The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [50]
“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. Once Nikandr has ridden you like the surf, you’ll open up to the ways Khalakovo.”
“Shkyna, that’s the second time you’ve spoken of my husband—”
“Future husband.”
“You never did so with Mileva’s.”
“Viktor is twenty years her senior. He’s hardly worth the effort.”
“Nevertheless, if you speak of Nikandr again, it will be civilly or I’ll toss you over a cliff myself.”
“So territorial... You’d think she would wait to see what lies below before—”
Atiana turned—batting away her handmaid’s attempts at keeping her in place—and stormed over to the bed. She pointed her finger at Ishkyna’s face, her blood boiling at the smug look that greeted her. “I gave you warning.”
“And as it’s the day before your wedding, I let it pass unnoticed.”
Atiana didn’t know what happened. She had fought with her sisters before—countless times—but never had she been so angry as to raise her fist with the intention of striking. Yet before she realized it she had slapped Ishkyna across the face.
Ishkyna’s head snapped to the side. She held one hand tightly to her cheek. She took breath for long, tense moments, and then lowered her hand. When she turned back, Atiana could see a red mark already beginning to swell along her cheek. Her face was calm, which made Atiana shiver—a calm Ishkyna was nothing if not trouble.
Mileva took Atiana around the shoulders. “Enough.” She guided Atiana back toward the handmaids. “We haven’t traveled together in some time. It’s merely a symptom of being cooped up with one another again. Do you remember how viciously we used to fight?”
“The only reason we fought,” Atiana said, “was because the two of you are so insufferable.”
Mileva laughed, looking to Ishkyna, who merely glowered.
“Come, Shkyna,” Mileva said. “It was the very reaction you were trying to provoke.”
“A slap across my face as the dukes are set to arrive? Da. Exactly what I was hoping for.”
Mileva turned away, giving Ishkyna time to cool. “Have you looked into his woman, this Rehada?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve had more than a little to attend to.”
Mileva scoffed. “It’s not something you should ignore, Tiana. A week before our wedding, I had Viktor’s women quaking in their boots at the mere mention of my name. I allow him to see one, if only to keep his interests at a distance, but she’s clean. You know nothing about Nikandr’s.”
“Other than she’s a Motherless whore,” Ishkyna said.
The words were meant to rile, but they were exactly what Atiana had been struggling with ever since hearing the rumor. She had been ready—after an appropriate delay—to accept a courtesan of Landed blood. But an Aramahn? Why? What could he see in her?
She’d decided on the voyage to Khalakovo that she would learn more, but there simply hadn’t been time.
“If you wish,” Mileva said, “I’ll look into it myself. There’s little else to occupy my time.”
Atiana shook her head. “I’ll deal with her in time.”
“Well,” Ishkyna said, “there’s a bright side to everything, is there not?
Perhaps our dear Atiana won’t have to worry about Nikandr’s wandering attention for long.”
Atiana jerked her head to look at Ishkyna in the mirror. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Ishkyna held Atiana’s gaze, her jaw set, her eyes smoldering. And then Atiana remembered. Last night. Someone had spoken to Nikandr—pity, she’d said—and then a door had softly closed. It had been Ishkyna.
As sure as winter was cold, Atiana knew she’d returned after leaving. She’d overheard their conversation.
She knew about Nikandr’s affliction.
The door swung open, startling Atiana. Victania flicked her fingers at Atiana as if summoning a servant girl, and then she left. After one last meaningful glance at Ishkyna, Atiana followed.
Yvanna was there as well, and she fell into step with Atiana as Victania led the way down the tall hallways of Palotza Radiskoye. Their collective footsteps echoed like a handful of stones dropped down a deep, dark well. They left the palotza