The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [186]
She placed her hand on the stone and lifted it. She was careful not to let the chain tickle his skin, though given the amount of liquor he had imbued, she doubted he would feel something so subtle.
She examined the chain and the setting. It was sound—as all such chains were made to be. She might be able to slip it over his head, but she would much rather remove only the stone, perhaps the setting as well, so that he would still feel the two chains around his neck and hopefully not notice the missing gem until it was too late.
Seeing no real alternative, she slipped out from underneath the covers and stood next to the bed, holding it for a moment to steady herself from the haze of alcohol running through her. She searched the room for anything that might help her, but it was so spare. There was a well-stocked liquor cabinet, clothes, two fish oil lanterns, some simple pottery, several leather-bound books... There was also a stack of orders containing the signature of her father, Zhabyn Olegov Vostroma. She paged through them, intrigued, but they were mundane—all of them detailing the supplies that were to be given to Grigory and his ship from the hastily constructed supply house here on Duzol.
Her heart jumped as Grigory shifted onto his side, both his stone and Nikandr’s slipping down into the soft bedding. And then she spied his clothes lying on the floor next to the bed. On his black leather belt was a sheath that held his ceremonial kindjal. Her eyes darted between the blade and the stones, then she padded forward and slipped the kindjal free of its pristine leather sheath. Holding it behind her, she slipped back under the covers. She eyed the stones, pulling Nikandr’s far enough away from Grigory’s so that she would have enough room to do what she needed to do. Once she was satisfied with its position, she placed the tip of the knife onto the heavy link that connected the stone’s setting to the chain itself. She held it with both hands and bore down on it with all her weight.
Either the knife was not sharp enough or the metal was too strong, for all that happened was that it pulled the bedding far enough that it roused Grigory. He lifted his arm and scratched his neck, but then he drifted back to sleep.
After counting slowly to thirty, she repositioned the stone and leaned on the knife again. She raised herself up higher and pressed her weight downward, hoping it would be enough to break the link. She tried again and again. On the fourth try, the link broke with an audible but muffled clink.
And then she looked up as Grigory sharply drew breath.
By the ancients, he was staring straight at her.
CHAPTER 57
Atiana was certain that Grigory would snatch the kindjal from her and plunge it into her chest—just as she had done with the necklace’s link—but when she realized he was staring into her eyes she knew that he didn’t yet understand what had woken him.
The kindjal had plunged down into the mattress so that by and large it was hidden. She shot forward, onto his chest, covering the knife with her belly as she kissed him passionately. She slid the knife up and underneath her now-vacant pillow as she climbed higher, allowing her breasts to brush against his arm and then his naked chest.
He grimaced in pain and pulled away, looking at her, not unkindly, but certainly not with the fervor of their one and only time between the sheets. He closed his eyes tightly and shook them open. “How long have I been asleep?”
She smiled the smile of the love-struck while searching delicately but with a growing sense of urgency for Nikandr’s stone, which had slipped away in her attempts to divert Grigory’s