The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [190]
From around his neck Grigory pulled the chain that had once held Nikandr’s soulstone. He held it out for her to see, waiting for her to respond.
“Whatever is that?” she asked, holding the book upright as if she were ready to return to it the moment Grigory proved himself dull.
Grigory stepped forward and stood over her. “Why would you give him his stone?”
She knew it was unwise, she knew Grigory’s penchant for lashing out, but she couldn’t help but allow a broad smile to spread across her face. “What stone?”
He snatched the book from her grip and backhanded her before she had a chance to react. The sound—wood striking stone—played loudly in her ears as pain blossomed across the left side of her face. Grigory, shaking his hand as if it had been unexpectedly painful, looked for a moment as if he regretted what he had done, but then his eyes hardened. “Why would you betray all of us for him, a man who’s done nothing but work to undermine your father since the moment he landed?”
She could not speak. He was still standing over her, his breath coming rapidly, his face red and the pulse of his neck beating strongly. The look in his eye made it clear that he would simply strike her again no matter what she said.
When he did raise his hand, she cowered. “I owed him, Grigory. I owed him. That is why I gave him the stone.”
“What could you owe him?”
“I owed him his life, as his father had granted me mine.”
“Iaros nearly slew you in cold blood!”
“Dozens of his men had died, Grigory. That is hardly cold blood.”
“But the daughter of a duke...”
“Is just as legitimate a target as a son. Had the same thing happened in Galostina, I would not have thought twice about putting a gun to Victania’s pretty little head—and I tell you this, I would have pulled the trigger.”
Grigory’s face was still red, his forehead still pinched with emotion, but he was watching her with a calculating eye now. “You would have me believe that you gave Nikandr his stone in repayment for Iaros choosing to spare your life.”
“I don’t care what you believe—”
He slapped her again before she could say more. She held her cheek, unable to see the room clearly now through the tears forming in her eyes. When she had once again summoned the courage to look up, his face was not filled with rage, as she had thought it would be. Rather, he appeared proud, perhaps vindicated.
“Bolgravya is too good for a woman like you.” He turned and walked to the door. He opened it and nodded to someone outside her field of vision. A moment later a tapping came against the polished wooden floor. An old rook limped into the room. She recognized it immediately as Brunhald, the oldest of Bolgravya’s rooks and the one that Alesya preferred above all others—ancestors only knew why. One of its legs ended in a stump instead of a clawed foot, and it was this leg that tapped as it walked.
Borund had said that all of the rooks had been chased away. She wondered if he had known then about Brunhald. Most likely not. Most likely Alesya had told Grigory to keep this secret to himself. All the better to keep her precious child safe, to enact her plans as she saw fit—regardless of whatever agreement the men had made amongst themselves. It was with this realization that Atiana understood, for the first time, the position in which Alesya had found herself when her husband the Grand Duke had been killed. She was a thousand leagues from her son, the only voice of her family now that Stasa was gone. She would feel rudderless, adrift on the winds that had so quickly risen with the death of her husband. It was no surprise, then, that she would take steps to protect not only her son—the rightful heir of their Duchy—but also to position their interests for maximum gain, or, more accurately, minimum loss, with the mantle of Grand Duke sure to pass to one of the other duchies.
Brunhald opened her crooked beak and released a long, ragged caw. “Do not fret, child. My son has spoken with rashness. With haste. There may yet be room for a union.”
“I fear,” Atiana said, still holding