insult.
“The Kroya,” Nikandr said.
“Ah!” He began to rifle through the documents piled neatly to the left of his desk before Nikandr had even finished speaking. From it he pulled a single sheet of paper and slid it across the desk. “Here it is, at last. I was going to send it with the noon pony.”
It was a report from the master of Rhavanki’s eyrie-a confirmation that the Kroya, one of Khalakovo’s stoutest ships, had left nearly six weeks prior. When they had received word that the ship had not arrived on Khalakovo’s shores, a search effort had been waged, but no remains had yet been found. All efforts would of course be made to find the missing ship, but the attacks of the Maharraht had been growing since the settling of winter, and it was possible that the ship now lay at the bottom of the sea or-worse-in the hands of the enemy. It was not the news Nikandr had been hoping to hear, but neither was it unexpected-he, along with everyone else in the palotza, had already assumed the worst.
“Very well,” Nikandr said as he slipped the paper back onto the desk.
After filing the document back into the sheaf of papers in the same location as before, Aleksei shuffled them neatly together and regarded Nikandr. “If there’s nothing else, My Lord?”
“Actually, there is,” Nikandr said, pausing for effect. “There’s been word, Aleksei, that you traffic in certain goods.”
“Goods, My Lord?” Aleksei’s face remained composed, but the skin along the top of his balding head flushed.
Nikandr leaned forward. “I’m not here in an official capacity, Aleksei.”
Aleksei’s eyes thinned and his eyebrows pulled together for one brief moment, but then he leaned back into his burgundy leather chair with a look of understanding. “Your sister?”
Nikandr nodded. “She has time yet, but the final stages approach.”
“There are several unguents I might recommend, but-”
“I’m here for the grubs. You have two, do you not?”
Aleksei tried-and failed-to hide his surprise. “I–I do, but they are more effective in the early stages of the disease.”
“Let me worry about that.”
Aleksei sat higher in his chair. “My Lord, they’re both spoken for.”
“I’m sure you’ll find more.”
Aleksei looked defeated, but it was only an act. Nikandr knew how shrewd he was. And how greedy.
“I could make arrangements, but my patrons, the ones who were promised the grubs, will be arriving tomorrow. I can only imagine their anger.”
“The price, Aleksei.”
“Two-thousand.”
Nikandr paused, allowing the figure to sit in the cool air between them. “They’re worth eight-hundred. No more.”
“A year ago, da, but times have changed. We have become more desperate.”
“Twelve-hundred, Aleksei. That is all I will pay.”
“My Lord-”
“And I’ll ensure,” Nikandr said, sitting back, “that my brother’s men steer wide of the Master’s office.”
Aleksei looked around the office as if he had just considered what would happen were he to refuse Nikandr’s offer.
“Of course, My Lord. They-They may not prove effective.”
“A fact you share with all your patrons, I’m sure.” Nikandr waited a polite moment for Aleksei to move, and then prompted him. “The grubs, Aleksei?”
He stood with no small amount of reluctance and moved to a set of shelves behind him. From the highest he slid aside a neat stack of books and retrieved a lacquered wooden box. After carefully setting it on his desk, he slid open the top and pulled out a glass vial filled with golden liquid and a fat, colorless grub the size of Nikandr’s thumb. Nikandr stared, fighting to keep his disgust from showing-the thought of eating the thing was threatening to turn the unease in his stomach into all-out revolt.
As Aleksei-a sullen look upon his face-set the second vial carefully on the desk next to the first, Nikandr felt his mother’s presence through his soulstone. A heartbeat later the rook in the corner of the room began flapping its wings and cawing loudly. Aleksei immediately swung himself around and bowed reverently. Nikandr stood and did the same as his mother’s presence grew deep within his chest. He was painfully aware of the vials sitting within arm’s reach, but he knew the worst thing he could do would be to draw attention to them, so he waited and prayed that she hadn’t been privy to the conversation.
The rook shifted on its perch, and then spoke in a voice that was perfectly recognizable-in quality if not in tone-as his mother’s. “Imagine my surprise, Nischka, when you were not in the courtyard at the appointed time.”
“I can see you have business to attend to,” Aleksei said as he scooped up his ledger and rushed out the door.
“You were to wait,” Nikandr’s mother said as the door rattled shut. “Do you care so little about decorum?”
“I have many things to attend to, Mother. My life doesn’t revolve around ceremony.”
The rook cawed and flapped its wings. “Things to attend to… What’s done is done, Nischka. No matter how much sweat you’ve poured into that ship, it would be better if you left it to the Vostromas. There are more important things to worry about.”
Nikandr bit his tongue. “Is there anything else?”
“She is a fine woman.”
“As I’ve said many times.”
“So many times that I wonder if you say it in your sleep, but I’ve never once believed your words. The Duchy needs this marriage, Nischka.”
“A fact you’ve made me well aware of, but you can’t expect me to love her simply because you say so.”
The rook flapped its wings and cawed. “ Nyet, but I can expect you to treat her family with more than formality. While they’re here on the island, you will embrace them, and that starts with the launching of the Gorovna.”
Nikandr stood. “Is that all, Mother?”
There was a pause as the rook gave him a baleful stare, but then it cawed and pecked at the iron perch, producing dull, metallic tings. “Go,” it said. “Bid your farewells to your precious ship.”
And with that the presence he felt in his soulstone fled. He waited for a few moments to be sure, the rook flapping its wings and hopping along the perch, showing none of the intelligence it had only moments ago, and then he retrieved the vials and tucked them inside his cherkesska.
After leaving several banknotes on Aleksei’s desk, he left. He didn’t see Aleksei among the throng of clerks occupying the outer office. No doubt the man had secreted himself away to take care of business without being bled by the likes of Nikandr.
He left the building and strode through the cobblestone courtyard, passing six wagons being loaded with grain from the Empire of Yrstanla, far to the west. The grain would be headed not to Radiskoye, but to the seaside, to Volgorod, where hundreds of starving families would be waiting for their weekly allotment. With the blight worse than it had ever been-fishing and hunting and farming yields all at record lows-grain was the only thing keeping the islands from collapsing under the weight of their own demands. The farming season was about to begin, though, and everyone was hopeful that this year would break the stranglehold the blight had taken on the islands.
Beyond the courtyard was a wide road-sheer cliffs to one side, a low stone wall to the other. He followed this to the highest of the quays, the one reserved for ships of state. The calls of the gulls came louder. A strengthening wind assaulted him as he strode past the large ships moored to the first several perches.
He stopped when he reached the fifth. There rested the Gorovna. His ship. The ship that would soon be given away to the Vostromas as part of the sweeping arrangements surrounding his marriage to Atiana.
His first instinct was to go aboard and complete his business with the grub, but he stopped himself. This was not the time to rush. He closed his eyes and inhaled, taking in the distinct odor of fresh wood that mixed with the
