The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [128]
Rehada’s head jerked back. “Atiana?”
“She is of water. Azurite. It is she that will bring the fourth stone to us.”
“But how?”
“By drowning her, Rehada. There is one place on the island where the veil is so thin that her death is all it will take.”
Rehada felt the blood drain from her face. The look in his eyes as he stared at the stone above him was one of satisfaction, of something akin to smugness. He believed that the fates had shined on them, but also that this was her reward for taking Atiana without his leave.
“Where must I bring her?”
“To the lake in Iramanshah.”
CHAPTER 37
As the door to her cell opened, Atiana remained seated at the lone table. She was expecting her noon meal. She hadn’t been spoken to by anyone from the Khalakovo family since she’d been placed here—only guardsmen bearing food and clearing her chamber pots and providing water and the occasional clean dress to wear—so she expected nothing but more of the same. A strelet did enter—the serious one she saw most often—but he merely bowed his head and stepped to one side, allowing Yvanna Khalakovo to stride in with a silver tray.
As the strelet closed the door, Yvanna set the tray down and sat across from Atiana. The lids of her eyes were heavy. She seemed unable to focus, but then she seemed to remember who and where she was, and she motioned to the tray, almost angrily. “You must be hungry.”
The tray held a plate covered by a polished silver dome, ornate utensils, and a carafe of white wine sitting next to an empty wine glass. The scent of roasted goat and onion and garlic was heavy in the air. Atiana was not merely hungry—she was ravenous—but she refused to show it in front of Yvanna, so she stood instead and moved to her bed.
“What is it you want?” Atiana asked.
Yvanna took a deep breath, seeming to gain a bit of vitality as she did so. “I need to speak to you of the dark.”
“What of it?”
“You know of the boy, Nasim? The one who—”
“Of course I know of him.”
“Of course—of course you do. Did you ever see him?”
She meant in the aether, but Atiana had not seen him long before Mother and the other Matri had pulled her away, so she shook her head, confused over why Yvanna would ask.
“I need the truth.”
“I saw him, but only for a few moments, just before Saphia tried to assume him.”
If Yvanna was concerned by Atiana’s knowledge of the forbidden practice, she didn’t show it. “He is... He is powerful, Atiana. More powerful than any of us could have guessed.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was soft, as if she feared being overheard. “Mother did try to assume him. He stood against her and won. She’s been unconscious since.”
“Her need must have been great to take such a risk.”
“The Matra wanted some sense of what he was about, whether he had anything to do with the summoning of the suurahezhan.”
“How is she now?”
“She has not woken since the night of the betrayal.”
“Is that what they’re calling it?”
One eyebrow on Yvanna’s elegant face rose. “What would you call it?”
So deep was her shame over what her father had done that Atiana could not respond.
Yvanna’s anger drained away, and she suddenly became reluctant to meet Atiana’s eyes. “She grows weaker every day. My difficulties with the dark continue, and I would ask...” Yvanna licked her lips. “I would ask for you to take the dark, to see if you might help.”
Atiana tilted her head. “Victania is trained in the dark, is she not?”
Yvanna did meet Atiana’s eyes then. There was no anger, only resignation. “She is no longer able to.” She smoothed the tablecloth absently. “Perhaps from the wasting. Perhaps from the storms over Khalakovo. No