moved, but she could hear no sound.
“And you’re helping him to find it?”
He shrugged. “As I can, though the path has been difficult.”
“If you’ve come to the island to learn, then perhaps I could help. I’ve been living here for nearly seven years.”
Ashan smiled that same crooked smile, as if he knew something Rehada did not. She should be grateful for any words she spoke with such a man, but she had to admit that the gesture was starting to annoy her.
“What is it you find so amusing?”
“I am not amused, daughter of Shineshka, but surprised. Your mother, in all her years, never stopped in one place for more than a season.”
“You knew her?”
“At one time I knew her well, though we lost touch shortly before you were born.”
“How did you know her?”
He raised his eyebrows. “She came to me often, and we discussed the ways of the world. We traveled together for a time, but then she met your father, far on the northern edge of Yrstanla. It was a cold and barren place, and I suppose at the time she wished for warmth more than she did learning.”
“She died, you know.”
“I heard. May she return to us brighter than before.”
Despite herself, Rehada smiled. She had left her mother when she was fifteen, nearly twelve years ago now, but she had always remembered her mother as a bright soul. It had been and was still a source of pride-one of the few that remained-coming from a woman such as her.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Rehada said as a new group of Aramahn entered the celestia and began seating themselves.
“I wasn’t aware that you had asked one.” That smile again.
“Would you like me to come, to guide Nasim around the island?”
He shook his head. “Were Nasim a boy of normal qualities, I would gladly accept, but unfortunately he is not. He would not hear you, and you, despite all your best intentions, would not hear him. Better if you leave him to me.” He motioned with one hand toward the small crowd that had settled themselves. “If you care to, I’m giving a talk about my most recent travels.”
It was a tempting thing, but as she had already been reminded, she was not welcome in Iramanshah, and there were those that she wished to steer wide of as much as she could.
“Thank you for the offer, but I had better be heading home.” She bowed her head and turned to leave, but stopped as Ashan spoke.
“Rehada?”
She turned back to find him looking at her expectantly.
“ Yeh?”
“I’m afraid you never answered my question.”
She tried to smile as he had. “I wasn’t aware that you had asked one.”
He chuckled and bowed his head in kind. “What would your mother think if she saw her daughter staying in one place for so long?”
Rehada felt her face flush. Did he know? Did he know about her ties?
He could not, she decided. He was only casting a net, something the wise fish could easily avoid. She masked her discomfort by putting on a pleasant face. “I think, Ashan, son of Ahrumea, that she would be jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“I know this island more intimately than she, more intimately than any of the islands she visited in her short life.”
He stared for a long time, but then he reared back and laughed. “Perhaps you’re right, Rehada. Perhaps she would be jealous.”
Rehada turned and left to the sounds of his chuckling, not at all sure that he meant the words he had spoken. Perhaps, she thought, he was not half so bad at lying as she had guessed.
CHAPTER 10
The heat within the bath house stifled the breath. The air smelled of the hempen incense that had been sprinkled over the hot stones in the middle of the room. Nikandr lay on a padded table, naked, as a servant massaged his back and shoulders. The other men of Khalakovo were not present; only those from Vostroma had come, in order to learn more about the young man who would soon become part of their family.
When the massage was finished, they prepared for a jaunt in the snow. He left with the dozen other men through a door that led to a wide terrace overlooking the mountains and sea to the east.
He paused as the others left. He had been having trouble eating, and his ribs were gaunt. They had already seen him in the bath house, but it was dim there, and steamy. Outside it would be bright, his condition more evident. But, he realized, there was nothing to draw attention to a problem like trying to cover it up-act confident, his father had always told him, and they will believe it is true-so he caught up to the others quickly, stepping into the snow as if nothing at all were the matter.
After so long in the heat, the cold was invigorating. One by one, the men tossed their towels onto the nearby racks and slid onto the fresh blanket of snow that covered the shallow steps down to the lower level of the terrace. They slid, turning like penguins as they went. Young Edis took a running leap onto it, twisting and hollering as he went. Zhabyn took a more stately approach, catching himself carefully with his hands and then thrusting forward, sliding slowly down after the other men.
Without a word being spoken between them, Borund and Nikandr both took two loping steps and dove toward the terrace railing. For a split second Nikandr thought about ceding the lead, but if Borund sensed he was doing such a thing it would cause more damage than could possibly be mended, and so he launched himself with all his might, sliding and laughing as he went. They used their arms to continue the slide, moving closer and closer to the railing. He was clearly going to make it there first-Borund’s belly had become too rounded for him to keep his speed up-but then Borund grabbed Nikandr’s wrist and yanked him backward. The underhanded trick gave him enough momentum to reach the railing first, and when he did, he slapped it soundly and rolled onto his back, laughing all the while.
“You were always too skinny for your own good!”
Nikandr gave him a sour look and slapped the wooden railing, only then allowing himself to roll around in the snow, cooling skin that had spent the last hour building and storing the heat of the bathhouse. He got to his knees and looked over at Borund. “Fat will get you in the end, Bora.”
Bora stood and turned so that his large, hairy backside was staring Nikandr in the face. “It already has, Nischka!”
The other men laughed as Nikandr grabbed a handful of snow and whipped it at Borund. Borund tiptoed away, howling and grabbing one cheek as the laughing increased.
“Enough,” Zhabyn said as he approached.
There was an indulgent smile on Zhabyn’s face, but no laughs, not from the Duke of Vostroma. There never were.
He held two towels. One of them he handed to Nikandr; the other he ran down his beard, which was flecked with snow and sweat. After scrubbing the back of his neck and his hairy chest, he wrapped it around his waist and waited until Nikandr had done the same.
“We haven’t yet had a chance to talk, you and I.”
“ Nyet, My Lord Duke,” Nikandr said, bowing his head, “something I’ve been hoping to remedy.”
They had seen one another early this morning when Nikandr had finally signed the marriage documents, but they’d hardly spoken a dozen words to one another. Zhabyn had seemed furious, his face stern, his jaw set grimly, and Nikandr had been nervous to say anything for fear of angering Father or Zhabyn or both. The signing had finished with Zhabyn leaving the room with only a perfunctory nod to Father on his departure.
