The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [37]
Zhabyn shook his head, drops of water falling from his beard. “That matters little. I care more that the Maharraht have been found on Khalakovan shores. What do you think they were after?”
“The obvious answer would be the ship, to destroy it, or if they were very lucky to take it from us on its maiden voyage.”
“And the answers that lie below the surface?”
“With Council upon us, one could assume that they hoped to catch nobility on the ship. But if it were that simple, why not wait until all the dukes had arrived? Why tip their hand?”
“Go on.”
“There’s Borund and myself... Perhaps it was one of us in particular.”
Zhabyn nodded, as if he’d already been thinking along these lines. “Borund has told me that the hezhan seemed to hone in on you as soon as it reached the ship.”
Nikandr hesitated, for he wasn’t sure he wished to share this information, but the urge to reconcile with Zhabyn pushed him onward. “That same moment, just before it attacked, my soulstone glowed brighter.”
Zhabyn stared at Nikandr’s chest, though his stone was back in his rooms. “And what does the Matra have to say about that?”
“She is as confused as we are.”
“That I doubt, my young Prince.” He frowned, returning his attention to the sea. “Why? Why attack a prince?”
“Perhaps it was meant to be a signal of their power, to murder a prince on the very doorstep of Radiskoye. Yet I cannot shake the feeling that they didn’t know about the ship, that they were interrupted in their true purpose.”
“To summon a hezhan?”
Nikandr shrugged as the light wind died. The warmth of the sun could be felt on his back and shoulders. “Perhaps, though I wonder if they were caught off guard there as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have no real reason to think this, but it may have been an experiment of sorts. The spirit they summoned may have been more than they bargained for.”
“Perhaps, but the question still remains... Why?”
“I wish I knew, Your Grace.”
Zhabyn looked over at him and smiled. It seemed to Nikandr that there was respect in his eyes, and gratitude. “Well, I’m sure your father’s men will keep us safe. I only wanted to thank you for what you did. It was bold thought and actions that saw my son safely home. I fear he would not be here today”—he waved one hand, indicating where Nikandr and Borund had slid along the snow—“able to take baths, were it not for you.”
Nikandr bowed his head, remembering how angry Borund had seemed about the scene by the harbor and the attack by the Maharraht. He realized, then, that Borund had perhaps felt inadequate himself. He had always taken to bullying his way through problems; perhaps he had felt upstaged by Nikandr.
“Atiana.” Zhabyn finally turned to face Nikandr. “My daughter.”
“Your Grace?”
“When my wife first told me of the arrangement she had made with your mother, I was disappointed.”
With the warmth long since having left and the cold beginning to invade, Nikandr began to shiver. “As you say, Your Grace.”
Zhabyn forced a smile and slapped Nikandr on the shoulder. “I was wrong, young Prince, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Anyone who protects my son like this will surely do so for his wife.”
Nikandr smiled.
“Is it not so?”
“Of course I would, Your Grace. Of course.” He said the words, hoping he might someday think more of her than simply a woman he needed to protect.
Zhabyn seemed to notice, for his smile faded and he stared at Nikandr with a serious glint in his eye. “That is good.” He slapped him on the shoulder one more time.
Then he did something most strange. He glanced over at the other men, who were still rolling around in the snow, and Nikandr swore it was Borund he was spying. He leaned in toward Nikandr and said, “I can understand your reluctance, you know.”
“Your Grace?”
Zhabyn smiled, the most genuine smile Nikandr could ever remember him wearing. “Don’t tell my son, but I was horrified when my mother told me of my marriage to Radia.”
“Surely you’re only being kind.”
“Nyet, I am not. I nearly refused, though I knew in the end it would be