The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [82]
When Atiana had last spoken to the Matra, they had discussed her abilities in the dark and the need for someone to take up the slack where Yvanna could not. Surely she didn’t mean for Atiana to begin now. It must be something the Matra wanted kept secret, something that needed to be told directly.
Her dread increased the lower they went, and by the time they crossed the colonnade near the base of the towering black spire, her heart was pounding in her chest, and it was all she could do not to turn and run.
Finally, after reaching the antechamber at the bottom of the interminable stairwell, Isaak knocked thrice upon the imposing iron doors and led Atiana into the drowning chamber.
If the stairwell was chilly, the chamber was positively frigid. It began seeping through Atiana’s clothes the moment she stepped in. As bitter as the memories were, she remembered her training—while her whole being wanted to tighten, she needed instead to relax.
Saphia sat in the stout chair near the fire—though not too near. A servant woman—an aging, gray matron—fussed around the Matra, fixing the blanket just so while the rook alighted from Isaak’s shoulder and flew to the golden perch standing behind the Matra.
This was another subtle indicator of Saphia’s prowess with the aether. No other Matra could assume the form of an animal while outside of the drowning basin. Saphia, if reports were to be believed, could do so for hours after leaving it, and it made Atiana wonder what other powers she might have that no one knew about.
Suddenly the rook began cawing and beating its wings furiously, an indicator that Saphia had returned to herself.
Atiana kneeled and bowed her head. “How may I serve, Matra?”
The Matra sipped from a thick, earthenware mug and worked her mouth before speaking. “Rise, child. What I need is trifling, though you may not think it so easy to give.”
Atiana stood, her head still bowed. “What I have is yours.”
A smile spread across Saphia’s skeletal face as she raised the mug to her lips and sipped noisily. “We shall see soon enough.” Her hands shook, as did her head when not in direct contact with the mug, but her eyes were bright and spry. “Victania is unavailable, and Yvanna’s inability has grown worse since our last talk. I need rest, child. I have not slept properly in weeks, and it is taking its toll. Take the dark. Watch over our island for a time, and that will be enough.”
“Forgive me, Matra, but my father has said the marriage is in doubt.”
“You’re near enough to a Khalakovo, child.”
“But Father—”
“You think the men will halt a wedding their Matri have arranged? Not likely. Not while your mother and I live. They may scratch and they may claw, but you will be married. Be sure of that. Besides, your inclusion in this family has nothing to do with it. A Matra can choose who she will. Is it not so?”
“It is so, but shouldn’t Victania—”
“I told you she is unavailable.” Atiana thought Saphia would tell her to simply suck in her gut and prepare herself, but she did not. She stared at Atiana while the fire lit one side of her face in a ruddy glow. “You are afraid.”
It was not a question.
“I will do it, Matra, if it will give you rest.”
Saphia continued to stare, the hollows of her eyes like black pits. “I lied to you the other day,”she said,“or at least I didn’t share with you the whole truth. The Matri always discuss those that will be allowed to take the dark. It was decided years ago that you and your sisters were too much of a risk to be allowed to ride the currents.”
Atiana tried not to let her surprise show. “And what, may I ask, changed your minds?”
“I should think the answer was obvious.”
And of course, it was. The dark, for whatever reason, was becoming progressively harder to control. Though the aether flowed over the seas, over the entire world, in chaotic currents, the islands grounded it, creating natural channels through which the aether could flow. It was still too wild to be used