The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [35]
“She died, you know.”
“I heard. May she return to us brighter than before.”
Despite herself, Rehada smiled. She had left her mother when she was fifteen, nearly twelve years ago now, but she had always remembered her mother as a bright soul. It had been and was still a source of pride—one of the few that remained—coming from a woman such as her.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Rehada said as a new group of Aramahn entered the celestia and began seating themselves.
“I wasn’t aware that you had asked one.” That smile again.
“Would you like me to come, to guide Nasim around the island?”
He shook his head. “Were Nasim a boy of normal qualities, I would gladly accept, but unfortunately he is not. He would not hear you, and you, despite all your best intentions, would not hear him. Better if you leave him to me.” He motioned with one hand toward the small crowd that had settled themselves. “If you care to, I’m giving a talk about my most recent travels.”
It was a tempting thing, but as she had already been reminded, she was not welcome in Iramanshah, and there were those that she wished to steer wide of as much as she could.
“Thank you for the offer, but I had better be heading home.” She bowed her head and turned to leave, but stopped as Ashan spoke.
“Rehada?”
She turned back to find him looking at her expectantly.
“Yeh?”
“I’m afraid you never answered my question.”
She tried to smile as he had. “I wasn’t aware that you had asked one.”
He chuckled and bowed his head in kind. “What would your mother think if she saw her daughter staying in one place for so long?”
Rehada felt her face flush. Did he know? Did he know about her ties?
He could not, she decided. He was only casting a net, something the wise fish could easily avoid. She masked her discomfort by putting on a pleasant face. “I think, Ashan, son of Ahrumea, that she would be jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“I know this island more intimately than she, more intimately than any of the islands she visited in her short life.”
He stared for a long time, but then he reared back and laughed. “Perhaps you’re right, Rehada. Perhaps she would be jealous.”
Rehada turned and left to the sounds of his chuckling, not at all sure that he meant the words he had spoken. Perhaps, she thought, he was not half so bad at lying as she had guessed.
CHAPTER 10
The heat within the bath house stifled the breath. The air smelled of the hempen incense that had been sprinkled over the hot stones in the middle of the room. Nikandr lay on a padded table, naked, as a servant massaged his back and shoulders. The other men of Khalakovo were not present; only those from Vostroma had come, in order to learn more about the young man who would soon become part of their family.
When the massage was finished, they prepared for a jaunt in the snow. He left with the dozen other men through a door that led to a wide terrace overlooking the mountains and sea to the east.
He paused as the others left. He had been having trouble eating, and his ribs were gaunt. They had already seen him in the bath house, but it was dim there, and steamy. Outside it would be bright, his condition more evident. But, he realized, there was nothing to draw attention to a problem like trying to cover it up—act confident, his father had always told him, and they will believe it is true—so he caught up to the others quickly, stepping into the snow as if nothing at all were the matter.
After so long in the heat, the cold was invigorating. One by one, the men tossed their towels onto the nearby racks and slid onto the fresh blanket of snow that covered the shallow steps down to the lower level of the terrace. They slid, turning like penguins as they went. Young Edis took a running leap onto it, twisting and hollering as he went. Zhabyn took a more stately approach, catching