The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [52]
Despite all this, there was a regal quality in the way she held her head, the way her steely gaze evaluated Atiana. It gave proof to the supreme effort of will that any Matra needed, much less Saphia, the woman who had tamed the aether the longest in memory.
She looked not so different from Victania, both in form and bearing. The difference was that where Victania demanded respect, Saphia knew it would be given to her.
A golden perch stood behind the Matra’s chair, and a tall rook rested upon it. Rumor had it that so strong was Saphia’s connection to the aether that she could assume a rook for some time after leaving it, but the rook seemed inattentive, uninhabited.
“Touch stones.” Victania’s expression and words were filled with impatience.
Atiana hurriedly pulled at the chain around her neck to retrieve her soulstone. She touched this to Saphia’s circlet, and both stones brightened briefly. She couldn’t help but think of when she’d touched stones with Nikandr, but unlike then, Atiana could feel a strong connection with Saphia, stronger than the one with her own mother hundreds of leagues away.
“Your voyage has delivered you healthy and whole.” Saphia’s voice was a horrible croak.
“It has, Matra, thank you.”
Saphia nodded, a satisfied expression on her face. “It will be good to have another woman in Radiskoye. Too often it teems with men.”
“As you say, Your Grace.”
“Do you know why I’ve brought you here?”
“I assumed it was to meet in the flesh.”
“There is that,” Saphia allowed. “Can you think of nothing else?”
“Well, there is the pending marriage...”
Saphia barked out a short laugh, an act that brought on a coughing fit. Victania supported her mother until she had regained herself. “Da, there is that as well.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing else I can think of, Matra.”
Saphia’s gaze shifted to Yvanna momentarily. “The last several months have made us aware of a small yet growing problem. One of my good daughters is losing the ability to touch the aether.”
Yvanna, staring at the floor and holding one hand tightly in the other, looked embarrassed. Victania, however, was staring at Atiana, daring her to make mention of it.
“Like the other Matri, I have found the currents more and more difficult to tame, but I never thought the ability could be lost outright.”
“And now you think it can?” Atiana asked.
“A year ago, Yvanna could have stayed under for hours. Now, she cannot stand it for more than a handful of minutes.”
Disturbing news, indeed. The aether was what connected the islands. It was what allowed them to ride the winds with their ships, but it also acted as their primary path of communication. Collectively, the Matri touched the aether to commune with one another, to trade information and to make important decisions. Each of the nine families had one who performed the duty primarily, but all had at least two others trained in harnessing the currents in case the Matra took ill or—ancestors protect them—died.
“Why does that concern me?” Atiana asked.
“Because, dear child, I chose you in part because of your strength in the dark.”
Atiana felt her face pale, and she prayed that in the dimness of the room no one had noticed.
“I have little ability,” she finally said.
“You do. You and your sisters. You just haven’t been allowed to use it.”
It was true that she hadn’t lain in those cold basins for years—beyond Mother, it was Aunt Katerina and Borund’s wife who held those duties, and Atiana was only too glad to cede it to them. To be rubbed in animal fat and submerged