The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [64]
As she recovered herself, Grigory opened his mouth to speak, but Father stomped his foot down hard, forcing him to silence.
“An investigation will be conducted, and as we are on ... Khalakovan ground, my son Nikandr ... will undertake it.”
The room began to murmur.
“We will share with you our findings ... but until such time as it is complete ... you will remain welcome guests ... of Radiskoye.”
Zhabyn Vostroma bowed his head. “Forgive me, Matra, but have all the Matri agreed to this?”
Nikandr saw his mother smile, and it was wicked. “They have, Vostroma.”
Grigory pulled Ivan from the crowd and placed the young man before him. “Forty of our countrymen are dead!” Grigory’s face went beet red. “Someone must pay!”
“And they will,” Iaros said. “Khalakovo will find those responsible.”
“Then start with your son! He left two of my men to die on the rocks below like a baseless thief!”
Father glanced at Nikandr, but it was Mother who spoke. “My son has answered your questions. There was a tear in the aether ... made, perhaps, when the suurahezhan returned to the world beyond.”
“I felt nothing,” Grigory said.
Saphia laughed, and her face pulled back into a rictus of a smile. “Tell me, Grigory, when was the last time you spent time in your Matra’s chamber?”
Grigory’s face went red. “I don’t have to touch the aether to know a lie when I hear it.”
“Speak to your Matra. Discuss with her what happened. Until then, speak no more of my son.”
Grigory opened his mouth to reply, but Father spoke over him.
“And Khalakovo will find who is responsible, good Prince. Have no fear of that.”
The entire room went silent. Grigory stared at Father for a long time, clearly enraged at being treated like a pup.
“It had better be soon.” And with that Grigory marched from the room. Even with all his confidence it was strange watching him leave. Bolgravya had always had the largest retinue at Council. It felt like a herd of men should be leaving with him, but besides Grigory there was only the one sorry remainder of their strength: young cousin Ivan.
Nikandr expected the tension in the room to drop, but strangely, it intensified.
Duke Heodor of Lhudansk, a squat man with a piercing gaze, cleared his throat. “If there’s no one who will say it, then I will. We need to consider who will fill the seat of Grand Duke.”
Father gave no outward sign of emotion at Heodor’s words. He, as the eldest reigning duke, should fill the imperial seat, but with Stasa’s blood staining their house, the vote would be in question.
Duke Andreyo of Rhavanki shook his fist angrily. “The Grand Duke is dead not an hour, and you’re calling for his replacement?”
“There is no sense ignoring what needs to be done,” Heodor said.
Yegor pointed to the dais. “You might as well stand behind Khalakovo now, Lhudansk.”
“Nyet, Heodor is right,” Zhabyn said. “The Grand Duke is dead.” He turned to Iaros, looking up at him on the dais as if he were a son who had disappointed him. “But the cause is in doubt. A vote cannot be held until the matter is settled.”
Several of the dukes nodded, and Father nodded along with them. Nikandr knew his father well enough to know he would gladly take the mantle of Grand Duke, but he was also wise enough to realize that others would not be pushed. A week would pass, perhaps more, and they would find out what happened in the eyrie. Then, a vote would be held and honored.
“We will wait,” Iaros said. “There is much to be done in any case, not the least of which is my son’s wedding day.”
There were a few somber nods among the crowd, but most eyes turned to Zhabyn, whose rigid stance had not changed. “It would be best, I think, if the wedding were postponed as well.”
Iaros eyed Zhabyn for long, uncomfortable moments, but it was Saphia that Nikandr watched closely. This was a grave insult indeed. Saphia had been the one to finally convince Zhabyn’s wife, Radia, that the marriage would be in the best interests of