Prince.”
“I was diverted to Elykstava-”
“Diverted,” Leonid scoffed, “with three of our ships.”
Duke Konstantin of Bolgravya reached the table. He bowed his head to Nikandr. It was an awkward gesture, more so than the other men, no doubt because of the history Nikandr had with his family, Grigory in particular. He said nothing, content for the moment to listen as the others questioned Nikandr.
“It seemed important,” Nikandr said carefully, “to determine the state of her spire.”
Andreya stared intently into Nikandr’s eyes, his expression stark and serious though not unkind. “When you had been given orders to come to Kiravashya.”
“Forgive me, Polkovnik, but the ships were mine to command.”
Duke Leonid bristled. “Those ships were needed here, Khalakovo, a fact I’m sure the Duke of Khalakovo shared with you before you left.”
“My Father, the Duke, lies upstairs.”
“He is the duke no longer,” Leonid said.
“A mongrel might leap upon the throne, Dhalingrad. Would you call him duke if you came across him lying there?”
The potbellied Betyom looked on this exchange in silent acceptance, but Konstantin jumped in. “My Lord Duke. My Lord Prince. Please, we shouldn’t waste time bickering. We don’t know when Yrstanla will return.”
“Very well,” Leonid said slowly, as if he were humoring Konstantin, who was twenty years his junior. “What news from Elykstava?”
“We captured a kapitan of one of the ships that attacked the spire. He confessed that their admiral was worried over an attack on the Spar. He recommended they not overcommit their ships, but the Kamarisi would not allow anything other than a full attack.”
“What of it?” Betyom asked.
“They’re overextended, admiral. If we can destroy the bridge, we can cut off any hope of reinforcements arriving.”
“This is senseless,” Leonid said, motioning to the map before him. “Their ships are here. What good would destroying the Spar do now?”
“Reinforcements could still be moving toward Galahesh, and it would cut off their lines of supply and their route of escape.”
Leonid frowned. “We need not worry about their escape, Khalakovo. We need to save Galostina and her spire, not the spire on Elykstava, which we had already decided to give them if they chose to take it, nor the spires on other, nearby islands, nor a bridge a thousand leagues from where we stand. Galostina’s spire. That is all that matters, and you’ve lost us three ships in her defense.”
“I would not give up the spires so easily,” Nikandr said. “They lost three ships on Elykstava as well, and we found critical information. If we could send ships, we might stand a good chance of taking the Spar.”
“We have no ships to spare,” Andreya said.
“I would need only five or six-”
Andreya’s flat look made Nikandr stop. “Have you come to serve,” he said, “or have you come to dictate?”
Nikandr looked at each of the men in turn, who looked at him as if he were a raw strelet who had yet to learn the ways of the wind. He had hoped that they might be convinced, but now he saw that they never would be. They might trust him to fly a ship, but beyond this they trusted him not at all.
“I’ve come to deliver vital information, and to serve in a way that helps the Grand Duchy.”
Andreya stood taller. “With the Grand Duke gone, I decide what helps the Grand Duchy.”
“ Nyet, Polkovnik.” Nikandr couldn’t help but think of the proclamation that Borund had read in Radiskoye. He had stepped over a line by saying these words, but he was done with hiding from men who sought to control him, a prince of the Grand Duchy. “With my father unconscious and my brother out of reach, I am Khalakovo.”
Duke Leonid looked as if he wanted to spit at Nikandr’s feet, but Andreya seemed to be weighing his words carefully. His eyes were not angry-there might even be a touch of respect in them-but it was also clear that if it came to it, Nikandr’s claim to authority or not, he would take from Khalakovo the resources he needed. “I understand that you hope to protect us, My Lord Prince. But you fail to understand the situation. Yrstanla has retreated, most likely to weather the storm they’ve unleashed. But have no doubt-the moment the storm abates, they will return for the spire, and when they do, it will be all we can do to stop them. We have need of men like you, men who can command a ship and command a wing. I cannot afford to have you missing from the coming battle.”
“We might save the island only to lose the Grand Duchy.”
“Just now, My Lord Prince, Kiravashya is the Grand Duchy. Now leave. Think on what I’ve said.” He returned his attention to the maps before him. “And find some sleep. You look terrible.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
N ikandr woke in the chair sitting next to his father’s bed. The room was dark. Only the smallest amount of light came from the crescent moon through the high window. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes he realized he’d slept through the entire day.
He was ravenous, but he didn’t want to leave his father. Not just yet. He’d barely had any time with him before he’d fallen asleep.
He lit the small lamp at the bedside and for a time simply stared as his father’s chest rose and fell slowly. He looked old. He looked weary and white, as if he’d already begun taking small but unyielding steps toward the beyond. Nikandr was proud of him, though. He’d been brought to Vostroma little more than a thrall, but as his counsel had proven more and more invaluable, he’d risen in Zhabyn’s circle, even among the misgivings of men like Leonid Dhalingrad, to become the Grand Duke’s most trusted advisor.
He felt bad for Mother, who despite spending nearly all of her time in the aether had come to cherish her time with Father outside of it.
Still, they were born of the islands; they were hard, and they spent time with one another as they could, speaking when Mother took the form of one of Galostina’s rooks. Though her ban from using the aether had never formally been lifted, it had eased to the point that two years after the ritual of Oshtoyets, Nikandr had brought Yrfa here to Galostina so that Mother could assume her favorite bird to speak with Father.
A soft knock came at the door.
Nikandr rose and opened it, and to his surprise found Mileva standing in the hall.
“May I come in?” she asked.
“Of course.”
She took a padded chair near the fireplace and warmed her hands as Nikandr moved his own chair over from the bedside. Mileva’s pale skin turned ruddy under the light of the low fire, making her look, momentarily, like one of the Aramahn. She leaned, elbows on knees, staring into the fire. In that small instant Nikandr could see the young Mileva. Many a night had he seen her do the very same thing among the halls of Radiskoye or Zvayodensk or Belotrova.
But then Mileva seemed to catch herself. She turned sharply, though not unkindly, toward Nikandr, and sat back in her chair. She crossed one leg over the other, and now she seemed like little more than a Duchess upon her throne, elegant and beautiful and cunning. Her eyes twinkled under the firelight.
“Has Atiana found you?” Mileva asked.
“I haven’t spoken to her in weeks. Not since leaving Rafsuhan.”
“She’s contacted no one on Kiravashya, nor any of the Matri we spoke to before we lost contact. Mother has tried to find her, but with the storms…”
“My mother found me near Elykstava, though I think it cost her dearly.”
“Thank the ancients for women like Saphia.”
“You speak so reverently, Leva.”
