blight that threatened their way of life. Perhaps that was Zhabyn’s plan, to allow Grigory to paint himself into a corner with his own words, relieving the pressure that was building on Nikandr and the Khalakovo family. Then again, given Zhabyn’s disapproving look toward Nikandr when Grigory finally fell silent, perhaps it wasn’t.
“This is strange business,” Zhabyn said to Ranos, essentially waiting for an official reply.
“Khalakovo was hurt as much as anyone by what happened here today.”
“As anyone?” Duke Leonid said. “I think not.”
The silence in the room yawned like a sleeping beast preparing to wake.
“Don’t mince words, Dhalingrad,” Ranos said quietly.
Before Leonid could continue, Duke Yegor of Nodhvyansk stepped out of the crowd, his arms wide. Yegor was young-Ranos’s age-and still impressionable, but his family had always been a friend of Vostroma.“He’s saying what we’re all thinking, that the one man who stands to gain the most from Bolgravya’s death is the man hosting this Council.”
Ranos moved to the edge of the dais, perhaps ready to challenge Yegor for such an insult, but before he could, Father’s voice called out from behind him.
“You’re saying I would kill my oldest friend?”
Nikandr turned to find his father standing in the doorway that led to the hall’s antechamber. Before him, sitting in a padded chair fitted with wheels, was Mother.
The entire assemblage went deadly silent and took to one knee. Father pushed Saphia Mishkeva Khalakovo forward, the wooden wheels thumping over the floorboards, until he reached the edge of the dais. When he stopped, everyone rose to their feet.
“You’re saying,” Father continued, “that I would risk my youngest son and his new wife? You’re saying I would risk the lives of my own wife, my elder son, even yours to a rogue spirit such as that? I would sooner have fired a musket into Stasa’s chest than release a creature like that into my family’s midst.”
Yegor opened his mouth to speak, but there came from the wheelchair a voice so rarely used it croaked with every utterance.“I have conferred with the other Matri,” Mother said. The effort, as small as it was, proved taxing; she breathed rapidly several times before continuing. “The crossing of the suurahezhan appears to be spontaneous.”
As she recovered herself, Grigory opened his mouth to speak, but Father stomped his foot down hard, forcing him to silence.
“An investigation will be conducted, and as we are on… Khalakovan ground, my son Nikandr… will undertake it.”
The room began to murmur.
“We will share with you our findings… but until such time as it is complete… you will remain welcome guests… of Radiskoye.”
Zhabyn Vostroma bowed his head. “Forgive me, Matra, but have all the Matri agreed to this?”
Nikandr saw his mother smile, and it was wicked. “They have, Vostroma.”
Grigory pulled Ivan from the crowd and placed the young man before him. “Forty of our countrymen are dead!” Grigory’s face went beet red. “Someone must pay!”
“And they will,” Iaros said. “Khalakovo will find those responsible.”
“Then start with your son! He left two of my men to die on the rocks below like a baseless thief!”
Father glanced at Nikandr, but it was Mother who spoke. “My son has answered your questions. There was a tear in the aether… made, perhaps, when the suurahezhan returned to the world beyond.”
“I felt nothing,” Grigory said.
Saphia laughed, and her face pulled back into a rictus of a smile. “Tell me, Grigory, when was the last time you spent time in your Matra’s chamber?”
Grigory’s face went red. “I don’t have to touch the aether to know a lie when I hear it.”
“Speak to your Matra. Discuss with her what happened. Until then, speak no more of my son.”
Grigory opened his mouth to reply, but Father spoke over him.
“And Khalakovo will find who is responsible, good Prince. Have no fear of that.”
The entire room went silent. Grigory stared at Father for a long time, clearly enraged at being treated like a pup.
“It had better be soon.” And with that Grigory marched from the room. Even with all his confidence it was strange watching him leave. Bolgravya had always had the largest retinue at Council. It felt like a herd of men should be leaving with him, but besides Grigory there was only the one sorry remainder of their strength: young cousin Ivan.
Nikandr expected the tension in the room to drop, but strangely, it intensified.
Duke Heodor of Lhudansk, a squat man with a piercing gaze, cleared his throat. “If there’s no one who will say it, then I will. We need to consider who will fill the seat of Grand Duke.”
Father gave no outward sign of emotion at Heodor’s words. He, as the eldest reigning duke, should fill the imperial seat, but with Stasa’s blood staining their house, the vote would be in question.
Duke Andreyo of Rhavanki shook his fist angrily. “The Grand Duke is dead not an hour, and you’re calling for his replacement?”
“There is no sense ignoring what needs to be done,” Heodor said.
Yegor pointed to the dais. “You might as well stand behind Khalakovo now, Lhudansk.”
“ Nyet, Heodor is right,” Zhabyn said. “The Grand Duke is dead.” He turned to Iaros, looking up at him on the dais as if he were a son who had disappointed him. “But the cause is in doubt. A vote cannot be held until the matter is settled.”
Several of the dukes nodded, and Father nodded along with them. Nikandr knew his father well enough to know he would gladly take the mantle of Grand Duke, but he was also wise enough to realize that others would not be pushed. A week would pass, perhaps more, and they would find out what happened in the eyrie. Then, a vote would be held and honored.
“We will wait,” Iaros said. “There is much to be done in any case, not the least of which is my son’s wedding day.”
There were a few somber nods among the crowd, but most eyes turned to Zhabyn, whose rigid stance had not changed. “It would be best, I think, if the wedding were postponed as well.”
Iaros eyed Zhabyn for long, uncomfortable moments, but it was Saphia that Nikandr watched closely. This was a grave insult indeed. Saphia had been the one to finally convince Zhabyn’s wife, Radia, that the marriage would be in the best interests of both families. It would benefit them at a time when their strength was dearly depleted.
The decision, strictly speaking, wasn’t Zhabyn’s to make. The Matri had arranged it, and by tradition, only they could undo it. But Radia had never been a willful woman; if Zhabyn declared the marriage to be dead, she would follow, and then there was little Khalakovo could do except hold the offered ships and trade agreements as bait.
When Saphia spoke again, she spoke slowly and deliberately.“Plans have been made, Vostroma. Documents have been signed.”
Zhabyn didn’t flinch. “Winds change, Matra. Should we ignore them when they do?”
Saphia seemed to lift herself up higher in the chair-an act that would take a supreme amount of will in her weakened state. During the pause that followed, the entire room seemed to lean forward. Finally, Saphia nodded once, politely, though there was no graciousness in the dour expression on her face. “A small delay will hurt little.”
And with that she reached up and patted Father’s hand, which rested on her shoulder. Father then turned her chair around and strode from the room, Ranos and Nikandr behind them.
CHAPTER 18
It had been three days since the attack on the eyrie. Nikandr was out beyond the palotza walls, hiking down the trail the suurahezhan had taken, his fourth time doing so. He came to the spruce a thousand yards from the
