The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [184]
Grigory arrived a few minutes later, still buttoning a coat that had once been fine but was now sullied by dirt and stains. It was clear that one arm was wounded, for he was using only one arm to button the coat while the other hung limp at his side.
“My dear Atiana. I was given no warning of your arrival.”
Atiana smiled. “As was my wish.”
“I don’t understand. Your father told me of your rescue only last night. He said that you were being brought back to Vostroma.”
“Da, that is what he believed.”
“Then forgive me, but how have you come to be here?”
“My dear Grigory, have you been informed of our pending marriage?”
Grigory’s awkward smile warred with the confusion in his eyes. “Of course.”
“And so have I, and if you think that I would allow myself to be carted away to safety before speaking with you, then you are sadly mistaken.”
His smile grew more confident. “I thought you would not approve.”
Atiana returned his smile, but she took care not to let things go too far—if her plan was to have any chance of success Grigory had to be convinced of her lies. “I don’t know if I approve, which is exactly the point.”
He laughed. “Do tell.”
Atiana shrugged and took a half-step closer so that she was just within arm’s reach. “There was a wisdom of sorts in the alliance with Khalakovo, but I had always thought that a marriage within the southern duchies would be wiser.”
The look on Grigory’s face was composed, but he was disappointed.
“And,” she continued, smiling briefly, “I have always thought that we were cut from the same cloth. Haven’t you?”
“I...” He swallowed. “I will admit that I have, but I must also admit that I never imagined you thought the same way. You have always seemed so... distant.”
“Out of necessity, Grigory. My mother told me when I was fifteen that I would one day be married to a man from the north. How could I reveal my true feelings knowing that? Now please, are you going to keep me in this infernal wind the entire day or are you going to invite me in for a drink?”
“Please”—he motioned toward the keep—“forgive me. Manners are the first thing to go in times of war.”
As they walked side by side toward the iron-studded door to the keep proper, Atiana said, “I had no idea we were at war.”
“Do you smell peace in the air?”
Atiana held her tongue as they headed inside. She had thought at first that Grigory was merely boasting for her benefit, but he seemed too proud of his words. “There will be little bloodshed in the days to come. Khalakovo will see reason.”
They walked down the short, cold corridor to a room that held little more than a table and an unkempt bed in one corner. If Grigory had been the one to capture Nikandr, then no doubt he would also have his soulstone, and she doubted that there would be any place that he would keep it other than here in his chambers—however temporary they may be. She did not see, however, an obvious place where it might be kept other than the wardrobe in one corner or the stout chest that sat at the foot of the bed.
Grigory closed the door and motioned her to the table. She took her own chair since Grigory didn’t seem willing to pull it out for her.
“If all there was to this story was Khalakovo you might well have been right.” From a small table behind the door Grigory retrieved a dark blue bottle of vodka and two glazed mugs. “But there is much more that we might gain.”
He poured two drinks, grimacing as his wounded shoulder was put to work, and handed one to her. As he sat, he downed half his drink, swishing it around noisily before swallowing.
Atiana sipped at hers, being careful not to raise her nose at the sour bite from the liquor. “If you attack, the other dukes will come to his aid.”
Grigory smiled. “When you wish to kill a wolf, you do not go stumbling through the forest after it. You set out meat and wait for the scent of it to drive the wolf beyond caution.”
“The dukes are no pack of wolves, Grigory, nor are their Matri.”
“They’ll have no choice. They cannot allow Khalakovo to fall.”
“But Borund said you have