The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [221]
She stared up at the sky. The swiftly moving clouds were continuing to break. Bits of blue could be seen, and the sun, lowering to the west, shone down upon her for the first time that day.
Nikandr kneeled over her. He was speaking but she couldn’t tell what he was saying. Nasim was there as well. His face was not full of sorrow, as she had expected, but instead hope. She knew somewhere within herself that he was being brave for her—just as Malekh had been those many weeks ago. He had stood upon the gallows and smiled upon her. How could she not do the same for Nasim?
She smiled as her body grew heavy. She reached up and brushed Nasim’s cheek. “Go well,” she tried to say, but the sounds were so soft she could barely hear them.
She turned to Nikandr, who looked down on her not with a smile but with an expression of deep regret.
“Do not be sad, Nischka,” she whispered. “We will meet again.”
“You don’t know that,” he said.
She managed to nod despite the pain that came with it. “We will.”
And then, she could do no more than look upon the sky.
She was ready.
At last, the world, as it had before, as it would again, folded her into its sweet embrace.
CHAPTER 67
“Come.”
Nikandr heard the words, but he couldn’t manage to turn away. Rehada stared unmoving at the sky. Her face had gone slack and she looked nothing like the woman he had—however imperfectly—come to know these past several years. It was painful to see her like this, but he could no more turn his gaze away than he could turn back the sands of time.
“Come,” Ashan said, more forcefully. “There is another to attend to.”
Finally, Nikandr complied, but before they could move from where they stood, the gates were pushed open and a dozen Aramahn men and women stepped inside. They took in the scene around them, looking to Nikandr like a tribunal ready to mete both judgment and punishment.
“There is a woman,” Nikandr began.
“She has been found.” It was Fahroz. But she looked so different. It felt as if he’d been gone from Khalakovo for years.
She pointed toward the far side of the courtyard. Three score of Aramahn filed into the keep and began picking up the fallen Maharraht.
Nikandr shook his head. “Leave them. The Duke, my father—”
“Your father has no say in this.” The tone of her voice was emotionless, but her eyes were bright with anger. “These are our own, and will be treated as such.” She held out her hand, and Nikandr realized that she was motioning for Nasim.
Nasim looked up at Nikandr, his eyes wide.
Ashan stepped forward. “Do not do this, daughter of Lilliah. The boy has been through much.”
“You have never known when you were wasting words, son of Ahrumea, but I tell you that you are doing so now. The boy comes with us.”
Several qiram were there, their circlets aflame with the hezhan that were bonded to them. They were prepared to resist, if that was what it came to, but none of them appeared ready to welcome it.
Ashan touched Nasim’s shoulders. “All will be well, Nasim. You must go with them.”
“I will not.”
Tension laced Nasim’s words. Nikandr knew what he could do—the evidence lay all around them—but something told him that the time had passed. Fahroz may have known this, but more likely she didn’t care. The Aramahn had risked much and were willing to risk more to ensure that Nasim was taken into proper care.
Ashan kneeled next to Nasim until they were face to face. “You will be at home with them. And there is little left that I can teach you.”
A tear leaked from Nasim’s eye and traveled down his cheek. It was followed quickly by another. “Do not lie, Ashan. Not to me.”
Ashan smiled. “Lying is a thing with which I have become all too familiar. Better for us to be parted if only for that.” Nasim opened his mouth to speak, but Ashan talked over him. “We will see each other again—do not fear—but for now, you must go with Fahroz.”
Nasim swallowed several times, and then turned to Nikandr. “We are one, you and I.”
Nikandr knew this to be true. He could feel