sense that you would feel both Nasim’s euphoria and his pain, not just one or the other.”
“I was feeling his thoughts?”
“Not exactly. They may have been your thoughts, just triggered by Nasim. He acted as tuning fork, but what you saw, you saw from your own perspective, your own experiences.”
These words rang true, Nikandr thought. The experience hadn’t felt foreign, only out of place and unexpected.
“The boy mentioned a hezhan,” Father interrupted, looking at Nikandr. “He said nothing else?”
“ Nyet.” Nikandr shook his head. “He heard the streltsi and ran. He must have been referring to the havahezhan.”
Father looked to Jahalan.
Jahalan pulled himself from contemplation and nodded. “I suppose it must be, but how could he have known? It was days before his arrival on the island.”
“Simple,” Father said. “He is Maharraht. They told him.”
“Nasim?” Jahalan considered the words. “I suppose he might be, but I doubt very much he would be in the company of Ashan if he were.”
“It is the only explanation.” Father said. “He traveled to the very spot from which the havahezhan was summoned, the place the Maharraht had gathered. It must be so.”
“As you say, but it doesn’t answer the more important question. How could he have done such a thing to your son?”
As they considered the question, Nikandr remembered the dream from the cliff. “There was a city,” he said, almost breathlessly. He stared at Jahalan, knowing he’d seen a vision of a place, a city that in all likelihood no man from the Grand Duchy had ever stepped foot within. “I was speaking to a woman, Sariya, and she mentioned another, a man name Muqallad. Have you heard of them?”
Jahalan shook his head. “I have not. You say it was a dream?”
“A dream, but very real. It felt like something Nasim had seen.” The words felt false. The one from the dream was a man grown… How could the memories have been Nasim’s?
“You may have seen one of your past lives,” Jahalan said.
Father snorted.
Jahalan looked hurt, but he held Nikandr’s eye.
Nearby, the rook flapped its wings and clicked its beak several times. It launched itself forward and landed on the back of the chair opposite Nikandr. “The boy is nowhere to be found.”
Father bristled. “Then we must-”
“Still your words, husband. I bring news. Ranos is sending a full sotni to cover the road to Iramanshah. With the fifty men we’ve sent in addition to the ten from Nikandr, it will be enough. If the boy can be found, he will be.”
“And Ashan?” Father asked.
“The Braga is in flight already. We will ask the mahtar for permission to speak with Ashan. If they agree, he will be brought to Volgorod, to the Oprichni’s house.”
Father’s gaze turned steely as he studied the rook. He glanced at Jahalan, shaking his head. “We should play no games of diplomacy with Iramanshah. The dukes will be arriving tomorrow.”
“I know who arrives on the morrow, husband, but there is little enough to present the mahtar with, and nothing of Ashan.”
“He is the boy’s keeper!” Father said.
“And what will that mean to them?”
Father fumed, but he knew Mother was right. It was forbidden to take the Aramahn by force unless laws had been broken. Even then, the Palotza was to present their evidence to the mahtar to let them decide if taking an Aramahn was warranted.
“What if they don’t agree?”
The rook stretched its neck back and released a series of harsh caws.
“Then it will be dealt with.” It pecked at the table and then winged back to its perch. “I have much to do before the sun rises.”
The bird shivered, the orange glow of the fire playing against its slick black coat, and then it was still.
Father asked to speak with Jahalan alone, and this time Nikandr didn’t mind.
“Nischka?” Father said as he reached the door.
Nikandr turned.
“Tell no one of this.”
“Of course, Father.”
And then he left.
He was bone tired, but he couldn’t go to sleep just yet. He had to deal with Atiana before she told anyone about what happened on their ride. He was worried that she’d already told her sisters, but there was a chance she would have kept quiet about it, at least these last few hours, and that she was cool enough that she would listen to reason.
He took a small lamp and walked to the far side of the palotza, to the bath house. It was empty and cold and dark. Beyond the massive tub in the center of the room he opened the door to a small closet, reached beyond the stacks of towels on the lowest shelf, pressing a certain space along the wood. He heard a click and the shelves swung inward. He stepped into the frigidly cold passage and closed the door behind him.
The passageway was lined with bricks, but as he traveled lower, he was walking through the body of the mountain itself. He knew these passages well, though even he-who’d scoured them whenever he’d had a chance as a child-didn’t know all of them. He knew enough, however, to make it to a similar closet in the wing where the Vostromas and their retinue were staying. He reached it after several brisk minutes of walking; then he left and padded down the tall hallway toward Atiana’s room.
After reaching it, he knocked on her door softly.
He heard nothing inside.
He tried again, louder.
Further down the hall, a door swung open, and Nikandr’s heart leapt out of his chest. A woman leaned out into the hall-Mileva or Ishkyna, he couldn’t tell which. Her hair was pulled up into a sleeping bonnet, and she wore a thick nightdress, but her feet were bare. A curious look came over her when she recognized him, like a cat catching a mouse it hadn’t known was there. Then the look was gone, and she padded toward him over the cold tile floor.
“My dear Nikandr,”she said, her words soft,“have you become so smitten with Atiana that you feel you must steal into her room in the middle of the night? Is she such a treasure?” Ishkyna.
“She is a jewel beyond measure,” Nikandr replied, just as softly.
One of Ishkyna’s delicate eyebrows rose. “A jewel you wish to polish before it’s been given to you properly?”
“A jewel I would look upon, nothing more.”
She stared at his shoulder, perhaps at the dust he’d collected on his way there through the hidden passages. He waited for her to speak, refusing to rise to the bait.
“This is highly irregular. What would Aunt Katerina think?”
“She would frown, but you, I think, will not.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
“There is little harm in a talk between a man and a woman two days before their marriage.”
She took a step forward. She was close enough to touch now. “That depends on what happens after the words are done, Nischka.” She took another half-step forward. “Words can lead to many things, can they not?”
He could smell the alcohol on her breath, the powder in her hair. The tight line of her lips arced in a meaningful smile as her eyes closed once. Her nipples stood out, her breasts rising in the cold air of the hall. She was beautiful, as Atiana was, and he found his throat tightening at the thought of where, indeed, words could lead. He had always thought of these three sisters as girls, children, but this was no girl standing before him. Ishkyna was a woman grown.
“I only wish for a word, Ishkyna.”
