Nikandr knew… Knew his father’s death had not been from some act of war. Knew it hadn’t been an accident. He knew it had been planned, and the one who’d set that plan in motion was staring at him as if he were his own son.
With Zhabyn and Iaros both dead, the mantle of Grand Duke would fall to Leonid. Council would be held, but there was no doubt as to what the outcome would be, especially since Leonid had been the one to finish this battle. He would be the one to reap the rewards.
“I hope you’ll bring my regrets back to Khalakovo with you,” Leonid said.
“Where is my father?”
At this, Leonid’s eyes changed. Though it would be imperceptible to everyone else, Nikandr saw them harden, and his expression of sympathy faded. He released Nikandr and snapped his fingers. A page boy came forward and bowed. “Take what time you need,” Leonid said, “but then return. There is much to do before the city is secured.”
With those simple words, Nikandr understood that Leonid meant to take Baressa, to take Galahesh as another island in the Grand Duchy. It was a bold move. The Kamarisi was dead, but his eldest son would now take the throne, and he would bend his will against Anuskaya in order to take back what was his.
But really this was the only course of action Leonid could take. He was not one given to diplomacy. He saw things only as property to be won, held, or coveted. Perhaps in time they could have settled this dispute peaceably with Yrstanla. But not now. Not unless another duke was given the mantel.
There was this and much more to consider, but for the time being Nikandr could concentrate on none of it.
He wanted only to look upon his father.
To say farewell.
In a room deep beneath Kasir Yalidoz, Nikandr held Atiana’s hand. The two of them stood before the bodies of their fathers, which had been wrapped carefully in white cloth and set upon slabs of bright white marble. Three lanterns hung from nearby posts. Wooden coffins rested beyond the marble slabs, ready to accept the bodies of the dukes for transport back to Vostroma and Khalakovo.
Nikandr shivered from the cold. Atiana, next to him, had not shivered once since they’d been led down into this massive cellar. They had been here a long while already, both of them standing in silence, saying their mute farewells to these strong men. Nikandr’s feelings before coming here were a confused jumble, as though he hadn’t enough room to grieve for so many, but now that he was here, he was focused not only on his own grief, but Atiana’s as well.
“Go well,” Atiana said softly. Her words echoed into the darkness.
“Go well,” Nikandr said as well.
He took Atiana into an embrace. “I’m sorry, Atiana.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“ Nyet. I’m sorry for what I did to you in Ivosladna. I’m sorry I didn’t come when you asked for my help.”
She held him tighter, and then released him. By the golden light of the nearby lanterns, he saw her smile sadly.
They walked back toward the stairs and took the long flight up to ground level.
“There is war ahead,” Atiana said.
“And perhaps a long one,” he replied. “We cannot allow Yrstanla to have either Galahesh or Oramka now. Both must be secured.”
They reached the top of the stairs and stepped out through the doors, where an honor guard was set to watch-two Vostroman streltsi and two Khalakovan, each in full regalia. The soldiers bowed deeply and closed the doors behind them with a boom.
Atiana led Nikandr toward the stained-glass doors. They strode through these and out to the grand patio, where a cold wind blew. They walked to the edge, where they could look over the expanse of Baressa and the straits beyond. Nikandr leaned on the balustrade, staring at a column of smoke that rose to the northwest, the remnant of a fire that had stared during the fierce battle. “Where is Soroush?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see him after the ship crashed. He must have left with Ushai and the remains of the Maharraht before our streltsi arrived.”
Nikandr shook his head, looking north toward the Spar. He could see much of its length and the large gap at its center. His mind was still fresh with the chaos of those final moments. The destruction was incredible, and surely Muqallad was dead, but it still didn’t feel like things had been decided.
“No matter what becomes of the war,” Nikandr said, “there is still Ghayavand. The rifts will continue to widen.”
“And there is the matter of the Atalayina.” She meant not only the Atalayina, but Nasim as well. He was their best chance at closing the rifts once and for all. “He’s powerful,” Atiana continued. “He might have lived.”
A flutter of wings in the distance drew their attention. A large black bird flapped slowly toward them, more ponderous in its movements than a rook, but more powerful as well. It winged down to the balustrade nearby and came to a rest. The same old gallows crow that Nikandr had seen on that ship against the cliffs of Yrstanla. It walked along with an awkward gait, releasing a long, sad caw. The white swatch across its breast and the underside of its wings shone bright under the sun.
“I’ve found her,” the crow said.
“Found who?”
“Kaleh,” Atiana replied.
Nikandr looked between the two of them.
“She told me of the battle between Kaleh and Nasim,” Atiana said, “and she said she would watch for them.”
“I saw them fall to the water”-the crow cawed and shook its head vigorously-“but I lost them in the maelstrom. I’ve been searching for them since. Of Nasim, I’ve found nothing. I can only assume he is dead. Of Kaleh I felt little, until the faintest of scents came to me. It trailed from here and then far to the west, to the very edge of the Gaji. I traveled there, looking for her, and felt her walking far ahead, but as I neared, her trail disappeared.”
“It couldn’t have just disappeared,” Atiana said.
“It did,” the crow replied, “and I suspect it was the Atalayina that allowed her to do so.”
“Where is she going?” Nikandr asked.
“With Sariya and Muqallad both dead, she will go to find those who can teach her of the Atalayina. If anyone will know, it will be the tribes who still live in the heart of the Gaji. They’ve lived there for centuries beyond count, hiding themselves from the outside world, even from the Aramahn.”
“Then that is where we must go,” Nikandr said.
All three of them remained silent. They knew it would be death to try to invade those lands, but what could they do? They had to find the Atalayina. They had to stop Kaleh from completing what Muqallad and Sariya had begun.
“Go,” the crow said as it hopped along the balustrade. “There is time yet to decide. I will watch for her, and for Nasim, though I have little hope for him. In time, we will know the right course.”
With that the crow flew off, its wings spread wide as it glided down and over the city.
Atiana turned to Nikandr. “There is Leonid to consider. And the welfare of Khalakovo.”
“This is no easy choice I make, Tiana.”
“I know,” she said.
With that, the two of them embraced, neither one of them feeling the comfort that should have come from the gesture.
“I know we must go,” she said again.
