and smiled upon her. How could she not do the same for Nasim?
She smiled as her body grew heavy. She reached up and brushed Nasim’s cheek. “Go well,” she tried to say, but the sounds were so soft she could barely hear them.
She turned to Nikandr, who looked down on her not with a smile but with an expression of deep regret.
“Do not be sad, Nischka,” she whispered. “We will meet again.”
“You don’t know that,” he said.
She managed to nod despite the pain that came with it. “We will.”
And then, she could do no more than look upon the sky.
She was ready.
At last, the world, as it had before, as it would again, folded her into its sweet embrace.
CHAPTER 67
“Come.”
Nikandr heard the words, but he couldn’t manage to turn away. Rehada stared unmoving at the sky. Her face had gone slack and she looked nothing like the woman he had-however imperfectly-come to know these past several years. It was painful to see her like this, but he could no more turn his gaze away than he could turn back the sands of time.
“Come,” Ashan said, more forcefully. “There is another to attend to.”
Finally, Nikandr complied, but before they could move from where they stood, the gates were pushed open and a dozen Aramahn men and women stepped inside. They took in the scene around them, looking to Nikandr like a tribunal ready to mete both judgment and punishment.
“There is a woman,” Nikandr began.
“She has been found.” It was Fahroz. But she looked so different. It felt as if he’d been gone from Khalakovo for years.
She pointed toward the far side of the courtyard. Three score of Aramahn filed into the keep and began picking up the fallen Maharraht.
Nikandr shook his head. “Leave them. The Duke, my father-”
“Your father has no say in this.” The tone of her voice was emotionless, but her eyes were bright with anger. “These are our own, and will be treated as such.” She held out her hand, and Nikandr realized that she was motioning for Nasim.
Nasim looked up at Nikandr, his eyes wide.
Ashan stepped forward. “Do not do this, daughter of Lilliah. The boy has been through much.”
“You have never known when you were wasting words, son of Ahrumea, but I tell you that you are doing so now. The boy comes with us.”
Several qiram were there, their circlets aflame with the hezhan that were bonded to them. They were prepared to resist, if that was what it came to, but none of them appeared ready to welcome it.
Ashan touched Nasim’s shoulders. “All will be well, Nasim. You must go with them.”
“I will not.”
Tension laced Nasim’s words. Nikandr knew what he could do-the evidence lay all around them-but something told him that the time had passed. Fahroz may have known this, but more likely she didn’t care. The Aramahn had risked much and were willing to risk more to ensure that Nasim was taken into proper care.
Ashan kneeled next to Nasim until they were face to face. “You will be at home with them. And there is little left that I can teach you.”
A tear leaked from Nasim’s eye and traveled down his cheek. It was followed quickly by another. “Do not lie, Ashan. Not to me.”
Ashan smiled. “Lying is a thing with which I have become all too familiar. Better for us to be parted if only for that.” Nasim opened his mouth to speak, but Ashan talked over him. “We will see each other again-do not fear-but for now, you must go with Fahroz.”
Nasim swallowed several times, and then turned to Nikandr. “We are one, you and I.”
Nikandr knew this to be true. He could feel Nasim more strongly than ever before. Nikandr suspected it was due to the fact that Nasim now stood firmly in Erahm, but it was also because the rift had been healed. It was still there-like a fresh and aching wound-but it was no longer festering. Soon it would scar over and the healing of Khalakovo would begin.
Nikandr kneeled to look Nasim in the eye. “We are, Nasim. We are one.”
For a moment Nasim looked fragile, as if he wanted nothing more than to simply be held, to embrace someone that he loved, but then he turned on his heels and strode from the courtyard, never once looking back.
The suddenness of it made Nikandr feel lost. “I would see him again,” Nikandr said to Fahroz.
As the last of the Maharraht were carried out of the keep, Fahroz’s expression was deadly serious. “Do not place your hopes on such a thing, son of Saphia. As long as we are able, your paths will never again cross.”
Two Aramahn entered the courtyard carrying a length of canvas between them. They laid it down gently near the spire, and Fahroz motioned for Nikandr to approach. “Take care of her.” With that, she left, the rest of the Aramahn filing out behind her.
He had known Atiana was among the folds of heavy white cloth, but it was a vast relief when he kneeled and saw her face. Her clothes were beyond bloody, but her dress had been ripped away at her side, and a bolt of white cloth had been wrapped around her to stanch the bleeding. She was extremely pale, but her eyes were open, and she seemed more alert than he could have hoped for.
“It’s all right,” Nikandr said softly.
Atiana blinked and focused on him. A soft smile came to her lips, but then her head turned to one side and all trace of relief fled. She had spotted Rehada.
A tear leaked down Atiana’s face.
She seemed grieved. Truly, deeply grieved.
Nikandr understood it not at all, but he gripped Atiana’s shoulder and whispered into her ear that everything would be all right.
A strelet opened one of the stout iron gates of the Boyar’s mansion, and Nikandr rode out and into the streets of the old city. He passed the circle where the gibbets lay, the place that he had seen Rehada while those boys were being hanged. He had checked the court records and had come to suspect that the Aramahn boy that had been hung with the urchins was innocent of the charges-as he had claimed all along. He was not innocent of all things, however. He had been working for Rehada, Nikandr was sure; he had been her servant, running messages between Volgorod and Izhny, perhaps since Rehada had arrived on the island.
Nikandr shook his head as he reined his pony northward, toward Eyrie Road. He had been such a fool. He should have suspected Rehada shortly after they’d met. He had been wracking his brain for the last week, trying to piece together the clues that should have been apparent from the start, but he had so far been almost completely unsuccessful. Only in Malekh had he found any small link from Rehada to the Maharraht. She had covered her tracks well-either that or Nikandr had convinced himself that because of her beauty, because of how different her world was from his, that she could not possibly mean him harm.
He had been a fool, but he would not change any of it. He had loved her-he was man enough to admit that now-and had things gone differently, he might never have come to know her as he had.
“Nikandr!” The sound of another pony trotting came to him, muffled by the thin layer of snow upon the ground.
Nikandr slowed his pony, but did not turn around.
Ranos pulled alongside him and matched his black mare to Nikandr’s cream-colored gelding. “Where are you headed?”
“None of your business, brother.”
They continued to ride in silence for a time, moving from the older section of the city to one that was newer, with smaller, half-timber frames and small yards behind stout stone walls.
