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?”
Ishkyna glanced at Atiana-Atiana could tell she wanted to fire back a scathing reply-but thankfully her thoughts, and her sharp words, lay hidden behind her lips. “It isn’t common knowledge as far west as Aleke s ir, but the basin requires water as cold as the northern seas, as cold as the bones of the earth. It’s no joy taking those waters, I can assure you.”
It seemed that Arvaneh could no longer hold her feelings back. The smile she wore was patronizing, which made it clear just how much contempt she harbored not just for Ishkyna, but for the entire Grand Duchy.
“Forgive me,” she said. “You have just arrived, and I have taken enough of your time. I hear we will see you at the dinner tonight.”
Atiana bowed her head.
As Arvaneh strode toward the door, Ishkyna widened her eyes at Atiana.
Atiana could only shrug.
A moment later, Arvaneh was gone, leaving in her wake a cold sense that everything they had tried to hide from her had just been laid bare.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
W hen Nasim turned the last of the switchbacks on the path leading up to the top of the ridge, and the celestia came into full view at last, he stopped, humbled. Without speaking, Rabiah and Sukharam did the same. It was so large that it seemed to take on different dimensions the closer they came, but the true immensity of it did not strike him until he approached the concentric steps that led up to the marble floor.
Before he reached the first of the steps, he stopped and merely stared. This was a wonder he would not rush. It was high noon and the sun was bright, casting much of the floor in shadow, but from six arched openings built cunningly into the center of the dome above, crepuscular rays shone down, creating six bright ovals that forced Nasim to squint when he looked upon them. Several of the fluted stone columns were overgrown with vines. They crept up and up, reaching even the exterior of the dome far above.
The vines did not, however, grow against the underside of the dome. In fact, the beautiful mosaics there looked pristine, untouched since their construction over four hundred years before. Much of it was a beautiful shade of blue, the blue of the deepest, clearest water in the ocean, but against this backdrop were constellations that Nasim could only guess were made of mother of pearl, for the stars shone like the brightest stars on the darkest of nights. He could make out the constellations of the winter solstice easily-Iteh and Almadn and Qyleh and Osht and all the others-but there was so much more than this: the smaller, lesser constellations that rested above them or between them in the firmament; major comets that graced the sky as the fates allowed; glinting lines that tracked the path of the moon at summer and winter solstice. The patterns were not just brilliant, but alive.
It nearly brought him to his knees. Little wonder that Khamal had chosen this for his demesne. The wonder was that Sariya hadn’t, choosing her tower in its place, or that Muqallad had chosen the Aramahn village built into the mountains east of Alayazhar. How they could lock themselves away from the beauty of the sky was beyond him.
Sukharam, the hem of his robes blowing in the wind, climbed the stairs and examined the dome. The fear he’d shown earlier had spiked as they reached the center of the city, and although they skirted the area that held Sariya’s tower, he had watched it with terror-filled eyes. Only when they’d gained the top of the hill and he’d seen the celestia in all its grandeur did his head lift and his shoulders unbunch. And now, he was staring wide-eyed as he walked forward.
Nasim realized just how far into the celestia Sukharam was moving. “The border, Sukharam!”
Sukharam stared down at the floor, where black inlaid stone described a vast circle several paces from the perimeter. “How could it still be active? Khamal died sixteen years ago.”
“We shouldn’t take chances.”
“I feel nothing.”
“And what would you look for?” Nasim asked. “Do you think it would be so obvious?”
Sukharam looked to Nasim, then the floor again. He shrugged, a simple, dismissive motion. As he paced around the edge of the floor, Nasim wondered if Sukharam was embarrassed and this was some attempt at regaining face. He hoped not. He needed them to be honest with one another. He couldn’t afford to have any of them hiding things for vanity’s sake. He promised himself he’d talk to Sukharam later, when the two of them were alone.
Nasim stepped to the edge of the black border and squatted, resting on the balls of his feet. He remembered standing here when he-when Khamal — had placed the protections over this place, allowing only himself to enter and leave, but he couldn’t recall the details. Khamal’s memories-the few that held any clarity at all-were no better than half-remembered dreams. He knew that a ward existed and that it was both complex and powerfully dangerous, but little more than that.
He walked the circle the opposite direction of Sukharam, until the two of them stood at opposite extremes.
“Stop,” he said.
Sukharam obeyed. He and Rabiah waited and watched as Nasim searched his memories.
“What is it?” Rabiah asked.
“I’ve seen this before,” Nasim replied.
“Seen what?” Sukharam asked, stepping closer to the black stones.
“Stop!”
Sukharam did, but he seemed petulant now, almost angry. “Tell us what you remember.”
“Someone was standing there, as you are now, facing Khamal, but it’s confusing. It doesn’t feel real.”
“What, the dream?” Rabiah asked.
“They’re not dreams, Rabiah. They’re memories.”
“The memory, then.”
Nasim shook his head. “The image. The person standing across from Khamal. The other person is standing on the other side, in Adhiya.”
“That can’t be,” Sukharam said.
Nasim crouched, squinting at the pattern of stones laid about the celestia’s interior. There was no immediate rhyme or reason, just darker patterns of pewter against the sandstone dominating the floor.
“Constellations?” Rabiah asked, walking along the edge and considering several of the patterns.
“ Neh,” Nasim said.
They all studied them as a breeze blew among the tall, vine-choked columns.
“They’re meaningless,” Sukharam said.
“ Neh,” Nasim replied, standing, understanding coming like a flash of lightning. “They’re ley lines.” The moment he said the words, he knew it was true.
Rabiah came closer as Nasim studied the lines. He could see the pattern now, not the islands themselves, but the confluence of energy that formed around them. The islands of Khalakovo stood out first. Uyadensk and Duzol and Yrlanda. Then the islands of Mirkotsk and Vostroma. To the west, the mass of Yrstanla loomed, pressing the ley lines, guiding them along the edge of the Sea of Tabriz.
The lines ran through the sea, guided by the seabeds that drew close to, but did not quite reach, the surface. The Aramahn had known since the time of the first wanderers that ley lines guided the aether, and that through these lines one could control many things. It was this knowledge that had led them to create ships with keels so that they could use them to guide windships as the rounded keel of a waterborne ship does.
Nasim studied the map closely, moving around the celestia floor as he did so, but he stopped when he noticed to the southwest the confluence of ley lines that focused on the island of Galahesh. He didn’t understand it, but the lines of power coming from the Sea of Tabriz ran not around Galahesh, but through it to the deeper well of the Sea of Khurkhan. It was the straits, Nasim realized. The straits had always been impossible for the Landed to cross with their windships, and it was because of this-the surge of power running along the straits disrupted the natural lines that ran along the land mass of Galahesh.