The Straits of Galahesh

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

A tiana watched as Ushai hunched over the Atalayina, which spun in the space between the four pallets. Ushai glanced at Atiana-nothing more than this-and then returned her attention to unraveling the spells Sariya had placed on the gem. Why she hadn’t simply killed Sariya, Atiana didn’t know. Perhaps she feared that the stone, as it had been in Ghayavand, would be lost in the tower. Perhaps she feared she would be lost as well, unable to escape unless she was able to leave before Sariya perished.

Atiana realized this was an altogether too real possibility. Worse, though, was the knowledge that she had been betrayed by a woman she had come to trust, a woman she had believed to be one of the Aramahn.

“You may not have it,” Atiana said.

Ushai glanced again. “There you are wrong.” With an opal glowing brightly within the circlet upon her brow, Ushai reached out and grasped the Atalayina.

The hair rose along the back of Atiana’s neck and along her arms. A sizzling sound rent the air, and Ushai was thrown backward. She struck the granite floor and slid toward the far wall.

A sound came like leaded crystal tinkling against stone.

The smell of burned flesh came to Atiana as she rolled over. Her body was sluggish, and it was a mighty struggle to simply prop herself on hands and knees. She looked around, confused. Sariya was gone. She had simply vanished.

Ushai, grimacing in pain, made it to her feet. The fingers of her left hand were blackened. Blood oozed between cracked skin. It dribbled on the floor, the sound of it like the last pattering of rain after a sudden summer storm. The pain she was experiencing was plain on her face, but she seemed to think Atiana posed no threat, for she strode forward and kneeled next to her.

The Atalayina lay on the floor, not spinning, but lifeless. Inert.

Ushai had grasped the stone knowing she would trigger the spells that protected it. She had done so knowing she might be harmed, but she’d clearly thought the risk worth it.

Ushai shivered as she reached down and picked up the stone. Her lower lip quivered and her eyes watered from the pain. And then she met Atiana’s eyes with a defiant gaze that reminded her of another who had done so in the same manner. Rehada… Rehada had looked at her this way on the mountain above Iramanshah, and she had done so knowing Atiana had discovered her secret.

“You are Maharraht,” Atiana said, the words thick on her tongue.

Ushai blinked. Tears sped down her cheeks and fell to the floor to mingle with her blood. Atiana knew the tears came from more than her pain.

In the end, Ushai merely grit her jaw, glanced to where Ishkyna lay, and took the nearby stairs, down and out of sight.

As Atiana slid over the floor toward Ishkyna, she heard no sounds of resistance, no cries for help. But she cared nothing for this, nor did she care that Sariya had vanished; for the moment all she cared about was Ishkyna, who still breathed but would not wake when Atiana shook her.

“Ishkyna?” Atiana called, shaking her harder. “Ishkyna!”

But nothing she did mattered. She would not wake, because her mind had been taken. She was lost among the aether, and there was no telling when, or if, she would find her way home.

The following day, Atiana stood in the opulent receiving room of Kasir Yalidoz, less than a quarter-league from Sariya’s tower where the horrific events with Ishkyna had occurred.

At the head of the room, seated in Bahett’s throne of office, was Hakan ul Aye s e. Beside Atiana was Vaasak Dhalingrad, the envoy father had appointed, and beside him Siha s ul Mehmed. Both had been freed from their cells in the lower levels of the kasir.

Bahett stood to Hakan’s left, watching this meeting with great interest. The rest of the expansive room was empty. No others would be allowed to witness this meeting. Were it known that Hakan was treating with the Grand Duchy after murdering the Grand Duke, there would be chaos in the courts of Yrstanla.

Atiana had just finished relating the tale of the tower. It was the third time Hakan had heard it, but the repetition was necessary. He had trouble remembering what had happened. He would ask her to repeat the simplest of things, and even when she had, she doubted he fully understood. She had little doubt now that what Siha s had told her-that Sariya had beguiled him-was true. What was unknown was how long her spells would remain, and what he would do when finally he returned to himself.

And this was the true danger. The Kamarisi had always been bellicose; it simply hadn’t, until now, been directed toward the Grand Duchy.

As Atiana’s story came to a close, and she spoke of Sariya’s departure, Hakan seemed to understand at last. He was handsome, and the gleam of brightness had always rested within his eyes, but now there was something more-perhaps calculation over what all this would mean for Yrstanla as he weighed the choices before him.

“What of Arvaneh?” Vaasak asked. “Has she not been found?”

“There’s no need for pretense,” Hakan replied. “She is Sariya of the Al-Aqim. And she has not been found.”

“One might wonder, were they in my place, where that leaves us.”

“In a difficult position.”

Vaasak stared at Hakan, his hard eyes evaluating the man who still had the power to ruin the islands. The question wasn’t whether he wanted the islands. The question was whether he would risk it.

“I don’t wish to admit it,” Hakan said at last, “but I was not of my own mind. Even you will admit that you would be hard-pressed to stand against one of the Al-Aqim.”

“The Grand Duchy already has.”

He was speaking of Nasim, a subject that had come up early in the conversation.

“Then you know their power,” Hakan continued. “Sariya may be gone, but Muqallad is coming. As Atiana has told us, she is Maharraht, and there are certainly more about the city and the countryside.” He paused, bowing his head in Atiana’s direction. “Would that I had Matri of my own to look for them.”

He refused to meet Vaasak’s eyes as he spoke these words. He would be asking for many things over the course of this conversation, but begging the man he had effectively imprisoned-whether he had been sound of mind or not-was not something he could do.

Vaasak considered this, his head lifting, but his face clearly relieved. “If the Grand Duchy can be set aright, Kamarisi, there may be some aid that could be lent.”

It was the first hint Vaasak had given that he would be willing to bargain with Hakan for the safe return of the peoples of Anuskaya.

Hakan considered this for a time, glancing not at Bahett, but Siha s, for confirmation. This was a strange shift in power, indeed, but it shed some light on just how much Hakan valued each of these two men.

Siha s bowed his head ever so slightly, at which point the Kamarisi turned his head to Vaasak and smiled.

“What ships we have will be set to scouring the land and sea around Galahesh for the Maharraht, but certainly a few can be spared to return you and your countrymen back to Vostroma.”

“And certainly, assuming the storms have died down enough for me to speak with the Matri, the ships of Yrstanla will be granted safe passage in their return to Galahesh.”

The problem standing before Hakan was a difficult one to solve. He had ships amassed that could attack Vostroma. They could defeat the remains of the staaya now housed in the eyrie of Kiravashya, but he had no way to reach them, no way to issue them orders. He had no way to order them home or to continue on to the other islands. They were, for the moment, isolated from his command, at least until such time as Sariya returned- if she returned. Add to this the fact that Hakan clearly didn’t believe in Sariya’s cause-he had, after all, been cast under her spell unwillingly-and it all added up to a powerful man who simply wished to retreat, to return to the things that had occupied him before the building of the Spar had begun.

Hakan, of course, knew this. Everyone in the room knew it. As strange as it seemed, Vaasak was now the one who stood in control of this conflict.

“A grant that would be most appreciated,” Hakan said, not deigning to tip his head in thanks, but with a subtle expression of contrition that did much the same.

“We’re missing the point,” Atiana said. “We must look beyond the return of ships.”

Hakan turned to her. “You speak of Muqallad, of course.”

“He’s here, or soon will be, and he will then have all three pieces of the Atalayina.”

Hakan sniffed. “It is not clear that he will come to Galahesh.”

“There can be no doubt.”

“Who can know the will of Muqallad? Who can know where he will go?”

Atiana wanted to grab his silver kaftan and shake him. “I tell you, he comes here.”

“If he does, we will find him. We will root him out, he and his Maharraht.”

“As you rooted me out?”

Hakan nodded, a gesture so patronizing Atiana wanted to scream. “If you hadn’t noticed, good princess, you have been in the care of the Kasir for days now.”

“You are a fool if you ignore the threat Muqallad poses.”

The words echoed into the far reaches of the room. Hakan’s face reddened.

Atiana knew she had crossed a line when she spoke those words, but she didn’t care.

Vaasak stood stiffly beside her.

Hakan’s eyes narrowed as he stared intently at Atiana. Suddenly it felt like the two of them were alone to fill the immensity of this room-she representing the Grand Duchy, he the Empire.

“A shadow was laid over my mind for years-such is the power of the Al-Aqim-but the shadow lingers no longer, Atiana Radieva. I am the heart of Yrstanla. I am her thought. Her blood. And now that I can see, I tell you that Muqallad will be found.”

Atiana did not speak. There was nothing to say. The Kamarisi would try to find Muqallad or he would not, but she bore no illusions that Muqallad would allow himself to be found. He was too careful, and they knew too little of his plans.

She did know one thing, however.

She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t return to Vostroma while this was still undecided. Vaasak would leave on the morrow, and though she wasn’t sure how she would manage it, she knew, as surely as the winter winds blew cold, that she wouldn’t be going with him.