Victania’s serious eyes thinned. “You are Nikandr’s lover, are you not?”
Rehada nearly shook her head, ready to deny it in order to reach Ranos, but Victania knew too much. Rehada had been with Nikandr for years, and she had attended several high-profile dinners hosted by various Landed families in Volgorod, and even one in Radiskoye when the Duke had been away. It was too likely that Victania knew a lot more about Rehada than she would have originally guessed, and so she nodded.
“Do you have news of him?” Victania asked. Her voice had softened. Rehada knew how close the two of them were.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t.”
At this, Victania’s face hardened. “My brother is away. I’m afraid he is not able to see you.”
“But I have come from Iramanshah, from-”
“ Da, from Fahroz herself, but let me tell you, Rehada, if Fahroz has something she wishes to tell us, she can come herself so we can weigh her words properly.”Victania turned and began striding back toward the mansion, but she stopped momentarily and turned her head halfway around. “Run back, won’t you? And tell her not to send a woman of the sheets to do her talking for her.”
She resumed her walk, but stopped at the growing sound of ponies clomping along the cobbled street. A handful of military men dressed in black cherkesskas were riding toward the mansion. At their head were two men: an imposing but graying polkovnik…
And Ranos.
His thin mustache and beard were still in place, but stubble was growing in around his cheeks and neck, making him look haggard and wild.
The nearby sotnik clapped his heels together and saluted the incoming men who had no doubt come from surveying the preparations for Andreya’s attack.
Ranos saluted in turn, but then noticed Rehada. His face frowned as recognition dawned on him, and then he looked up and found Victania standing just inside the gates. He spoke quickly to the polkovnik with the hanging white beard, and immediately all of the cavalry rode in through the gates, leaving Ranos alone with Rehada.
Victania strode forward as Ranos heeled his pony closer.“Why have you come?” he asked plainly.
“I need to speak with your father.”
He laughed. “The Duke, if you haven’t noticed, is occupied.”
“All the more reason he should speak with me.”
Victania stepped past Rehada to reach Ranos’s side. “Don’t listen to her. She’s already lied to get this close to you.”
“Tell me what you’re after,” Ranos said to Rehada, “or I’ll ask you to leave.”
She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was weary, that he would simply leave if her rationale wasn’t convincing enough, so she poured all of the emotion bottled up inside her into one simple statement: “If you wish for your precious Duchy to see another day, son of Iaros, then you’ll listen to what I have to say.”
“Ridiculous,” Victania snapped.
Ranos looked down at his sister and then to Rehada, perhaps weighing her words.
“Go on,” he said.
The mask over Rehada’s eyes and the rope binding her hands were the least of her worries. The boat in which she sat was tumbling over the tall waves in merciless cycles, and without her sight, she was completely unable to anticipate any of it. She had already heaved up the contents of her stomach four times, and as another tall wave struck, she found herself dry heaving between her legs.
“Please,” she said to the sotnik sitting on the next thwart forward, “I only need a small amount of time to recover.”
“You heard my orders,” the strelet said.
Six oars struck the water in synchronized time as the spray pelted her face. The wind was high, and the weather had turned bitterly cold toward the end of the day, and despite the fact that Rehada wore a heavily oiled canvas coat, she was soaked from head to foot and almost completely numb.
Though Victania had tried diligently to get him to cast her out, Ranos had agreed to Rehada’s demands. There was a significant problem, however-communication with the Matra had been sporadic at best. They hadn’t been able to speak with her in several days. Of the three rooks that were kept permanently at the mansion, two had apparently been killed by the third, which had flown out of its cage when their keeper had come to investigate the swath of blood and black feathers that lay inside their cage. Three days prior, another rook had flown down from the palotza, but the moment it had landed it began rolling on the ground, cawing, and then it flew back into the air and was never seen again. Clearly the other Matri were in league, working to prevent effective communication between Radiskoye and Volgorod, which presented Ranos with a difficult task: he agreed that his father needed to hear what Rehada had to say, but he saw no easy way to make that happen.
In the end, he had arranged for her to be ferried away by a hand-selected crew of oarsmen. Their mission was to take her to the cliffs below Radiskoye and to guide her into the cavern that held a passage leading up to the palotza. The only issue was that Rehada could not be allowed to see the route. She argued that it would be night, that she would be able to see very little in any case, but Ranos would not budge.
And so she found herself fighting to keep herself from sliding along the thwart, fighting to stay warm, fighting to prevent herself from heaving again, an action that brought only pain.
“How much longer?” she asked between waves of nausea.
“You know I cannot tell.”
“Please.”
“Knowing won’t make it any shorter or longer. Just sit and breathe deeply.”
As he spoke, something thudded against the boat. She thought at first they had struck bottom, but it happened again a moment later, and the boat began to slip sideways.
She heard the thump and clatter of wood, and the sotnik sitting ahead of her stood. “Pull, men, pull!”
“What is it?” she asked as a cold spike of fear slid deep inside her chest. The boat slid further and was tugged downward momentarily. “ What is it?”
“Be quiet!”
A moment later the crack of a musket went off just above her head, making her cringe with fear.
The boat was pulled sharply to port, and something splashed into the water just over the starboard gunwale.
“ Kozyol!” the sotnik swore. “Pull harder!”
Then something heavy and wet fell across Rehada’s lap.
CHAPTER 59
Sharp pain shot through Rehada’s thighs. She placed her hands over the cold, slimy tentacle, knowing immediately what sort of creature had attacked the boat. There were several types of squid that wandered the oceans, but only one of them, the goedrun, was large enough and aggressive enough to attack ships. A smaller ship such as theirs was particularly attractive, as it could be tipped over, instantly turning its inhabitants into prey. Given the diameter of the tentacle, she guessed the goedrun was still young, but it was more than a match for the ship if it could get enough tentacles around to capsize it.
“Cut them!” the sotnik shouted, and she heard two of the men moments later sawing at the tentacle as the ship tilted sharply to port.
“Let me free,” Rehada shouted, putting as much command into her voice as she could muster.
She was ignored as another tentacle slipped over the crown of her head and into the laps of the streltsi behind her. The two men screamed and she could hear them sawing at this tentacle as well.
“My circlet!” Rehada screamed.
“Give it to her, Goran!” one of the soldiers behind her shouted.