daughter. We have much to thank you for, it seems, but we have need of more-most likely much more by the time all is said and done-so grant me this one favor: answer my questions. It may very well help to protect the islands you seem so intent on saving.”
“I don’t care what you consider important, Matra. It isn’t your counsel I seek.”
The rook flapped its wings-hopping along the desk and shuffling the maps-and the caw it released sounded strangely like laughter. “And whose do you seek, pray tell?”
“My own.”
“Poor counsel, indeed. You may think you know what’s happening, but you don’t. I know this because I don’t know, and if I don’t, I’m sure that you’ve fared little better. We need one another, boy. You, the Landed, the Aramahn-even, it seems, the Maharraht. Muqallad will have his way with the world if given his way. Don’t let your wounded pride stand in the way of the greater good.”
Nasim had no wish to speak to the Matra, but what was worse, he didn’t trust her. She said she was concerned over the world and Muqallad’s plans for it, but that wasn’t true at all. She was concerned over the future of the Grand Duchy, nothing more.
He was saved from answering by Nikandr’s entrance. He closed the door and shook snow from his black cherkesska as he removed it and hung it on a hook. “I told you I wanted to be present if you were to speak with him,” he said to the rook.
“There are conversations I would have alone, Nischka.”
An uncomfortable stalemate followed, in which Nasim suddenly became conscious of where he was sitting. He stood, but Nikandr waved him back down.
“Stay,” he said, sitting across from him in the chair that would usually be reserved for guests in this cabin. “Are you well?”
“Well enough,” Nasim said.
“Would you care for tea? Or araq?”
“Get on with it,” the rook cawed.
“We’ve had no chance to speak, Mother.”
“And our time is short, Nischka.”
Nikandr glared at the rook, and then returned his gaze to Nasim as he sat deeper in his chair. “She speaks of our arrival on Uyadensk. There’s a delicate matter we must speak of.”
“The Maharraht,” Nasim said.
Nikandr nodded. “In part. It’s an important thing that’s about to happen. Something that’s never happened before. Nearly everyone on the Bhadyar have decided to offer themselves to the Aramahn in Iramanshah, hoping they’ll be allowed to rejoin their brothers and sisters.”
Nasim shook his head. “The Aramahn won’t allow it, not unless their qiram are burned. Even the children may be burned for what their parents have done.”
Nikandr nodded soberly. “They realize this, and yet all have still agreed to come.”
“Because of Muqallad?” Nasim shook his head. “They’ve lost their home, and they can’t head south to Hratha strongholds. Have you considered that they’re only looking for a place to rest and regroup?”
The rook released a harsh laugh.
Nikandr glanced over at the bird, a calculating look in his eye, but then he studied Nasim once more, weighing him. “You’ve grown, Nasim, but I wouldn’t have guessed you’d become so cynical.”
“I am older than my years, son of Iaros.”
Nikandr stared at him with a strange expression. Unlike so many over the years who had regarded him as if he were a callow youth in need of protection, Nikandr looked deeper, as if he considered Nasim an equal, as if he too were older than his years.
“The path to Iramanshah is not as easy as it first may seem,” Nikandr continued. “Borund Vostroma still sits the throne of Khalakovo, and he will not take lightly or kindly the landing of a Maharraht ship without his permission.”
“And still you will disobey?” Nasim said.
The rook pecked the table. “ Da, boy, we will disobey. Vostroma has enough to worry about.”
“What we need to know is where you wish to go,” Nikandr said. “If you wish to join the Aramahn in Iramanshah, you will be allowed to go. But if you wish to remain with us, or go elsewhere, you will be allowed to do it with our blessing.”
“What my son neglects to tell you is the depth of our need. The Empire has apparently grown tired of leaving the islands in peace, and Muqallad…” The rook cawed. “Who knows what Muqallad is about?”
“If you would remain with us,” Nikandr said, “we will gladly accept your help, but you have earned the right to choose your own way-at least among the islands of Khalakovo, if nowhere else.”
Nasim felt off-balance. He felt as though Soroush and Nikandr were going to war over him again. He had been preparing to find his way on his own once more. Leaving Sukharam behind. Leaving all of this behind. And now here was Nikandr and his mother, the Matra, trying to manipulate him, no matter how subtle it might be.
He could not, he decided, allow them to do so. “I will go my own way,” he finally said. “I require only a skiff.”
“Think well on this child. Do not choose brashly.”
Nasim turned calmly to the rook. “I’ve had all the time I need.”
The rook let out a ragged, disgusted sound.
Nikandr glanced at the rook, but then returned his gaze to Nasim. He was surprised. He was disappointed. But in the end he simply nodded. “A skiff you shall have, Nasim an Ashan, and more if you wish for it. You need but ask.”
The rook hopped between them on the desk, shuffling the maps beneath its talons. “I ask you to reconsider, child. We-”
“Enough, Mother,” Nikandr said. “He’s made his decision. Go in peace, Nasim.”
“I would go now, if we are so close.”
“Of course.” Nikandr nodded. “But where? Where will you go?”
Feeling watched, feeling pressed, Nasim stood and moved to the cabin door. “Wherever the fates take me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Upon his return to the Bhadyar, Nasim stepped off the skiff and found Soroush waiting for him.
“Come,” he said. “There’s someone who wishes to speak with you.” “Who?”
Soroush merely turned and headed to the stairs leading down into the forecastle. He came to Ashan’s door, motioned to it, and began walking away.
“I’ve thought on what happened since we last talked,” Nasim said.
Soroush stopped and without turning said, “You have?”
“I forgive you for what you did.”
“I don’t want your forgiveness, Nasim.”
“I know, but you have it just the same.”
Soroush paused for a moment, and then continued on without saying another word, leaving Nasim standing alone before Ashan’s door.
Nasim reached out and held his hand above the handle once more, and this time, though his hand shook, he was able to grasp it, to open it.
Inside the tiny cabin was a bed, a small table with a lit lamp, and a chair. Ashan sat at the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his head in his hands. As Nasim entered, Ashan looked up and smiled broadly, though the physical act of it seemed somehow to pain him. “By the fates who rule above, it does my heart good to see you, Nasim.”
Nasim backed the chair up until it rested against the far wall. Only then did he sit down.
Ashan’s smile faded. “I don’t blame you. I’ve done little to gain your trust.”
