darkness.
“Careful now,” she said as she made her way down, taking the light with her, “and close the door behind you.”
Irkadiy, standing guard outside the tomb, nodded once before Ishkyna shut the door with a boom. After a cross look from the woman, the three of them des
cended the stairs down, down, down into the bowels of the Mount.
At the bottom of the stairs they came to a room with a copper tub at the center of it. Three covered wooden crates sat next to the tub. Ice was floating in the water, but Atiana could already tell that it wouldn’t be enough.
“Prepare yourself,” the woman said, motioning to marble shelves that were set into the well. Upon them were bolts of cloth the color of sandstone and a jar no doubt filled with rendered fat.
As Atiana began to undress, the woman opened the crates. Inside were fist-sized blocks of ice nestled within a thick layer of hay. She took all of the blocks from the first crate and dropped them into the water, then she took half of them from the second and dropped them in as well, until the surface of the water was covered like a frozen pond succumbing to the early warmth of summer.
Atiana took a deep breath as she folded her small clothes and placed them onto the shelf. Ishkyna helped her to spread the rendered goat fat over her body. The chill of it was welcome. She had too long been away from the aether, and she would welcome its embrace.
As she stepped into the tub, the cold water chilled her feet and shins. And when she sat down, she shivered for the first time, though she was able to quell this quickly. Several paces from the tub was an inlaid wooden door set into the wall opposite from the stairs. For some reason, as she stared at the door, she had the distinct impression that this tomb was connected to others—a maze of them interconnected deep beneath the kasir like an Aramahn village.
She took the breathing tube from Ishkyna.
“Dreams of honey,” Ishkyna said.
It was something they used to say to one another as children before they went to bed in their shared room in Galostina. Atiana tried to smile, failed, and lay down in the tub, the ice parting and returning to place with dull clacking sounds. The water was cold, but there was something about it. It didn’t have the bone-numbing chill that the water from the depths of Galostina or Radiskoye had. Perhaps it was the temperature, or the source of the water, or some quality of the water itself...
The Straits of Galahesh Page 19