Again Ashan called upon the water to bear them swiftly across the channel toward the northern cliff. Massive pieces of the Spar, which was still breaking up, crashed into the sea, sending plumes of water high into the air. On the far side of the straits, a column of stone calved from the cliff face, crumbling as it fell. When it struck the water, a massive wave formed and spread outward, consuming the distance toward the opposite set of cliffs.
Their raft reached a break in the cliffs, a shallow inlet. Ashan lifted them high on the mound of water as the worst of the massive waves crashed below. As they subsided, he set them down on a shelf of stone twenty feet up from the chaos below.
As the wind continued to rage, as the debris rained down, Nikandr looked to the sea for Nasim or for Kaleh, and though he searched and called through the harrowing hours that followed, he never found them.
Nikandr hoped to find Atiana on the northern side of the Spar, so when the storms finally died down, he asked Ashan to take him there. They flew up on currents of wind, and Ashan set them down near the Spar’s landing not twenty paces away from the auction house platform where he’d slipped Atiana’s soulstone necklace around her neck.
“We should divide our efforts,” Ashan said as he waved to Nikandr. “There are those I would search for as well.”
Nikandr wandered the streets of Vihrosh, asking questions of those he saw. Few braved the streets early on, but as time passed, more and more came out of their homes and began asking for news and inspecting the damage to their city. He spent hours, asking everyone he could if they’d seen a woman matching Atiana’s description, but they all shook their heads.
The storm-so fierce only a few hours before-seemed to have burned itself out entirely, so that by the time Nikandr gave up the search, the clouds cleared and the sun shone down. It was a strange reality to be faced with-a beautiful day after the devastation he’d witnessed.
When he returned to the Spar, Ashan stood at the landing with a young man of fourteen or fifteen. Ashan introduced him as Sukharam, and apparently he’d traveled far with Nasim.
“Do you think him dead then?” Sukharam asked. Clearly Ashan had told him of the final moments on the Spar and the water below.
“I hope not,” Nikandr said.
The boy’s eyes became more intense, almost angry. “Do you think him dead?”
It was a question he probably deserved an answer to, but Nikandr wouldn’t be pushed. Not now.
“I hope not,” he said again, and walked past the two of them.
He made his way to the broken end of the Spar and leaned out over the shorn edge to stare at the water below. He still had his soulstone. He had cast outward with it several times on his walk through Vihrosh, hoping to feel Atiana, and now he did so again. As it was before, he could not sense her, but neither could he sense anyone else-not his mother nor father nor any of the Matri. No one. The stone felt deadened, though whether this was due to their deaths or some artifact of the destruction of the Spar and the grand release of energy that followed he wasn’t sure.
Ashan stepped up beside him and stared down toward the water as well. His foot shifted a stone, which flew down toward the sea, its arc curving as the wind took it. “Sukharam was brusk, but he had a point.”
Nikandr shook his head sadly. “I don’t know if he died.” Where the knife had cut through his coat and shirt, he could reach through and touch the raw wound that Nasim had healed with the Atalayina. The subtle feeling that he was connected to Nasim was gone. And he was poorer for it. He’d always felt that he would one day find Nasim, that they would help one another close the rifts.
But now…
Now he didn’t know if that would ever be possible. Muqallad and Sariya had been stopped, but the world had been left in a terrible state. Who knew what would happen tomorrow?
Movement along the Spar caught Nikandr’s attention.
A skiff floated up and away from Baressa, making its way steadily toward the Spar, toward their location. After a wait that seemed like days, it crossed the gap at the center of the Spar and came to a rest nearby. Anahid was in the skiff, guiding it.
And Atiana was there as well.
As she swung over the side of the skiff, Nikandr rushed forward and swept her up in a deep embrace. He held her tight, a rush of emotions soaring inside him.
“I thought you were gone,” he whispered.
He heard her sniffling. “I thought the same of you.”
When at last they pulled away, she smiled and brushed away his tears. He brushed away hers and drew her in again, kissing her warm, salt-laced lips.
After taking his hand, she led him into the skiff. She beckoned to Ashan and Sukharam as well, and soon all four of them were inside, flying back toward the city.
“Nikandr,” Atiana said, taking his hands in hers. She gripped them tightly as she sat on the thwart. “I have grave news.” Nikandr felt his insides go weak, but Atiana, with intent emotion, held his gaze, giving him strength. “My father is dead. Sacrificed by the Kamarisi before the first ships crossed the Spar.”
Nikandr stared, shocked to hear these words. “It cannot be so.”
She shook her head, squeezing his hands so that he would let her finish. “Your father… He came to lead the charge. He commanded brilliantly, but in the end the Galaheshi elite broke through and rushed the commanders huddled behind the lines.
“They retreated, but your father was taken by a musket shot.” She paused, steeling herself, giving Nikandr time to absorb this. “He’s dead, Nischka. He lasted only minutes after taking the wound.”
Nikandr felt himself go cold and distant. The sound of the wind faded in his ears. He felt Atiana’s hand on his knee, felt her move to sit on his thwart and hug him, and even though he hugged her back, none of it felt real, especially those words: He’s dead, Nischka.
Anahid flew them up to Kasir Yalidoz and landed the skiff in the center of the grand patio. Anahid glanced at the kasir but refused to leave the skiff. “You have much to do,” she said, “and I would speak with Ashan.”
Nikandr nodded numbly, grasping Ashan’s offered hand and kissing him on the forehead. “Thank you,” he said.
He nodded a kind farewell to Sukharam, but as he passed Anahid, he leaned in and kissed her as well. “And you.”
She smiled for him, but in that smile there was only sadness, not joy.
Inside the kasir, dozens of men were gathered, men of the Grand Duchy. The conversation in the room dropped to a whisper as Nikandr and Atiana entered. All eyes were upon them.
Without being given a command, the crowd parted, creating an aisle toward a central table where Konstantin Bolgravya and Leonid Dhalingrad stood. As Atiana and Nikandr walked side by side toward them, the polkovnik, Andreya Antonov, and his aides bowed their heads and left.
Konstantin stepped forward first, kissing Atiana’s hand and then taking Nikandr into a tight embrace. As they kissed one another’s cheeks, he said, “It’s a wonder you’re alive.”
“It is a wonder even to me, My Lord Duke.”
Konstantin glanced to Atiana, who nodded soberly. “I’m sorry for your loss, Nischka. Iaros was a great man.”
“Thank you,” Nikandr replied, though he knew how emotionless his words must sound.
At a clearing of Leonid’s throat, Konstantin bowed his head and returned to Leonid’s side.
To Nikandr’s great surprise, Leonid stepped forward as well. The Leonid Nikandr knew would have stood there and waited for Nikandr to approach him. The old duke held Nikandr by the shoulders, staring at him with a comforting look. It looked strange on Leonid, this hawk of a man, and it warred with his haggard eyes and long white beard that made him look more like one of the haunting statues that graced the Grand Duchy’s mausoleums. They hugged and kissed cheeks, but instead of releasing him, Leonid held him tight and whispered into his ear. “I am sorry for your loss, Nischka. It was your father that saw us through this war. Because of him, we now stand victorious.”
As he rubbed Nikandr’s shoulders compassionately, a notion came to Nikandr. It was foolish. Preposterous. And yet it was something he couldn’t shake, and when Leonid pulled Nikandr back and stared deeply into his eyes, it began to set like clay.
