“My name is Fahroz Bashar al Lilliah.”
“State your cause.”
“We have come to petition for the release of Ashan Kida al Ahrumea and Nasim an Ashan.”
“Both are being held in the investigation of the death of Grand Duke Stasa Olegov Bolgravya.”
“As we well know, Duke Khalakovo. What we do not know is what gave the Duchy cause to suspect them and what has been discovered since.”
“As I’m sure you understand,” Father said in a rote manner, “with an investigation such as this is, our findings cannot at this time be shared.”
“ Cannot or will not?”
A murmur ran through the crowd, and Father stiffened, striking the gavel several times until order was resumed.
“ Will not.”
“Under the terms of the Covenant-”
“I know well the dictates of the Covenant, but it clearly allows us to defend ourselves against threats to the Grand Duchy.”
“You speak, of course, of the threat the suurahezhan represents, that it could very well have been summoned and sent by one of our own.”
Father remained silent.
“I will assume your silence, My Lord Duke, to mean assent. What I believe you fail to understand is that we are just as concerned. We are not so naive as to think that the Aramahn are incorruptible. Far from it. We have only to look to the Maharraht to find examples. And so I hope you will share what you know so that we can assist, so that we can root out the infection in our midst before it spreads.”
Father was quiet for a time. Fahroz was speaking as if she believed the assumption that the Aramahn had been involved-in this lay her only hope to sway Father-but everyone in the room knew this was a sham. She was not lying, but she was trying to coax Father into sharing the information in any way she could or, failing that, make the entire Duchy look foolish for refusing.
“Your request is noted but denied.”
“We urge you to reconsider.”
“Noted,” Father said.
Fahroz nodded, as if she’d expected this answer. “We have been generous up to this point-”
Father knocked the gavel thrice. “ Generous?”
Fahroz bowed her head respectfully, but this only seemed to raise Father’s hackles.
“Consider it generous that I haven’t tossed the lot of you from these halls for coming here daily. Consider it generous that Ashan hasn’t been summarily hung based on the evidence we already have. Consider it generous that we grant you gems for communion.” Father stood, his face turning red. “But do not enter these halls and tell me that you have been generous with me.”
Fahroz bowed her head again.“Generous, indeed, and so we will grant you time to reconsider. But take care, Duke. If too many suns rise without clear evidence against Ashan or Nasim, we will ask that all Aramahn refuse your generous gifts of gems, your generous offer of travel aboard your windships, your generous acceptance of our presence on these islands.”
Father leaned down and slammed the gavel fiercely against the block as the din of the crowd rose to new heights. “Do not presume to threaten.”
“That was no threat.”
And with that Fahroz turned and strode from the room, the crowd parting for her as she passed. As one, the Aramahn began leaving through the far door. It was more than rude to leave without a request from the officer in residence-a final exclamation on the seriousness of Fahroz’s words.
Father marched past Ranos and Nikandr to reach a door at the rear of the platform. He stepped inside and left the door open behind him. The other officers of state all stood and followed him. Ranos and Nikandr did as well, but the moment Nikandr stepped inside the room, Father was there, holding him back.
“Your presence is not required here, Nikandr.” What he was saying, of course, was that Nikandr’s place was in the bowels of the palotza, speaking with Ashan and Nasim. “You have two more days.” And with that he closed the door.
Nikandr felt a chill course down his frame.
The sun had long since set over Radiskoye. Darkness lay heavy over the northern courtyard, but the moon gave enough light that Nikandr could see the outlines of the buildings, the shape of the wall that circled the palotza. It was cold, and he had nothing to do but wait, but he couldn’t find it in himself to return indoors. He paced along the stone walkway, looking every few moments toward the arch that led to the palotza’s main entrance.
He heard the clop of hooves well before the crunch of wheels on gravel. An enclosed coach with a single horse approached. The driver pulled up when he reached him, taking down the bulls-eye lantern and moving to the door. He opened it and Nikandr stepped forward to help the lone occupant of the coach to navigate the steps.
She wore a heavy cloak, and the cowl was pulled up over her head, hiding her face well. The driver had been given only the location of her home and a note. He might know her-enough in the palotza did-but he was a trustworthy man. He nodded to Nikandr and returned to the driver’s bench, pulling the neck of his cherkesska higher against the cold, as Nikandr led the woman inside.
“Don’t you think it’s time,” Rehada said as the door closed shut, “that you share the reason for your summons?” She pulled her arm away as if she were insulted that he’d had the presumption to take it.
“I need your help.”
She pulled the cowl back, allowing it to fall around her shoulders. She stared at him with a curious expression. Disappointment?
“Nasim?” she asked.
Nikandr nodded. “Things have become serious. Fahroz has threatened to withhold the services of the Aramahn. It will start in a matter of days, a week at the most. Father has given me two days to reach Nasim. Somehow.”
“And you want me to help?”
He nodded.
“I know nothing of him.”
“You know enough. And you are observant. Another viewpoint would be of great service to me. And there is the matter of your alignment.”
Rehada considered his words.“He may indeedbe alignedwith fire. If you wish, I will commune with my hezhan and see what comes of it.”
Rehada acted strangely on the way to Nasim’s room. She was quiet, unreadable, as if she were guarding against emotion. As they approached, there was a clear note of expectation in her stance, in the way she looked at the door, as if this were something she was very much looking forward to.
Nasim sat on a circular carpet that lay at the foot of the large bed. His legs were pulled up to his chest, and he was rocking back and forth slowly. If he noticed them, he gave no sign. His movement spoke of discomfort, and his face revealed the depth of it. His brow was furrowed, his lips pinched. His jaw worked. And his eyes… They were fixed upon a point on the far wall, well below a painting of a bleak, wooded landscape caught in the throes of winter. He seemed on the verge of crying, but there was a resoluteness to him that was immediately apparent. He seemed, in fact, noble.
Nikandr had no idea that such pain could project from a child-this or any other. It was humbling, and he found himself wishing he could lift the misery from him.
Rehada kneeled on the carpet. “Nasim?”
He neither moved nor noted her presence. Nikandr doubted he was truly here in any case. More likely he was seeing things from the other side, from Adhiya, the land of hezhan, and he wondered what it would be like to truly see such a thing. He had had one inexplicable meeting with a hezhan, but that was probably as close as he was ever going to get to the world that lay beyond.
Rehada reached out and touched his arm. “Nasim.”
Nikandr sat in a chair at the round table in the corner.“He has not spoken since he arrived, but Ashan said he has done so in the past, sometimes for hours on end.”
