The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [163]
Against the solid white cloud cover, sails rose above the ridge. It was a smaller ship, only six masts, but it mattered little. She had already been seen by the men on deck. Their commander shouted, and only then—as the words washed faintly over her—did Atiana realize that it was her brother who had given the command. His beard was fuller, and he seemed to have become more gaunt in the weeks since she’d seen him, but there was no doubt.
Four ropes snaked down from the ship. Eight streltsi slipped along them quickly and efficiently to the ground. They swung their muskets off their shoulders and advanced through the circle of obsidian stones.
Rehada watched the streltsi, the muscle along her jaw working feverishly. Her fists were bunched, and her eyes were filled with more hate than she had ever seen among the peace-loving Aramahn.
Atiana touched her arm.
Rehada jumped and looked down upon Atiana with a look not unlike the one she had favored the streltsi with, but then she seemed to recognize Atiana, and her face relaxed.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Atiana whispered.
Before Rehada could respond, one of the streltsi shouted for them to lie down.
“Nyet.” Borund’s voice. “There is no need for any such thing. They will come quietly, won’t you, sister? You and the woman, both...”
“Rehada Ulanal Shineshka will go nowhere.” Fahroz placed herself in Borund’s path. “She has done nothing, nor has Atiana Radieva Vostroma.”
Borund motioned for his men to stop.
Fahroz’s face was red and her eyes were fierce. “You come bearing weapons into an Aramahn village.”
“Atiana is a daughter of Vostroma, and she will come with us.”
“Atiana can do as she will, as can Rehada, but if they wish to stay, they will both be allowed to do so.”
Borund took one step forward. Atiana could tell by his posture alone that he was tense as catgut and might be pushed too far if Fahroz didn’t back down. “Their presence is requested by the Duke and Duchess of Vostroma.”
A handful more Aramahn stepped out of the tunnel, their faces angry. Upon seeing them, several streltsi trained their weapons upon them. Borund had a look of desperation about him, though why that was Atiana couldn’t guess.
There was no clean way out of this. Borund would not leave this place without her. She had no choice but to go with him.
“I will go,” she said simply, hoping to jar Borund out of his state of mind.
“Of course you will, sister,” he said, his attention fixed on Fahroz.
Atiana ignored him. “Fahroz, I would go with my brother.”
Fahroz nodded and waited for Rehada to give her own answer.
Rather than reply directly, Rehada moved in and embraced Atiana. “Forgive me,” she whispered, and then she stepped back to Fahroz’s side.
Atiana stared, confused. When they had hugged, she had felt, just as she had felt in the cold water of the lake, the locus of aether. It was now in Rehada’s robes, secreted away.
Perhaps Rehada saw her watching, staring at the precise location of whatever it was she had hidden. She looked uncomfortable, and she crossed her arms in front of her, feigning a chill.
It was Atiana who shivered, however. Rehada had lied to her. She knew now that whatever it was—stone or jewel or some unearthly remnant of the jalahezhan—Rehada had wanted it all along. She had wanted it before coming to the village. Before stepping into the chamber for her confession. Before lying to Atiana so completely.
She knew now what she should have known from the beginning.
She knew that Rehada was Maharraht.
CHAPTER 50
Nikandr watched as Nasim walked forward several more steps over the rubble littering the streets. His eyes were closed, as they had been since entering the city over an hour ago, but he had so far unfailingly led them deeper toward the center of Alayazhar.
Nikandr glanced up at the sun, which had already begun