As the sun rose, a high layer of clouds rushed in from the west. Not long after, snowflakes began to fall-an ill omen for the day to come.
Two airships were spotted off the portbow flying low over the sea. At first he thought they belonged to one of the traitor dukes, but then he recognized a ship he had sailed on three different occasions-a massive four-masted galleon known as the Hawk of Rhavanki. Then he saw where they were headed: a mass of seven windships anchored in the sandbars.
Clearly an important gathering had been called, and it made a certain sort of sense-the traitor dukes would be scouring the islands, all of them, in search of Nikandr and in hopes of suppressing any incoming resistance. Father’s only hope for surprise was to avoid such places and to have the allied Matri mask their presence from the others.
Ashan stood on deck, watching. He had a concerned look on his face, as if this was the last thing he had hoped for.
Nikandr stepped close to him and spoke softly, even though he was among allies. “In the cell last night, you said that Nasim would be healed if I drew him across.”
“That is what I believe.”
“Why? What does the rift have to do with it?”
“It is only at the rift, Nikandr, the deepest part, that we will have any hope of success.”Ashan glanced around the deck, then up to the rigging, making sure no one was close enough to hear.
“And my stone?”
“That is what will draw him. He will see it and you will draw him to our world.”
They fell silent as Kapitan Lidan joined them. He pointed up to the sky, to a skiff that was headed their way. “Best you get ready.”
Soon they were on the skiff and headed toward the Zhabek, a ship of Mirkotsk nearly as large as the Hawk. The snow had begun to fall more heavily, though it was still only a light snowfall. On deck, Nikandr was surprised to see several dukes: Andreyo Rhavanki, Heodor Lhudansk, and Aleg Khazabyirsk were speaking beneath the helm, and they were not dressed in their rich coats of office, but the long, dark cherkesskas cut in the style of the windsmen. Each had the designs of their Duchy and other badges of honor upon their left breast.
“What is happening?” Ashan asked. His face was tight, the wind whipping his curly hair about his forehead and cheeks.
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
“But Nasim…”
“I’ll do what I can, Ashan. For now you must trust me.”
Father stepped out from the kapitan’s cabin along with Yevgeny Mirkotsk. He came to a standstill, however, when he noticed the incoming skiff. Nikandr couldn’t help but notice his reaction. It was one of anger, of disappointment, as if it were Nikandr who was to blame for everything that had happened.
The skiff dropped its sails and was reeled in at the stern of the ship, and when Nikandr disembarked onto the aftcastle, Father was there waiting for him. He pulled him to the landward side. As Ashan stepped calmly onto deck, he was met by several streltsi, who led him amidships.
Father studied Nikandr with a cross look on his face, hands clasped behind his back as the chill wind tugged at his beard and hair.“Do you realize what might have happened, leaving as you did?”
“I know what it did cost, Father, and I still believe it was the right thing to do.”
“Because of the blight…”
Nikandr had been ready to argue against his father’s position. To hear him leap to the very reason for Nikandr’s flight from Radiskoye those weeks ago made him feel as if he’d slipped on a rain-slick deck.
“ Da, because of the blight.”
“And what have you found?”
“I believe it can be healed.”
“Through the boy?”
Nikandr cocked his head, confused. “How did you know?”
Father looked to the stairs leading down from the aftcastle and made a beckoning motion with one hand. The soldier standing there immediately bowed and left.
“What is it?”
Father did not reply, but a moment later the strelet returned with Rehada in tow. Snow fell across the ship. White snowflakes landed on her black hair before melting away. When the strelet had brought her to their side and left, Rehada met Nikandr’s eyes only for a moment, as if she were embarrassed to acknowledge his presence in front of his father.
“What has happened?” Nikandr asked, sure that Rehada’s presence meant something momentous was about to happen.
Father looked up to the sun, which lay behind a large gray cloud limned in white.“When the sun strikes noon, a battle will begin such as the islands haven’t seen since the War of Seven Seas.”
Nikandr still hoped, perhaps foolishly, that bloodshed could be avoided. “We could speak with them. They might-”
Father held up his hand, forestalling him. “They will not listen to reason. Not now. Not when their advantage has been pressed so far. We will attack, for truly there is no choice left to us.”
“The Matri…”
“Are as prepared as they will ever be. Everything has been arranged, Nischka. Now, there is something I would very much like for you to discuss with your dear friend, Rehada.”
“And what would that be?”
“She has confessed to me that she is Maharraht.”
Nikandr’s blood rushed to his face. He had known this since Ghayavand, but some small part of him had still held hope that it had been a lie. He looked to Rehada, but she refused to meet his eye.
“For years she has been plying from you secrets that should have remained safely within the walls of Radiskoye. Yet she came to me through no small amount of danger to tell me of Nasim and the plans the Maharraht have drawn.
“So, I put it to you, Nischka. Weigh the truth in her words. If you think she can be believed, then so be it. Take her to find the boy and bring him back if you can. But if you believe she is lying, that she works for our enemy still, then you will tell me so, and we will settle this before the hour is out.”
With that Father walked away, his bootsteps heavy on the deck, leaving Nikandr alone with a woman he had come to love-a woman he loved still. It pained him to see her cowed, a woman who had always burned brightly from within, but then it occurred to him just how gifted she was at acting.
“Is it true?”
She finally raised her head and looked him in the eye. “ Yeh.”
“All that time?”
She nodded. “I was Maharraht well before I landed on Khalakovo.”
“How, Rehada? Why?”
She shook her head. “I will not repeat the litany of reasons here. Some day, if the time is right, I may do so. But I won’t defend myself.”
“You had better.”
“I won’t.” She stood taller, her eyes fierce. “When you see your wife again, ask her of my history.”
“Atiana?”
Rehada’s long black hair played in the wind as she stared at him with dark, pained eyes.
Nikandr felt his heart hardening. “My father was deadly serious.”
She leaned over and spat at his feet. “Kill me if you will, son of Iaros. I have no fear of dying.”
Nikandr felt himself gritting his jaw, felt the tightness in his chest and stomach. He forced himself to breathe deeply and release it. He waited until the tightness eased before speaking again. “Tell me at the least why you changed your mind.”
She stared at him, as hard as ever, but then her look softened ever so slightly. “Because there are things greater than the Maharraht, greater than the Grand Duchy.”
“No grand words, Rehada. Not now.”
“We stand on a precipice. Soroush would push us over the edge-all of us-if only to begin the world anew. I no longer believe there is wisdom in such a course, no matter how much I might once have wished to do the same. There is something in Nasim, something precious, something Soroush would use against you. If he’s allowed to go through with his plans, it will be destroyed. I have no doubt of this, and it’s something I would see saved. That is why I have come. Not for you. Not for Khalakovo. Not even for the Aramahn. It is for Nasim and the worlds he walks between.”