The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [140]
Saphia drew in a deep breath. “I came to speak with you of your time in the dark.”
Atiana’s memories were faint, nearly to the point of forgetting them altogether, but she was getting better at stitching her time in the dark together. She worked backward from the end, telling Saphia her story in bits and pieces. As she did, the entirety of her memories returned.
Saphia considered her words. “Nasim’s hold on me seemed no harder for him than toying with a mouse. And in the end, when I was released, I don’t believe he understood what he’d done. He seemed to forget me in as little time as it had taken to seize me.”
Atiana paused, Saphia’s words reminding her of those final moments with Nasim. “There was something more...”
Saphia’s gaze sharpened. “Go on.”
“I don’t know whether you felt it, Matra, but Nasim... He walks between worlds.”
“What do you mean?” Saphia’s words were clipped.
“He lives in Erahm and Adhiya, both. I felt it when I followed the trail from you to him. It is why he is such a troubled child. I believe it is why he didn’t understand what he’d done to you, and why he forgot you so quickly. He thinks you and I are as ephemeral as the hezhan.”
Saphia frowned. Her gaze became distant, perhaps reliving the horror of the past week in her mind, but then she seemed to focus once more on Atiana. “How did you secure my release?”
“I pushed on the walls of the aether.”
“Pushed?”
“I know no other way to explain it. I felt the walls close in around him, just like with the babe in Izhny, just like in Iramanshah when you were...”
“When I was what?”
Atiana stared, trying desperately to hide her fear.
Saphia pulled herself higher in her chair, staring down at Atiana with cold, piercing eyes. “When I was what?”
“When you were preparing to assume the boy.”
As Atiana laid there, she felt as if Saphia could lay her bare with little more than her will and a cold stare. “You understand, Atiana”—she let the words fall between them like a gauntlet—“it would be unwise to repeat such a thing...”
“I do, Matra.”
“The damage it could cause Khalakovo is immeasurable.”
“Of course, Matra. I would never think of mentioning it.”
“Yet you did, here, with me.”
“Of course. It was something you needed to know.”
Her voice lost some of its edge. “You were speaking of Iramanshah.”
“Da,” Atiana said, pausing to regain her composure. “I’ve thought on it much. The narrowing is related to all of these events. If I could take the dark once more, knowing what I know now, I’m sure I could find more.”
“Knowing what you know now...”
“Da, Matra.”
“Nyet. Rest. Regain your strength. When that is done, we will speak again of the dark.”
She rang a bell sitting on the table next to her, a signal that Atiana’s audience was at an end. Atiana knew already that Saphia, despite her promise to speak again of the dark, would never allow her to enter it again.
But Atiana needed to. If she was ever going to find out what was happening on Khalakovo, she would have to do so outside the walls of Radiskoye.
Olgana entered the room, preparing to take Saphia away, and Atiana realized she could not remain in this room and have any chance of escape.
“Please, Matra,” Atiana said as Olgana reached Saphia’s chair.
Saphia held up one hand, forestalling Olgana.
“This room weighs upon me, more than you can know.” She motioned to the dark, stone walls around her. “If I am to recover, I would see the sun.”
Saphia considered the room before resting her steely gaze on Atiana once more.
“Let it not be said that the Khalakovos do not repay their debts.” She waved her hand, and Olgana wheeled her around and steered her toward the door. “You will have your old rooms back.”
Days later, Atiana stood at the windows of the room she’d been prom-ised—the ones her family had been given upon their arrival—and drew back the curtains to stare out into the southern gardens. The sun had yet to rise, but its light could be seen