Atiana rubbed the smooth surface of the stone. “Why not remain together and overwhelm the Grand Duchy before focusing on the Maharraht?”
Ushai seemed amused by this. “Do you have the sense that things have gone beyond Sariya’s control?”
“ Neh. Which brings me back to my question. What shall we do?”
“The stone,” Ushai said. “While we may not know its history to our satisfaction, its history on Ghayavand has not been lost. It is said that the Al-Aqim used it in an attempt to bring about indaraqiram. They failed, and at that moment-as the first of the rifts was created over the island-the stone broke into three pieces. If what your Nikandr says about Muqallad is true, he now has two of the three pieces. I suspect they will try to fuse the stone, to make it one so that they can finish what they began three hundred years ago.” She pointed to the stone. “Even broken, it will have strong powers. Were you gifted in the ways of the hezhan, you would no doubt be able to use it to great advantage, communing with elder hezhan, perhaps even summoning one to this plane. Your gifts lie elsewhere, but I suspect it will enable you to touch the aether like you never have before. In this lies our greatest chance.”
“To stop Sariya?” Atiana scoffed. “How?”
“I’ve heard the story from Fahroz of how Nasim, when he was taken beneath Radiskoye, drew upon Saphia Khalakovo’s soul. He nearly killed her.”
Atiana shivered at the memory. Nasim had done the same to her, as if she were nothing more than water to be poured from an urn. “He did.”
“Can you do the same?”
“To Sariya?”
“Would that bother you?”
In truth it would not. What shocked her was the fact that one of the Aramahn had suggested it. And not just any Aramahn; Ushai had been a disciple of Fahroz herself. Which raised the question: would Fahroz condone such a thing? The Aramahn had always been peace-loving, had always stood aside and waited for the fates to intervene on their behalf, but Fahroz had taken a stand on Oshtoyets, inserting herself and the Aramahn of Iramanshah into the affairs of the Landed and the Maharraht, and now here was Ushai, not merely suggesting, but condoning murder.
“Don’t be so surprised,” Ushai said. “There are those of us who have come to believe that we are all of us tools of the fates, and that where we know their purpose, we should use whatever is at our disposal to achieve it.”
“You claim to know their purpose?”
“How can I not? The fates would not wish the end of the world in this manner. Of that we can be sure.” Ushai’s eyes were deadly serious, her expression fervent. It sent a chill down Atiana’s frame, but she could not deny the wisdom in her words. With this stone-Atiana hefted it, felt its weight in her hand-she might be rid of Sariya, and then, perhaps, the tide might be turned against Hakan and Muqallad.
“Is there a lake within the village?” Atiana asked.
“ Neh, and we can’t go back to the Shattering.”
Atiana knew there was little choice, then, as to where they would have to go. Taking the dark was not a simple matter of submerging oneself in cold water. The water itself had to have a certain quality. It had to be connected in some way to the earth, as it was in the drowning chambers of the Grand Duchy’s palotzas, as it was in the Shattering within the deep wells Ushai had found.
As it was in the cemetery, in the mausoleum Bahett had prepared for her.
She wondered whether they would suspect her return. If so, they might have dismantled the fountain.
She hoped not, because if so, their plan would be ruined. But there was really no choice in the matter.
She had to take the dark.
And she had to kill Sariya.
Irkadiy was the first one over the cemetery wall. Four streltsi in black cherkesskas and kolpaks followed. After a soft whistle, Siha s approached with ten of his men. They brought a rope ladder, which they flung over to the other side. After his men had weighted it down with two men and Irkadiy had done the same on the other side, Atiana climbed the ladder with Ishkyna following right behind.
They were along the far eastern end of the massive cemetery, a place few traveled save the caretakers. They wound their way through the rows, moving up toward the hill where the mausoleum they needed lay. The morning was bitterly cold, but that only helped. The royalty of Baressa liked to visit the graves of their forebears, but on a day like today fewer would be out.
As they walked, Ishkyna fell into step beside her and took her hand. Atiana nearly thought it was in jest, but when she glanced over, Ishkyna was staring straight ahead, refusing-for the moment at least-to look at Atiana. Atiana did not smile. The day was too grim for this. But she felt her heart lighten at this rare show of solidarity from her sister.
“Be careful,” Ishkyna whispered.
“I shall,” Atiana whispered back.
They reached the mausoleum without incident, though the kasir on the Mount-less than a quarter-league away from their position-looked like a sleeping beast. It felt, as Atiana gave it one last glance before entering the tomb, as though it would wake at any moment, and when it did, all would be lost.
The mausoleum had felt so foreign the first two times she’d come, but she had been here on Galahesh for some time, and now-the small rooms, the trickling fountain, the strangely shaped basin-it all felt familiar. It felt as though it were an old friend, this room deep below the earth, and she just hadn’t recognized it before. It was a comforting thought, but she didn’t allow it to lull her into any sense of security. What she was about to do was dangerous, and there was a good chance she would never again take to these steps to return to the light.
Irkadiy and the streltsi accompanied her down to the lower rooms. In the closeness, the sound of their muskets rattling, their bandoliers clacking, was loud. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Irkadiy inspected the rooms carefully, much more carefully than he needed to, and then he stood before Atiana, asking her with a nod, one last time, whether she was ready.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.
He smiled at her awkwardly. “On this-” He cleared his throat. “On this day, My Lady Princess, I am proud to be Vostroman.”
She took his hand and waited for him to look her in the eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something when Siha s spoke ill of your family.”
“Think nothing of it.”
She shook her head. “Don’t dismiss my words. I was thinking the same things as he was.” She waited for her words to settle, and indeed, as she’d known would happen, his eyes looked at her in shock, in pain. “But your family was nothing short of heroic for what they did for us. They saved us, and I will never forget it.”
His eyes softened, and he smiled. A handsome man indeed was Irkadiy. “Thank you, My Lady Princess.”
Atiana stepped in and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Ishkyna watched as Irkadiy and the streltsi left, their tall black boots clopping against the stone stairs at they spiraled their way up.
“You were right, you know,” Ishkyna said once their bootsteps had faded.
“About what?”
“His family probably did alert the Kamarisi.”
“The family his cousin married into is large. Perhaps one was tempted to speak to the guard, but the rest were loyal and brave. Had they not been, we would have been found before the sun had set on that first day.”
Ishkyna shook her head. “You’re too sentimental, Atiana. It’s going to be the death of you one day.”
“You’re not sentimental enough, Ishkyna. You’re going to die rigid and lonely and lost to the world.”
Ishkyna’s face was not angry at these words. It was instead thoughtful, as if she’d been thinking the very same thing, and Atiana’s words had merely reinforced the idea. “Best we begin,” she said at last, motioning to the basin.
Atiana undressed and with Ishkyna’s help began rubbing the rendered goat fat over her body.
“Be careful,” Ishkyna said as she worked Atiana’s back. “There’s no telling what’s become of the aether now that the Spar is complete.”
“I know.”
“Sariya had a plan, and there’s little doubt it included the Matri.”
