The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [86]
The light of the nearby fire was low, yet she was forced to clench her eyes in order to bear it. It took Atiana long moments—her eyes tearing and blinking involuntarily—until she realized Victania was sitting on a chair close to the fireplace. She was watching Atiana, silent, her face devoid of emotion.
And then the past came rushing back. The Matra’s summons. Her request. Atiana’s eventual capitulation.
Already her time in the dark was fading, a dream that only moment ago had been reality. As she had been taught, she began reliving the moments backwards, so that one link in the chain would reveal the next, and the next. It worked to a degree, but she was unable to remember everything. There was something crucial missing. Something terribly disturbing.
Her eyes began to acclimate.
“Do you require help?” Victania asked, her voice echoing against the harsh stone walls.
It was insulting, what Victania had just done. She knew as well as any that those who had just surfaced from the dark required help. Her question was an attempt to make Atiana feel small.
Atiana shook her head while struggling to gain her feet. The water dripped noisily from her arms and hair and breasts as she steadied herself on the basin’s stone walls. Her legs could hardly support her weight and her arms were little better. She stepped out onto the granite floor, and her knee buckled. She fell to the floor, her head crashing hard against the stone.
Victania was at her side in a moment, helping her to her feet. As Atiana steadied herself, Victania held out a handtowel, a brief look of regret on her face. When Atiana did not accept it, she motioned with it toward Atiana’s head. “You’re bleeding.”
Atiana took it, wincing as she pressed it against the lump that was already forming. Victania, using a large white cloth, scrubbed the goat’s fat economically from Atiana’s naked frame. Then she helped Atiana into a thick woolen robe.
It was warm—almost too warm after the bottomless cold of the water. Atiana’s skin began to prickle, but she let it, for it was a welcome tether to reality.
Victania motioned to the Matra’s padded chair, then made her way to the hearth, where a kettle hung from an iron hook. Using a thick woolen mitt, she poured steaming tea into the lone cup that waited on a wooden table. She raised one eyebrow when she realized Atiana hadn’t moved to take the offered seat. “She gave her permission if that’s what you’re worried about.”
It felt presumptuous to even consider taking Saphia’s chair, but she didn’t have it in her to do battle in her weakened state, so she sat and accepted the tea that Victania offered her.
Victania resumed her seat. She sat rigidly upright, as if it pained her to lean back in the chair. Atiana wondered if there were any position that would offer her comfort. She looked haunted from the wasting. Saphia might seem frail, but there was a silent strength to her, while Victania looked as if she were being eaten from the inside, as if her inner structure was now hollow and the next thing to go would be her thin and crumbling shell. One small bout with a cold, Atiana thought, and she would not be long for this world. She would have felt sorry if Victania didn’t lord herself over Atiana at every opportunity.
“You were gone quite a long time,” Victania said.
Atiana sipped from the sweet tea. The warmth of the liquid trailed down into her gut. It was too much, too soon, and her stomach rebelled. “How long?” She asked, setting the cup down.
“You’ve been under for well over a day.”
Atiana shook her head. It didn’t seem possible. “More than a day?”
“Da. A passable length of time.” Was there a bit of envy in her voice? “What did you find?”
Atiana opened her mouth to speak, but she found that she could remember nothing. Her memories had already been muddled the moment she woke, but the shock of finding Victania here,