The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [223]
“I would do this family a greater service by flying a ship.”
“As you’ve made perfectly clear, but we can take no chances, not with Father being taken to Vostroma, not with Borund sitting on the throne of Radiskoye.”
Nikandr’s face burned as their ponies climbed up a curving stone bridge and down the other side. “Borund may find his seat difficult to keep.”
Ranos shook his head. “I will not discuss this again. Borund will be our liege for the next two years, and if anything happens to him—be it death from the plague or a fall from a height—Father’s life will be forfeit.”
Nikandr could still remember how the blood had drained from his face when he had learned what had happened. The battle for the eyrie had gone well, but Mother was horribly weakened. She had been the reason they could overpower the other Matri in the first place, but she had been left permanently crippled by her time with Nasim. With their communications restored, Zhabyn had been able to make better use of his superior numbers.
In little time they turned the tide, and Father had been caught off guard. His ship had been captured as well as that of Yevgeny Mirkotsk. Mirkotsk was offered his rightful place in the Grand Duchy if only Iaros would step down and allow Borund to take his place. It would be an arrangement that would last two years, during which time Iaros would become thrall to Vostroma. Mother would be forced to step down as well, though Nikandr knew that this was a much worse punishment than the one that awaited Father. Mother had been too close to the aether for too long to be separated from it now. She would die—Nikandr knew this—but there was no persuading Vostroma to allow anything different. They would kill her before they allowed her to take the dark again.
If there were no uprisings and if Khalakovo produced as they should, further sanctions would not be levied and Father’s title would be restored to him at the end of the two years.
A meeting had been held that very night in Radiskoye and Zhabyn had been selected as Grand Duke. He had accepted the newly made crown on Father’s throne.
Though his presence had been requested by Zhabyn himself, Father had not attended. He had elected to stay among the rooms on the lower levels that had such a short time ago been home to Nasim and Ashan, and later Atiana.
And now he was boarding a ship, ready to sail for Palotza Galostina.
Nikandr and Ranos continued their ride through the outskirts of Volgorod and up the slope toward the island’s central ridge. The wind was clearer here, unobstructed, and it cut through their heavy cherkesskas mercilessly, but neither of them spurred their ponies to move any faster. They were men of the Grand Duchy. The wind was a part of their bones.
They finally reached the ridge, at which point both of them stopped.
To the east stood Verodnaya. A third of the way down from the snowy peak was Radiskoye, a crystalline jewel among the hard black rock of the mountain. They could not see the palotza’s eyrie from this vantage, but they didn’t need to. The ship they were here to watch had already drifted upward from its perch and was now cutting westward. It was Vostroma’s largest ship. All sixteen of its masts took on sail, but Nikandr saw, even from this distance, the signs of battle upon the hull and the hastily repaired canvas. His father lay on board that ship, a prisoner to the man that had betrayed him.
It continued west, and though it was too distant for Nikandr to identify any individuals standing on the deck, there was, near the stern, someone holding a red bolt of cloth. It fluttered in the wind, and then it was released. It floated lazily behind the ship, making its way toward solid ground.
“And what pray tell is that?” Ranos asked.
“That, dear brother, is none of your business.”
Ranos studied Nikandr for a time. They had discussed Atiana many times over the past week, Ranos each time advising him to forget about her, but he knew as well as Nikandr that the cloth had been held by Atiana, that it had been sent as a sign of her love, and