Rehada’s silence made Atiana turn.
“They will learn,” Rehada said, almost too soft to hear.
“You’re deceiving yourself if you believe that.”
Rehada turned, a mournful expression on her face as she met Atiana’s gaze. “What are we to do?”
Atiana was about to snap back a reply, but she held her tongue. Nearby, the tribunal clasped hands until the circle was complete. Muwas looked up at the ones who would lose their ability to bond, and Atiana saw in him not anger, not contempt, but a sadness she would never have predicted. She thought at first it was an act, a gesture meant to garner sympathy, but as the ritual continued, the expression deepened, became so palpable that Atiana could feel it in her chest.
“Please,” he said in Mahndi, glancing between the two of them. “Do not do this.”
The ritual continued. Atiana thought that he would show some outward sign of pain, that he would cry out, but he did not. He exhaled and fell to his hands and knees. The exhalation continued until surely there was nothing left in his lungs.
Then, all was silence.
The two Aramahn that had given of themselves bent over. The old man had to be held up by the two on either side of him. One by one, they dispersed, leaving Muwas alone with his past.
Atiana watched him closely. His legs were folded beneath him. His eyes were distant, searching.
What would it be like to lose such a thing? Like losing a limb? Losing a loved one? Would the memory of it fade with time or would it burn forever, a constant reminder of what he’d once had?
“Will he return to the Maharraht?” Atiana asked.
“That is what the village hopes.”
“So he can tell them of his pain…”
Rehada nodded as a tear slipped down her cheek. Muwas was studying Rehada now, and there was a strange look in his eyes. One of regret, perhaps, or a keen yearning-why, she couldn’t guess.
“Why do you cry?” Atiana asked.
“That should be obvious.”
“I want to hear it from you. Your words.”
Rehada turned impatiently. “We’ve all lost much this day, Atiana Radieva, even you.”
Atiana turned back to Muwas. She nearly began crying herself. “I believe you, daughter of Shineshka.”
The boom of a cannon brought Atiana out of her reverie. She looked up, the memories of her time in the aether returning in a flash. She recalled her fight with the jalahezhan. She knew that she had caused Muwas to release his bond with that spirit. What she had forgotten was her mother’s promise to find her.
Against the solid white cloud cover, sails rose above the ridge. It was a smaller ship, only six masts, but it mattered little. She had already been seen by the men on deck. Their commander shouted, and only then-as the words washed faintly over her-did Atiana realize that it was her brother who had given the command. His beard was fuller, and he seemed to have become more gaunt in the weeks since she’d seen him, but there was no doubt.
Four ropes snaked down from the ship. Eight streltsi slipped along them quickly and efficiently to the ground. They swung their muskets off their shoulders and advanced through the circle of obsidian stones.
Rehada watched the streltsi, the muscle along her jaw working feverishly. Her fists were bunched, and her eyes were filled with more hate than she had ever seen among the peace-loving Aramahn.
Atiana touched her arm.
Rehada jumped and looked down upon Atiana with a look not unlike the one she had favored the streltsi with, but then she seemed to recognize Atiana, and her face relaxed.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Atiana whispered.
Before Rehada could respond, one of the streltsi shouted for them to lie down.
“ Nyet.” Borund’s voice. “There is no need for any such thing. They will come quietly, won’t you, sister? You and the woman, both…”
“Rehada Ulanal Shineshka will go nowhere.” Fahroz placed herself in Borund’s path. “She has done nothing, nor has Atiana Radieva Vostroma.”
Borund motioned for his men to stop.
Fahroz’s face was red and her eyes were fierce. “You come bearing weapons into an Aramahn village.”
“Atiana is a daughter of Vostroma, and she will come with us.”
“Atiana can do as she will, as can Rehada, but if they wish to stay, they will both be allowed to do so.”
Borund took one step forward. Atiana could tell by his posture alone that he was tense as catgut and might be pushed too far if Fahroz didn’t back down. “Their presence is requested by the Duke and Duchess of Vostroma.”
A handful more Aramahn stepped out of the tunnel, their faces angry. Upon seeing them, several streltsi trained their weapons upon them. Borund had a look of desperation about him, though why that was Atiana couldn’t guess.
There was no clean way out of this. Borund would not leave this place without her. She had no choice but to go with him.
“I will go,” she said simply, hoping to jar Borund out of his state of mind.
“Of course you will, sister,” he said, his attention fixed on Fahroz.
Atiana ignored him. “Fahroz, I would go with my brother.”
Fahroz nodded and waited for Rehada to give her own answer.
Rather than reply directly, Rehada moved in and embraced Atiana. “Forgive me,” she whispered, and then she stepped back to Fahroz’s side.
Atiana stared, confused. When they had hugged, she had felt, just as she had felt in the cold water of the lake, the locus of aether. It was now in Rehada’s robes, secreted away.
Perhaps Rehada saw her watching, staring at the precise location of whatever it was she had hidden. She looked uncomfortable, and she crossed her arms in front of her, feigning a chill.
It was Atiana who shivered, however. Rehada had lied to her. She knew now that whatever it was-stone or jewel or some unearthly remnant of the jalahezhan-Rehada had wanted it all along. She had wanted it before coming to the village. Before stepping into the chamber for her confession. Before lying to Atiana so completely.
She knew now what she should have known from the beginning.
She knew that Rehada was Maharraht.
CHAPTER 50
Nikandr watched as Nasim walked forward several more steps over the rubble littering the streets. His eyes were closed, as they had been since entering the city over an hour ago, but he had so far unfailingly led them deeper toward the center of Alayazhar.
Nikandr glanced up at the sun, which had already begun to descend. “We’re taking too long,” Nikandr said when Nasim had remained in the same place for an interminable amount of time.
Ashan held his hand up and whispered, “I asked for silence.”
“That was three hours ago. We are past high sun already. We will have little enough time in this tower of yours, and even less to get ourselves outside the city before the sun goes down.”
“That is something I am prepared to face.”
“And take us with you?” Pietr asked.
Ashan frowned at Pietr. “Give Nasim the time he needs.” He took two steps forward, following Nasim’s movement. “And by the fates, be silent.”
Pietr looked back the way they’d come. “My Prince, it will take us some time to regain the forest…”
“How much longer?” Nikandr asked Ashan.
“As long as it takes.”
Nasim shambled forward. They hadn’t known when they’d entered the city where they were headed, but Nikandr knew it was toward the tower, the one he’d seen in his dreams. The only trouble was they didn’t know what might lay in wait.
“They must know of our presence,” Nikandr had said when they’d first entered the city.
“Were that true,” Ashan had replied, “we would have been met long before now. As I approached this island, it felt as if it were asleep.”
“But our ship…”
Ashan had nodded. “There is no doubt that the island began to wake when we arrived. I hope that we can find Sariya before Muqallad himself rises from his slumber. We must trust to Nasim, let his memories return. He will find the way.”