The Straits of Galahesh: Book Two of The Lays of Anuskaya (19 page)

“It does look grand, doesn’t it?” Ishkyna said, gripping the shroud and leaning over the gunwales to look out toward the city.

“It looks dangerous,” Atiana said, her gaze drawn toward the shattered remains of the city’s southwestern section.

“Sometimes they go hand in hand.” Ishkyna swung back and struck Atiana with her hip. “What of your man, Bahett? You haven’t spoken of him.”

“There’s little enough to tell, Shkyna. I’m beholden.”

“You mean smitten. With another…”

Atiana considered the two pieces of the island, split from one another by the straits. It felt like her and Nikandr, close at times, but never quite able to touch.

“Come now,” Ishkyna continued. “You know how such things work. A man like Bahett will not begrudge you a man like Nikandr coming discreetly to the city for a time. You’ll be the ilkadin. You could go for days, even weeks at a time. Besides, after a few months, Bahett will hardly remember you.”

It was Atiana’s turn to hip her sister.

Ishkyna laughed—a genuine laugh, not the one she used when she was stalking men. It felt good to hear. “You know what I mean. As pretty as you are, the Kaymakam of Galahesh has duties, and many women who might divert him from it. If you wish to see Nikandr, accept the hand of Galahesh and everyone will look the other way. Besides, we must look beyond the halls of Baressa, mustn’t we? The Kamarisi stares ever harder beyond the shores of Galahesh.”

Atiana knew her sister’s words were false. She could not even allow herself the fantasy of believing in them. Even if she were willing to break her marriage vows to Bahett, Nikandr would not. He knew, as Atiana did, that it was too risky. Both of them could, and probably would, be put to death if they were found together.

Instead, she changed the subject. “Is that why you’ve hounded the envoy every moment you’ve had?”

Ishkyna stared at Atiana flatly. “He’s no joy between the sheets, Tiana, believe me. Were it not for his station, I would gladly have looked to his servants.” Her stare turned into a wry smile. “In fact, I already have. They’re much more … pliable.”

“I don’t know how you live with yourself.”

“Don’t wrinkle your nose at wine you haven’t tasted. You’ll know soon enough...”

The ship bucked in the wind, forcing Atiana to hold to the nearby shroud to steady herself.

“There’s a surge coming,” the kapitan said. “Best you wait in your cabins.”

“Best you tend to
your
business,” Ishkyna said, “and let us attend to ours.”

The kapitan left with a sour look on his face. The winds continued to kick, though, and Ishkyna soon went to her cabin at the rear of the ship. Atiana remained. She wanted to study the straits from the air as long as she could. She wanted to fix them in her mind for the next time she took the dark. The straits were dangerous, as she had known even before her recent visit with Saphia.

The winds eventually died down, but only after they’d turned and headed east for several leagues. The rest of the trip went uneventfully. They landed in Svoya and were met at the eyrie by a host of Bahett’s servants. They took her and Ishkyna and the rest of their retinue overland in a train of coaches. The land was dryer here than among the islands, and so the landscape seemed spare, almost desiccated.

When they finally reached Baressa, they received a completely different view from the ground. Galahesh was by and large a long plateau of land. Indeed, except for the Mount, the massive hill that housed Kasir Yalidoz and the wealthiest homes, the city was flat. It felt strange, as most of the cities in the Grand Duchy were built onto slopes or mountainsides. And the people. They choked the streets. The traffic became so bad near the Mount they came to a standstill. They were in a street that had market stalls on either side. Hundreds became thousands as people wearing all manner of bright clothing wandered along the street, considering the stalls of silk and wool and knives and fruit and wine and dates.

Ishkyna pulled the curtain aside and stared out at the crowd. Her eyes were wide and a soft smile was upon her lips, an expression Atiana hadn’t seen in years, not since their childhood. “Wouldn’t you love to live here?”

Atiana didn’t answer; she merely watched. It seemed as close to innocence as Ishkyna had come for as long as Atiana could remember. It felt nice to sit with her sister of old, the one who used to speak with her of her plans for her future, the days before she had been promised to Iyagor.

Ishkyna let the curtain drop. “
What
?”

“Nothing.”

She glanced back at the curtain and then sat back, feigning indifference. “I suppose you’ll grow tired of it before long.”

Some of the merchants began approaching the wagons, offering dates and fried sweetbread on brass platters until the driver and coachmen yelled at them in Yrstanlan to keep moving. That, however, only seemed to draw them like flies to sitting fruit.

The crack of a whip cut through the air, and for a moment the din of the market subsided. From the rear of the coach that was directly ahead of Atiana’s, one of the janissaries hopped down and yelled at an old merchant who lay on the ground writhing, his sweetmeats spilled over the street. The guard pulled his whip back and lashed the man once more. The whip cut a line through his shirt, and blood welled beneath the bright yellow cloth. Only after the man had crawled away and the crowd backed up did the coaches resume their slow trek.

At last, after what felt like endless hours through the city, they reached Kasir Yalidoz, a massive and expansive palace that dwarfed Galostina, at least in terms of the land it covered. Atiana was led by a dozen servants to her apartments, a set of three rooms that looked eastward toward Vostroma. The servants offered her hot mint tea and candied lemons. They asked if she wished to be bathed, offered to help her dress, gave her a list of small plates she might enjoy before the masquerade that evening. She knew it was an insult, but Atiana declined all of their offers, preferring the help of her handmaid, Yalessa, over this cadre of servants. Finally they left, and Yalessa helped her to change into her dress.

“Will you see Bahett tonight?” Yalessa asked.

“I imagine so, though this is more to put the Kamarisi at ease than anything else.”

After brushing Atiana’s blonde hair and pulling it up into a bun, Yalessa opened a case and began to powder her hair. In the mirror, Atiana could see her staring into the corner, her mind clearly wandering. “Bahett is beautiful, is he not?”

“I suppose he is.”

Yalessa snapped her head toward the mirror, meeting Atiana’s gaze. “I’m sorry, My Lady Princess.”

“Whatever for?”

“Nikandr...”

She didn’t like speaking of Nikandr, and Yalessa knew it. Why she would bring him up now—particularly when Atiana was away from home and unsure when she’d get to speak with Nikandr again—Atiana didn’t know, but it grated. “Don’t fear that I’ll be watching who enters your chambers,” Atiana said.

“It isn’t that.”

“Then what?”

“It isn’t my place to say.”

Atiana stared into the mirror, meeting Yalessa’s innocent face with a serious stare.

Yalessa broke her gaze, brushing the powder carefully from Atiana’s neck and shoulders. “It’s just that, the prince… You’ve waited for so long to be with Nikandr. Why throw that away?”

“I’m throwing nothing away. Bahett is a powerful man. He can do much for Vostroma. For the entire Grand Duchy. Why should I throw
that
away for a marriage that might never happen?”

Yalessa nodded. “Of course, My Lady. As you say, the Kaymakam is a fine man.”

Atiana stood, unwilling to let Yalessa bother her any longer, but as she did a soft knock came at the door.

“Send them away,” Atiana said. “There’s nothing else I need.”

In the mirror Atiana watched as Yalessa moved to the next room and opened the door.

From the hall outside came a soft voice, polite but firm. “The Lady of Aleke
ş
ir, Arvaneh üm Shalahihd, wishes to speak with the Princess of Vostroma.”

Atiana felt her face flush. She found herself looking about, for what, she didn’t know. But then she composed herself. She had known this time would come; she just hadn’t expected it so soon.

Yalessa bowed and stepped back, sparing a quick glance in Atiana’s direction.

Through the doorway strode a woman wearing an elaborate headdress of citrine stones that complemented her long, golden hair. Her richly embroidered takchita was a dress that had long since fallen out of favor in the Empire, but Arvaneh wore it not just with confidence but with a bearing that made it seem as though she were the first woman ever to wear one.

“Leave us,” Arvaneh said, never taking her eyes from Atiana.

Atiana gave Yalessa a small nod, and she left.

Before the door was even closed, Atiana’s heart began to pound. However prepared she might have been, she hadn’t been ready to stand before such a beauty, a woman with clear power in her every move, her every motion.

Arvaneh faced Atiana, regarding her with beautiful blue eyes. Her ruddy skin made her look like one of the Aramahn, but she dressed more like one of the southern tribeswomen. “Your time on the wind was not uncomfortable, I hope.”

“It was as pleasant as it could be.”

Arvaneh smiled, an act that seemed to tax her. “That is the way of things on the islands, is it not? You cling to rocks and complain when the wind takes you away.”

“I wouldn’t describe it so,” Atiana said.

Arvaneh walked along Atiana’s bed, casting an uncaring eye over the dresses that had been laid out—some of Atiana’s finest. “And how
would
you describe it?”

“We are proud of our
rocks
, as you call them. We stand upon them with pride, and if the winds blow, we do not complain. We shoulder it as we do everything else.”

“You take pride in this?
Shouldering
the wind?”

“Like everything on the islands, it is something that must be dealt with.”

“That is where you’re wrong, you and all of Anuskaya. Were you to embrace the wind, you might never have faced the opposition you do now in the Maharraht.”

“And if the Maharraht were true to their beliefs, they would not be scrabbling for a piece of our islands.”

“
Your
islands…” Atiana had shown no signs of anger during this exchange, yet Arvaneh smiled as if she’d already won this short trade of blows. She strode to the window, stared out over the Mount with a melancholy expression. “You are royalty, so perhaps your conceit should be forgiven, but do you think that once Anuskaya is gone, once the people of Galahesh are forgotten, once Yrstanla is no more, that they will still be yours?”

Atiana paused, confused at such a statement, especially from someone who had the ear—and the bed—of the most powerful man in all of Erahm. “Doesn’t the line of the Kamarisi believe that all lands are theirs?”

Arvaneh paused and turned back toward Atiana. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then a knock came at the door and in swept Ishkyna. Arvaneh looked between the two of them, confusion playing across her face. “I wasn’t aware that the other Vostroma sisters would be coming.”

“Only
one
other.” Ishkyna pulled the skirt of her dress wide and bowed her head politely. It was not the full bow that was commonplace in Yrstanla, but neither were they in Yrstanla proper. Galahesh was something of a meeting ground between the two powers, not only geographically but culturally as well. “The other,” she continued, “is sufficiently chained to her husband that she couldn’t think of making the journey.”

Atiana motioned to her sister. “Arvaneh üm Shalahihd, meet Ishkyna Radieva Vostroma, eldest of the sisters Vostroma.”

“Eldest by a mere seven minutes. Had I not fought so hard in those opening moments of life, I might have been forced to the donjon to take the basin as Atiana does.”

Atiana felt her face flush. As sensitive as her purpose was, she didn’t want the subject of taking the dark touched on if she could avoid it.

The look on Arvaneh’s face was one of light amusement, but to Atiana it seemed forced, as if she found it difficult to suffer Ishkyna’s presence but didn’t want to offend. “You are no Matra then?”

Ishkyna smiled. “Not if it can be avoided.”

“And why is this?”