The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [56]
Soroush held his hand out but stopped short of touching her. She would still be much too hot. “Come.”
She looked at him, suddenly angry over being disturbed.
“Come,” he said, more forcefully this time.
She stepped up from the crevice, but when she looked toward the trees again, the boy was gone.
CHAPTER 15
The rest of Atiana’s day proved to be just as tense as the morning—from luncheon, where they met the delegation from Khazabyirsk, all the way through to the greeting ceremony on the palotza’s eyrie.
Father came for her as the sun was peeking through tall, white clouds. Though he waved away any attempts at complimenting him, he looked grand in his tooled leather boots, his sheepskin cherkesska and ermine kolpak. Katerina came minutes later, and together they led Atiana and Mileva and Ishkyna from the palotza to the eyrie by way of a cobbled path. The eyrie was one of the oldest among all the islands, and it was one of the most breathtaking. It stood one thousand feet above the seashore. Each of its four perches were made of sculpted stone; the curved supports beneath them were filled with the intricate traceries of the Landless artisans. Two of the perches were occupied by Khalakovo’s royal yachts, but the other two remained clear, waiting for the incoming ships.
Three dozen royalty, including the contingent from Khazabyirsk, stood on the landing in their best finery, waiting for the first ship to dock. It was good to see that Khalakovo was taking their recent threat of the Maharraht seriously. By all accounts they hadn’t been seen again on the island, but still there were more streltsi than usual for the landing of council: both patrolling the curtain wall and standing at attention.
Nikandr, dressed in a fine gold kaftan and polished leather boots, stood behind his father. Zhabyn and Katerina bowed to Iaros, who, after waiting for a healthy pause, stepped aside, allowing Nikandr to take Atiana’s gloved hand in his.
He stepped in and kissed both cheeks with an iciness that surprised her.
She was still angry with him, yet she found herself wishing he would take her hand, to warm one small part of her on this cold spring day. She tried to forget Mileva’s words, but as she stood there, her hand aching from neglect, she couldn’t help but think of Rehada, his lover. Did he hold her hand? What had he told her about the wedding? Had they gossiped about her while lying in each other’s arms? Had she laughed when Nikandr told her what a poor wife Atiana would be?
Her hands, of their own volition, clasped themselves before her in a pose that was much like her sisters’. Mileva seemed to notice, but she returned her gaze to the retinue of Duke Rhavanki, who were just now stepping down the gangplank of his impressive yacht.
As ships came and left, Atiana had a growing awareness of being watched. Ishkyna, standing between her father and Mileva, was watching her. No one else might have noticed it, but Atiana knew Ishkyna better than anyone—even Mileva—and there was jealousy in her eyes. Ishkyna was jealous of her. It was an occurrence so rare that Atiana wondered if she were imagining it, but as the last of the ships approached, the feeling intensified, and she knew she must be right.
A willful Ishkyna was never a good thing, Atiana thought to herself, especially when you were the object of her attentions. She decided she would have to watch her sister carefully these next few days.
The Grand Duke’s ship was the last to arrive. The thing was absolutely massive for a yacht. It could practically double as a cargo ship; given the dire straits the islands had been in of late, perhaps that was the plan. Or it may have been the Grand Duke’s pride that had forced him into such an extravagant decision.
The Grand Duke himself, Stasa Olegov Bolgravya, a man who had seen seventy winters, stood at the bow wearing a heavy fur coat and a tall black hat. He had not come to the last council. He had made his excuses and had sent his first son, Konstantin, in his place. No one had thought much