Atiana wanted to bark back a reply, but what Rehada was saying made sense. Perhaps the babe had been sick. Perhaps, in those moments before its death, it had attracted the notice of the hezhan and had given it the crease it needed to enter this world.
But it seemed strange after what had happened on the eyrie. Physical manifestations of spirits were once common among the qiram, but now they were so rare that even the wisest among the Landless knew little of them. And here, on Khalakovo, there had now been three in the span of a fortnight.
The shore was distant, and the place where she’d turned off the road to Izhny was barely visible, but she thought she could see-though she could not say for certain-two men standing among the trunks of the birch and alder.
Perhaps they were watching them leave.
When Atiana turned back, she found Rehada looking as well. One moment, there was a look of profound worry on her face, but then it was gone.
A violent shiver ran through Atiana, not only from the cold.
After the incessant cold of the skiff, the frigid air within the village was unwelcome. Atiana had been pacing the length of a small room deep within Iramanshah for nearly an hour. After Rehada had landed the skiff, a mahtar named Fahroz had taken Rehada away while Atiana had been led into the heart of the mountain.
The only light present in the room was a glowing blue gemstone. She could see through the doorway to the far side of the stone corridor, but beyond a scant few paces, all was darkness.
An Aramahn man stood outside her room, not to force her to stay, but to prevent her from becoming lost in the darkness should she try to leave. She wouldn’t have in any case-she needed their help. Radiskoye needed to know what she’d seen.
But who will you inform? she asked herself. Your family or Nikandr’s? She struggled with that question for a long time. In the end, instead of answering it, she stalked out into the hallway and faced the Aramahn.
“I would speak with Fahroz,” she said.
He turned to her, his brown eyes placid. “And Fahroz dearly wishes to speak with you.”
“Then take me to her.”
“I cannot.”
She tried to walk past him, but he motioned to the room behind her. “Please, she begs your patience.”
“I am a daughter of Vostroma!”
“Then I would have credited you,” said a voice behind her, “with more composure.”
Atiana turned to find Fahroz-a mature but vibrant woman-walking toward her with a glowing stone, a siraj, in her hand. She wore a black shawl with intricate tracery running through it. Unlike many of those who rose to the rank of mahtar, she wore no stone. Instead, a gold chain with a medallion hanging from it was strung across her brow.
“Where is Rehada?” Atiana asked, seeing two Aramahn women she’d never met before standing behind Fahroz.
“She has left.”
Atiana paused, feeling small and alone. That such feelings were caused by Nikandr’s lover made her doubly angry over it. “Why?”
“That, I’m afraid, will remain between me and her. There are more pressing matters, are there not?”
Atiana pulled herself higher. “I need to return to Radiskoye. They are in danger, which I’m sure you’re well aware of by now.”
“Radiskoye has little reason to expect favors from Iramanshah.”
“They must be warned.”
“Is that so?”
Atiana stared into Fahroz’s eyes, knowing that she had been the one to take up the cause of the Aramahn. From the accounts, she had stood faceto-face with Iaros Khalakovo-no simple feat-and demanded the return of the mysterious boy and the arqesh.
In the end, it was Atiana who flinched first.
Fahroz turned and began walking away. “Are you coming?”
The two women parted, allowing Atiana to follow. They made several turns, passing rooms both large and small, but rarely did Atiana see another light. Iramanshah, like all of the villages, had dwindled in population if not in grandeur. She had been to the one on Vostroma only once, and it had seemed like a sad reflection of what it once was, but also somehow proper, as if the fading of the Aramahn were a necessary part of the rise of the Grand Duchy. She had been young, then. Now, she was not so naive as to think that the Grand Duchy could live without the Aramahn-they needed one another, as surely as wildflowers needed bees.
Fahroz took them down a long, curving set of stairs. It felt strangely familiar, though for a long time she couldn’t place why.
It struck her as they neared the bottom. “Where are we going?”
“You said you needed to warn Radiskoye.”
“I do.”
They reached the landing and took the single tunnel that led out from it. The tunnel, which was carved as the rest of the corridors had been, became rough, natural. Soon after, they reached the first of a set of wide, rough steps that seemed to be hewn by hand instead of guided by the skills of a vanaqiram. Shortly after, the tunnel opened up into a massive cavern. Atiana could see the rough stone wall on her left and the stairs ahead of her, but the space to her right was fathomless and black. The roof of the cavern, which had provided some small amount of grounding, faded from view the further they went.
Atiana drew in breath as a twinkling came from the darkness below. They reached the shore of a large black lake, where water lapped ever so gently against the rough stones and gritty sand.
“You would find,” Fahroz said as she guided Atiana toward a stone pier, “the water as cold as your drowning basins.”
Atiana stopped, forcing Fahroz to do the same. “You wish me to take the dark? Here?”
“I believe you can, with our help.”
The lake felt foreboding-somehow ancient and raw, whereas the basin within the drowning chamber felt tamed in comparison.
“Did you not say it was important for Radiskoye to know as soon as possible?”
“I did, but-”
“Then take the dark. Warn them if you would.”
Fahroz led her out to the end of the pier. Lamps on decorative stone posts lit as they approached. The light was meager-beyond a certain distance the cavern swallowed it whole-but it was enough to shed light on the lake bed some two stories below the surface of the crystal-clear water.
Atiana shivered just looking at it. “Why would you offer this?”
The smile of Fahroz’s face made her seem patronizing, but Atiana doubted she meant it in such a way-she, like so many of her race, was unnaturally calm, and it could lead to a misinterpretation of their moods if one wasn’t careful. “I will admit that my goals are not wholly altruistic. Over the years, there have been some who have learned to touch the aether, as you have.”
Atiana glanced at the two women, who waited patiently on the shore, then she looked at Fahroz under an entirely new light. She wore no stone. This was common among the Aramahn-perhaps only one in twenty became qiram-but it was rare among the mahtar. Most who rose to that status had mastered two or three disciplines. Why, then, if Fahroz could bond with no spirits, had she been allowed to take that rank?
“You?” Atiana asked.
Fahroz nodded, her arms clasped before her. “I ask only to observe.”
“Toward what end?”
“Would you not agree, Atiana Radieva, that the islands have become a dangerous place to live? We would do well to understand it, to learn from it.”
“I go only to warn Radiskoye.”
“But you have seen more. The babe…”
“That was by mere chance.”
“Then perhaps luck will be with you again. Allow me to observe. Share with me what you find when you
