land and for the royalty to disembark.
The handmaids, finished with the corsets, helped Atiana and Mileva to step into their cream-colored dresses. They were padded and bulky and would no doubt ruin their figures, but Atiana didn’t care as long as they provided even one dram of warmth.
Ishkyna pulled her dress onto the bed and began smoothing away the wrinkles. “What do you think he’ll be like?”
Mileva smiled, glancing at Atiana from the corner of her eye. “He’ll be soft.”
“Soft?” Ishkyna laughed. “Have you so little faith in your sister?”
Atiana felt her face warm.
Ishkyna’s eyes went mischievous. “ Nyet. He’ll be hard as oak, ready to welcome our dear sister to his family properly.”
Atiana frowned, little pleased with Ishkyna’s tone, even less pleased by the look in her eyes, the one that said she knew something her sisters didn’t. “You’d do well to worry about your own husband.”
“Oh! You see how she is, Mileva? She’s already gazing at us over the shoulders of Khalakovos.”
“I am not.”
“Well, you soon will be, Tiana. In no time at all Victania will have you wrapped around her wretched little pinky and you’ll be singing for her just like all the Khalakovo women.”
Atiana stood straighter, to the consternation of her handmaid, who had nearly finished lacing the back of her dress. “I am Vostroman, and I will always be so.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. Once Nikandr has ridden you like the surf, you’ll open up to the ways Khalakovo.”
“Shkyna, that’s the second time you’ve spoken of my husband-”
“ Future husband.”
“You never did so with Mileva’s.”
“Viktor is twenty years her senior. He’s hardly worth the effort.”
“Nevertheless, if you speak of Nikandr again, it will be civilly or I’ll toss you over a cliff myself.”
“So territorial… You’d think she would wait to see what lies below before-”
Atiana turned-batting away her handmaid’s attempts at keeping her in place-and stormed over to the bed. She pointed her finger at Ishkyna’s face, her blood boiling at the smug look that greeted her. “I gave you warning.”
“And as it’s the day before your wedding, I let it pass unnoticed.”
Atiana didn’t know what happened. She had fought with her sisters before-countless times-but never had she been so angry as to raise her fist with the intention of striking. Yet before she realized it she had slapped Ishkyna across the face.
Ishkyna’s head snapped to the side. She held one hand tightly to her cheek. She took breath for long, tense moments, and then lowered her hand. When she turned back, Atiana could see a red mark already beginning to swell along her cheek. Her face was calm, which made Atiana shiver-a calm Ishkyna was nothing if not trouble.
Mileva took Atiana around the shoulders. “Enough.” She guided Atiana back toward the handmaids. “We haven’t traveled together in some time. It’s merely a symptom of being cooped up with one another again. Do you remember how viciously we used to fight?”
“The only reason we fought,” Atiana said, “was because the two of you are so insufferable.”
Mileva laughed, looking to Ishkyna, who merely glowered.
“Come, Shkyna,” Mileva said. “It was the very reaction you were trying to provoke.”
“A slap across my face as the dukes are set to arrive? Da. Exactly what I was hoping for.”
Mileva turned away, giving Ishkyna time to cool. “Have you looked into his woman, this Rehada?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve had more than a little to attend to.”
Mileva scoffed. “It’s not something you should ignore, Tiana. A week before our wedding, I had Viktor’s women quaking in their boots at the mere mention of my name. I allow him to see one, if only to keep his interests at a distance, but she’s clean. You know nothing about Nikandr’s.”
“Other than she’s a Motherless whore,” Ishkyna said.
The words were meant to rile, but they were exactly what Atiana had been struggling with ever since hearing the rumor. She had been ready-after an appropriate delay-to accept a courtesan of Landed blood. But an Aramahn? Why? What could he see in her?
She’d decided on the voyage to Khalakovo that she would learn more, but there simply hadn’t been time.
“If you wish,” Mileva said, “I’ll look into it myself. There’s little else to occupy my time.”
Atiana shook her head. “I’ll deal with her in time.”
“Well,” Ishkyna said, “there’s a bright side to everything, is there not?
Perhaps our dear Atiana won’t have to worry about Nikandr’s wandering attention for long.”
Atiana jerked her head to look at Ishkyna in the mirror. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Ishkyna held Atiana’s gaze, her jaw set, her eyes smoldering. And then Atiana remembered. Last night. Someone had spoken to Nikandr- pity, she’d said-and then a door had softly closed. It had been Ishkyna.
As sure as winter was cold, Atiana knew she’d returned after leaving. She’d overheard their conversation.
She knew about Nikandr’s affliction.
The door swung open, startling Atiana. Victania flicked her fingers at Atiana as if summoning a servant girl, and then she left. After one last meaningful glance at Ishkyna, Atiana followed.
Yvanna was there as well, and she fell into step with Atiana as Victania led the way down the tall hallways of Palotza Radiskoye. Their collective footsteps echoed like a handful of stones dropped down a deep, dark well. They left the palotza proper and made their way along an impressive marble colonnade. The entablature protected them somewhat from the drizzle but did nothing to shelter them from the harsh winds. On the right, Khalakovo’s massive black spire towered over Radiskoye. It looked ominous, standing there against the roiling gray clouds.
They entered at the base and descended a long, spiraling set of stairs. Atiana’s anger with Ishkyna was slowly being replaced by fear of the meeting that lay before her, and the deeper they went, the more her stomach began to turn. She wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t know how she would measure up to the woman Mother spoke of with such reverence.
The stairs landed within a circular room with two sets of intricately carved doors. Two pairs of streltsi guarded them, berdische axes and curved shashkas at the ready. An old servant woman, standing by the doors straight ahead of them, bowed as Victania and Yvanna turned to Atiana.
“She will be weak,” Victania said, “for she has only just removed herself from the aether.”
Atiana wanted to bite her tongue, but Victania’s mothering tone and the row with Ishkyna had frayed her nerves. “I am well aware of what the aether does to a woman.”
“Oh?” Victania pursed her lips as her gaze traveled Atiana’s length. “Tell me, then, how long does my mother require a warm fire before her joints begin to ache?”
She swallowed the first response that came to her mind. “I do not know, My Lady.”
“What sort of tea does she favor upon awakening?”
Atiana lowered her gaze. “Forgive my outburst, dear Victania. I have only just completed the voyage here, and I fear the length has made me testy.”
Victania’s eyes did not soften. “Difficult voyage or not, see to it that you curb your tongue. The Matra will not stand for it.”
“Of course not.”
Victania turned to Yvanna. “You can prepare her?”
Yvanna nodded.
“Good.” She turned on her heel and headed into the room with the servant woman, leaving Atiana alone with Yvanna in the cold, dark antechamber.
“Forgive her,” Yvanna said as she blew warmth into her cupped hands. “She’s very preoccupied with your wedding. She doesn’t say it, but she wishes the best for you both.”
Atiana smiled, not wanting to offend. “She does hide it well.”
