“To my home, far to the southwest.”
Atiana shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You will, in time. I’ve lived here in Baressa for twenty-five years. Not once in that time have I returned to my home. I was ilkadin. There was always more to do, and I’ve sired Bahett three sons and two daughters. I’ve earned the right to leave this place and run one of his households there.”
“I thought we’d have time with one another, so I could learn more.”
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” And now a bit of the reception Atiana had expected revealed itself. Meryam stared at her coldly, as if she wished she could watch Atiana flail, watch as Atiana floundered in the myriad of tasks that lay before her. “Now forgive me, there is much to attend to.” Meryam bowed her head, clasping her hands near her forehead as she did so. “Enjoy your time with the Kamarisi.”
For a moment, Atiana could only stare. Meryam returned to the wives, ordering them around the terrace, making everything just so. She wanted to speak more with her, or perhaps Ebru, but in the end decided that Meryam had the right of it. The Kamarisi, and surely Arvaneh, would both be in attendance today. She needed to clear her mind before she met them.
The lords and ladies of Galahesh began to arrive in ones and twos. Atiana moved among them, greeting them, learning their names and where they were from. The talk was idle, and she soon found herself taking in more of the city, which was in full display. As high as the Mount was above the city, the terrace smelled of little more than fresh air and the late-blooming bluemists in the garden below. The western end of the city occupied the largest expanse of the horizon, but the northern run of the straits could also be seen, yet Atiana often found her gaze drawn northward, where the cemetery lay.
“My dear Atiana,” Vaasak Dhalingrad asked near the noon hour, “what keeps drawing your attention so? And what turns your mood so sour? Did you have too much to drink last night? Or have you taken ill like your sister?”
“I have not taken ill,” she replied, wondering when she would see Bahett again. “I only worry over what will come of these talks.”
He smiled and patted her wrist. “All will be well. Do not worry.”
She slapped his hand away. “There are troubled winds ahead, Dhalingrad. Best you remember it. Siha s surely does, and the Kamarisi as well.”
“The talks are proceeding smoothly,” Vaasak said.
“Then you aren’t paying enough attention.”
“I have my orders, My Lady, and I’ll see to them well. I suggest you see to yours.”
He said the words as though he knew of her conversations with Bahett, as though he knew of what had happened last night. But he couldn’t possibly…
Before she could respond to him, the golden doors to the terrace opened wide and out stepped four tall guardsmen dressed not in ceremonial armor, but hardened leather, the kind the men from the south of Yrstanla wore, the ones who trained with the sword day and night. They were the Kilic S aik, the Singers of the Blade, the Kamarisi’s personal guard.
Shortly behind them came Hakan ul Aye s e, the Kamarisi himself. He was young, several years younger than Atiana at least, and he was handsome. She could see why he was so loved, so protected-at least until now.
Behind the Kamarisi was Siha s ul Mehmed, the tall envoy, the one treating most closely with Vaasak until Father arrived.
Atiana wondered where Arvaneh was, but she didn’t have to wonder long. She strode out from the doors as Hakan began speaking with two old, bearded men from the north of Yrstanla, men wearing wide belts and large turbans with tall feathers pinned behind ornate brooches. Arvaneh did not tarry behind the Kamarisi. Instead, she walked among those gathered, conversing lightly, studying each carefully.
Atiana was surprised to see the Kamarisi break away from the two kaymakam-both of them bowing low-and come toward her and Vaasak.
“Good day to you,” he said smoothly to Vaasak.
“And you, Kamarisi,” Vaasak said as he bowed and stepped away. “By your leave, there are things I would discuss with Siha s.”
Hakan merely smiled.
Vaasak-his face coloring-bowed again and took his leave, leaving Atiana alone with the Kamarisi. He had a musky scent about him, redolent of sandalwood and open fields of hops. It smelled of confidence, of the assurance that all was as he’d planned. She was used to walking the halls of power, and yet before this man-several years her junior-she felt ill-equipped. She found herself shivering, though she tried to cover it, and unbidden, her throat began to close.
“Walk with me,” he said in Yrstanlan.
He headed toward the northern edge of the expansive terrace, and he came to a stop when they were not only alone, but had an unobstructed view of the cemetery.
“Congratulations to you,” he said, smiling and taking both of her hands. He kissed them quickly and held them out, regarding her as if he were a proud uncle.
“Thank you, Kamarisi.” She cleared her throat. The language of Yrstanla was still thick on her tongue, but since her arrival on Galahesh it had quickly returned. “I’m lucky to have found a man like Bahett.”
“Bahett is a good man, though I fear he has been placed in a difficult situation.”
“How do you mean?”
“In these days of strife, these days of disease and blight, we are all put-upon, are we not?”
“We will survive, Your Majesty.”
“I don’t mean the islands. I mean us all. We are put upon in the west and the south. Our fields to the north have gone fallow despite all efforts to revive them. I fear the blight is moving west, for good or ill.”
“And yet the Empire is strong. She will persevere.”
“As will the islands.” He smiled and turned to lean upon the white marble banister that lined the terrace.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“But Bahett, he is caught between our two worlds, is he not? Galahesh has always had one foot among the islands, and another on the lands of the Empire. I’m glad he’s decided to take someone from Anuskaya as his wife, and even gladder that he’s chosen you.”
Atiana smiled. “I was the closest at hand.”
Hakan laughed. It was a pleasant sound. “You are more than that, Atiana Radieva Vostroma. Word of your exploits has reached even the halls of Irabahce.”
“I would hardly call them exploits.”
“My dear, you saved the islands. Surely much would have been lost had the Maharraht had their way. We would have lost much.”
Atiana bowed her head, wondering why the Kamarisi was showering her with compliments, wondering as well what his consort would think of it. She glanced toward the crowd that was now surrounding Arvaneh. Bahett, though ostensibly watching Arvaneh as well, was clearly keeping an eye out for Atiana and her conversation with the Kamarisi.
“I thank you.”
“I was… disappointed when you did not come to the ball. I’ve heard much about your dancing as well, and was sad when it couldn’t be put on display.”
“Your Majesty?”
Hakan glanced sidelong at her. “It’s difficult for your sister to go unnoticed, even when she’s trying not to be. You, on the other hand, are more subtle. There’s a quiet strength to you that may be overlooked by some, but not those with a more discerning eye.”
Despite his simple words and his apparent indifference to her deception, she began to fear this man, as one fears the blackness in the depths of the sea. “I’m most sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t feel well. Travel has been difficult for me ever since Duzol.”
“I hadn’t heard. But why send your sister?”
“I didn’t wish to disappoint.”
Hakan smiled mischievously. “Did Bahett know?”
