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The rook stopped. Ishkyna had realized what Atiana meant for her to do. She wanted Ishkyna to present herself not as the daughter of the Matra, but as the Matra herself. The old kapitan had worn a soulstone around his neck, but he was a lesser officer, a man relegated not just to the rear of the blockade, but to transport duty—hardly a position of importance—and so the Matra would hardly know him and he would hardly know her.

“He will see through it,” Ishkyna said.

“You know better, Shkyna. Have you even heard of Kapitan Malorov?”

“I am not the Matra.”

Atiana was surprised. There was fear in her sister’s voice. She would have to be careful. “Mother keeps as much track of the military as you or I do. You have little to worry about there.”

“What if she touched stones with all of them before they left?”

“As quickly as the blockade was cobbled together? Unlikely, and I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be eager to spread dissent in this—how did you put it?—farce of a war...”

“Farce or not, Mother would find out soon enough what I’d done.”

“And you’ll simply tell her the truth, that I asked to go.”

“For what purpose?”

“Unfinished affairs.”

“Nikandr?”

“I’ll reveal everything when I return to Vostroma.”

The rook flapped over to the open window and clucked. “I’m afraid, sister, that this is something I cannot do. I may like to pull at loose strings, but this is too much.”

“Shkyna, please! It will work.”

“I know it will work. I’m worried about my hide once it has.”

“Mother won’t do a thing.”

“Nyet, but Father will. He has changed as much as Borund. It’s too much to ask. When you reach the island, we’ll play trump—you and I and Mileva, like we always have. You’ll be a world away from your troubles, and in no time you’ll forget Nikandr and his stubborn family.”

“Ishkyna!”

The rook had already flapped out of the window. Atiana watched it wing through the rigging and climb higher into the overcast sky until it was lost in the white canvas of the landward sails.

CHAPTER 54

Rehada entered the mouth of the cave at dusk. The height of it was so low that she had to bend over to reach the interior. She could smell wood burning, and when she turned a corner she found the source. In the center of the natural cavern burned a meager fire. The smoke trailed upward and was lost through a long crack in the stone ceiling. Soroush kneeled on the far side, pointedly ignoring her approach as he stirred the fire with a partially burnt switch. When his brother, Bersuq, saw her, he stood and motioned for the two others sitting next to him to follow. They were forced to hunch over, making them look like a line of the walking wounded.

Rehada kneeled on the opposite side of the fire and watched as the orange light played across Soroush’s dark skin. His turban lay on top of his folded outer robe. His long black hair was pulled over one shoulder.

“Where is Muwas?” Soroush asked without looking up.

“Taken. Burned.”

The silence between them lengthened, deepened. Soroush had been burned himself five years ago. Rehada could only imagine what it must feel like, to be cut off from touching Adhiya, to never again feel the bond with a hezhan. It would be an empty life. At least for a while. Perhaps forever.

Rehada reached into the pouch at her waist and retrieved the azurite gemstone. It was smooth, no larger than a thrush’s egg, and even though she wasn’t aligned with water, she could feel the power emanating from within it.

“At least he was able to find this for us.” She set it down near the fire, close enough for Soroush to reach.

He picked it up, turned it in his fingers as the firelight played against the silken surface. “You witnessed it, the burning?”

“I did.”

“You did nothing to protect him?”

“I—there was nothing I could have done.”

“Nothing?”

“You were not there, Soroush. He was caught with blood upon his hands.”

After setting the stone down next to the fire, Soroush regarded Rehada. “The woman I knew—the woman I sent to this island seven years ago— would have fought for his freedom.”

“You would prefer that I had?