The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [49]
Then, alone once more, she allowed herself to cry.
Atiana stood before a tall mirror and took a deep breath while her handmaid pulled mercilessly at her corset strings. Mileva stood next to her in the same state of dress while Ishkyna sat on the bed, cross-legged, wearing only her shift.
Her future sister, Victania, stood nearby, watching with a critical eye. It was early in the morning, and the Grand Duke was not set to arrive until after noon, and still Victania’s powdered wig and white makeup were impeccable. One would think that the wasting would make her appear weak, but in fact it was just the opposite; though she was frail physically, she had the air of a woman who had taken the disease by the throat, refusing to grant it an inch. It was something Atiana might admire if Victania didn’t treat her as if she were a symptom of the wasting.
Victania stepped between Atiana and the mirror, looking more closely at her hair. She reached out, checking the length at her ears, and it was all Atiana could do not to pull away.
Victania’s mouth pursed. “You won’t be infected,” she said as she continued to draw Atiana’s hair along the side of her cheeks.
“I wasn’t thinking that I would.”
Victania’s sharp eyes focused on hers. “Nyet?”
Atiana remained silent, a surge of jealousy rising up within her. She could never hope to compete with Victania for Nikandr’s love.
Victania moved behind her and checked the back. “I’ll send for the barber,” she said, dropping Atiana’s hair as if it had insulted her.
The door to the room opened, and Yvanna Khalakovo, Ranos’s wife, stepped inside, dressed as impeccably as her sister.
“Khazabyirsk has arrived,” she said to Victania, “and they’re flying the wounded flag.”
Victania looked sternly between the girls and Yvanna. “They won’t be ready in time.”
Yvanna nodded. “The Duke will understand, of course.”
“Da, but I doubt that Mother will.” Victania stiffened her jaw and released a pent-up breath. “Be ready, girls, by the time we return.” And with that she and Yvanna were gone.
Ishkyna rolled her eyes. “Be ready, girls.”
“Mind your manners,” Atiana said.
Ishkyna stared at her impassively. “As if the Dame of Khalakovo would deign to listen at doors.”
Mileva smiled. “You would think she’s getting married.”
“She probably wishes she were,” Ishkyna said as she fell back on the bed. “She loves no one more than her precious Nischka.”
“Shkyna!” Atiana said, though the thoughts echoed her own. “In a day she’ll be my sister.”
As her corset strings were cinched even tighter, Atiana tried to smooth the goose bumps on her arms. The wind was howling outside, which only served to remind her of how long she would have to wait as the flotilla of royalty arrived. The royal eyrie had been cleared for the event, but it would still take hours for all seven ships to land and for the royalty to disembark.
The handmaids, finished with the corsets, helped Atiana and Mileva to step into their cream-colored dresses. They were padded and bulky and would no doubt ruin their figures, but Atiana didn’t care as long as they provided even one dram of warmth.
Ishkyna pulled her dress onto the bed and began smoothing away the wrinkles. “What do you think he’ll be like?”
Mileva smiled, glancing at Atiana from the corner of her eye. “He’ll be soft.”
“Soft?” Ishkyna laughed. “Have you so little faith in your sister?”
Atiana felt her face warm.
Ishkyna’s eyes went mischievous. “Nyet. He’ll be hard as oak, ready to welcome our dear sister to his family properly.”
Atiana frowned, little pleased with Ishkyna’s tone, even less pleased by the look in her eyes, the one that said she knew something her sisters didn’t. “You’d do well to worry about your own husband.”
“Oh! You see how she is, Mileva? She’s already gazing at us over the shoulders of Khalakovos.”
“I am not.”
“Well, you soon will be, Tiana. In no time at all Victania will have you wrapped around her wretched little pinky and you’ll be singing for her just like all the Khalakovo women.”
Atiana stood straighter, to the consternation of her