Father stepped out from the kapitan’s cabin along with Yevgeny Mirkotsk. He came to a standstill, however, when he noticed the incoming skiff. Nikandr couldn’t help but notice his reaction. It was one of anger, of disappointment, as if it were Nikandr who was to blame for everything that had happened.
The skiff dropped its sails and was reeled in at the stern of the ship, and when Nikandr disembarked onto the aftcastle, Father was there waiting for him. He pulled him to the landward side. As Ashan stepped calmly onto deck, he was met by several streltsi, who led him amidships.
Father studied Nikandr with a cross look on his face, hands clasped behind his back as the chill wind tugged at his beard and hair.“Do you realize what might have happened, leaving as you did?”
“I know what it did cost, Father, and I still believe it was the right thing to do.”
“Because of the blight…”
Nikandr had been ready to argue against his father’s position. To hear him leap to the very reason for Nikandr’s flight from Radiskoye those weeks ago made him feel as if he’d slipped on a rain-slick deck.
“ Da, because of the blight.”
“And what have you found?”
“I believe it can be healed.”
“Through the boy?”
Nikandr cocked his head, confused. “How did you know?”
Father looked to the stairs leading down from the aftcastle and made a beckoning motion with one hand. The soldier standing there immediately bowed and left.
“What is it?”
Father did not reply, but a moment later the strelet returned with Rehada in tow. Snow fell across the ship. White snowflakes landed on her black hair before melting away. When the strelet had brought her to their side and left, Rehada met Nikandr’s eyes only for a moment, as if she were embarrassed to acknowledge his presence in front of his father.
“What has happened?” Nikandr asked, sure that Rehada’s presence meant something momentous was about to happen.
Father looked up to the sun, which lay behind a large gray cloud limned in white.“When the sun strikes noon, a battle will begin such as the islands haven’t seen since the War of Seven Seas.”
Nikandr still hoped, perhaps foolishly, that bloodshed could be avoided. “We could speak with them. They might-”
Father held up his hand, forestalling him. “They will not listen to reason. Not now. Not when their advantage has been pressed so far. We will attack, for truly there is no choice left to us.”
“The Matri…”
“Are as prepared as they will ever be. Everything has been arranged, Nischka. Now, there is something I would very much like for you to discuss with your dear friend, Rehada.”
“And what would that be?”
“She has confessed to me that she is Maharraht.”
Nikandr’s blood rushed to his face. He had known this since Ghayavand, but some small part of him had still held hope that it had been a lie. He looked to Rehada, but she refused to meet his eye.
“For years she has been plying from you secrets that should have remained safely within the walls of Radiskoye. Yet she came to me through no small amount of danger to tell me of Nasim and the plans the Maharraht have drawn.
“So, I put it to you, Nischka. Weigh the truth in her words. If you think she can be believed, then so be it. Take her to find the boy and bring him back if you can. But if you believe she is lying, that she works for our enemy still, then you will tell me so, and we will settle this before the hour is out.”
With that Father walked away, his bootsteps heavy on the deck, leaving Nikandr alone with a woman he had come to love-a woman he loved still. It pained him to see her cowed, a woman who had always burned brightly from within, but then it occurred to him just how gifted she was at acting.
“Is it true?”
She finally raised her head and looked him in the eye. “ Yeh.”
“All that time?”
She nodded. “I was Maharraht well before I landed on Khalakovo.”
“How, Rehada? Why?”
She shook her head. “I will not repeat the litany of reasons here. Some day, if the time is right, I may do so. But I won’t defend myself.”
“You had better.”
“I won’t.” She stood taller, her eyes fierce. “When you see your wife again, ask her of my history.”
“Atiana?”
Rehada’s long black hair played in the wind as she stared at him with dark, pained eyes.
Nikandr felt his heart hardening. “My father was deadly serious.”
She leaned over and spat at his feet. “Kill me if you will, son of Iaros. I have no fear of dying.”
Nikandr felt himself gritting his jaw, felt the tightness in his chest and stomach. He forced himself to breathe deeply and release it. He waited until the tightness eased before speaking again. “Tell me at the least why you changed your mind.”
She stared at him, as hard as ever, but then her look softened ever so slightly. “Because there are things greater than the Maharraht, greater than the Grand Duchy.”
“No grand words, Rehada. Not now.”
“We stand on a precipice. Soroush would push us over the edge-all of us-if only to begin the world anew. I no longer believe there is wisdom in such a course, no matter how much I might once have wished to do the same. There is something in Nasim, something precious, something Soroush would use against you. If he’s allowed to go through with his plans, it will be destroyed. I have no doubt of this, and it’s something I would see saved. That is why I have come. Not for you. Not for Khalakovo. Not even for the Aramahn. It is for Nasim and the worlds he walks between.”
Nikandr stood still, breathing, weighing her words. There was truth in her words, but he realized that he should not be allowed such judgment. She had been Maharraht since before the day they had met and he had failed to uncover the truth of it. He was the wrong person to be standing here, determining if she should live or die. She may very well be orchestrating a trap for the Maharraht that might lead to something worse. With the wrong decision he might give the Maharraht exactly what they wanted.
But he also knew, as he stood there looking into her defiant eyes, that he was trapped. She had pulled him into her net long ago, and he could no more order her death than he could his father’s-not when everything rang so true-and he realized that his father must have known this as well.
Father wanted to believe her words.
And with that, he knew what he must do, and he left Rehada to render his decision.
CHAPTER 62
Nikandr watched as the first of the ships far ahead were lost from view in the snowstorm that had progressed steadily from a dusting to an outright blizzard. He had been too brash earlier. He had declared the storm an ill omen without considering its ability to hide them as their ships descended on Volgorod.
Behind the swiftest ships-which had been placed at the vanguard of the attack-were nearly five dozen more. It represented the entirety of their resources. Some were warships, more than ready for battle. Some had been hastily fitted with cannons in order to play a role in the battle-Nikandr could locate these easily by the way they listed to one side, the cannons not having been aligned properly with the masts. Other ships were decoys that had been fitted with cannons that were no more than mast poles painted black and affixed to cannon mounts. They would fool no one if they came close, but that was not their goal. They were there to provide cover so that Nikandr and Ashan and Rehada would have enough time to do what was needed.
Nikandr stood at the helm of the Adnon, a twelve-masted brigantine. Rehada was nearby, peering into the
