Bradley Beaulieu - The Straits of Galahesh

“It does look grand, doesn’t it?” Ishkyna said, gripping the shroud and leaning over the gunwales to look out toward the city.

“It looks dangerous,” Atiana said, her gaze drawn toward the shattered remains of the city’s southwestern section.

“Sometimes they go hand in hand.” Ishkyna swung back and struck Atiana with her hip. “What of your man, Bahett? You haven’t spoken of him.”

“There’s little enough to tell, Shkyna. I’m beholden.”

“You mean smitten. With another…”

Atiana considered the two pieces of the island, split from one another by the straits. It felt like her and Nikandr, close at times, but never quite able to touch.

“Come now,” Ishkyna continued. “You know how such things work. A man like Bahett will not begrudge you a man like Nikandr coming discreetly to the city for a time. You’ll be the ilkadin. You could go for days, even weeks at a time. Besides, after a few months, Bahett will hardly remember you.”

It was Atiana’s turn to hip her sister.

Ishkyna laughed-a genuine laugh, not the one she used when she was stalking men. It felt good to hear. “You know what I mean. As pretty as you are, the Kaymakam of Galahesh has duties, and many women who might divert him from it. If you wish to see Nikandr, accept the hand of Galahesh and everyone will look the other way. Besides, we must look beyond the halls of Baressa, mustn’t we? The Kamarisi stares ever harder beyond the shores of Galahesh.”

Atiana knew her sister’s words were false. She could not even allow herself the fantasy of believing in them. Even if she were willing to break her marriage vows to Bahett, Nikandr would not. He knew, as Atiana did, that it was too risky. Both of them could, and probably would, be put to death if they were found together.

Instead, she changed the subject. “Is that why you’ve hounded the envoy every moment you’ve had?”

Ishkyna stared at Atiana flatly. “He’s no joy between the sheets, Tiana, believe me. Were it not for his station, I would gladly have looked to his servants.” Her stare turned into a wry smile. “In fact, I already have. They’re much more… pliable.”

“I don’t know how you live with yourself.”

“Don’t wrinkle your nose at wine you haven’t tasted. You’ll know soon enough…”

The ship bucked in the wind, forcing Atiana to hold to the nearby shroud to steady herself.

“There’s a surge coming,” the kapitan said. “Best you wait in your cabins.”

“Best you tend to your business,” Ishkyna said, “and let us attend to ours.”

The kapitan left with a sour look on his face. The winds continued to kick, though, and Ishkyna soon went to her cabin at the rear of the ship. Atiana remained. She wanted to study the straits from the air as long as she could. She wanted to fix them in her mind for the next time she took the dark. The straits were dangerous, as she had known even before her recent visit with Saphia.

The winds eventually died down, but only after they’d turned and headed east for several leagues. The rest of the trip went uneventfully. They landed in Svoya and were met at the eyrie by a host of Bahett’s servants. They took her and Ishkyna and the rest of their retinue overland in a train of coaches. The land was dryer here than among the islands, and so the landscape seemed spare, almost desiccated.

When they finally reached Baressa, they received a completely different view from the ground. Galahesh was by and large a long plateau of land. Indeed, except for the Mount, the massive hill that housed Kasir Yalidoz and the wealthiest homes, the city was flat. It felt strange, as most of the cities in the Grand Duchy were built onto slopes or mountainsides. And the people. They choked the streets. The traffic became so bad near the Mount they came to a standstill. They were in a street that had market stalls on either side. Hundreds became thousands as people wearing all manner of bright clothing wandered along the street, considering the stalls of silk and wool and knives and fruit and wine and dates.

Ishkyna pulled the curtain aside and stared out at the crowd. Her eyes were wide and a soft smile was upon her lips, an expression Atiana hadn’t seen in years, not since their childhood. “Wouldn’t you love to live here?”

Atiana didn’t answer; she merely watched. It seemed as close to innocence as Ishkyna had come for as long as Atiana could remember. It felt nice to sit with her sister of old, the one who used to speak with her of her plans for her future, the days before she had been promised to Iyagor.

Ishkyna let the curtain drop. “ What?”

“Nothing.”

She glanced back at the curtain and then sat back, feigning indifference. “I suppose you’ll grow tired of it before long.”

Some of the merchants began approaching the wagons, offering dates and fried sweetbread on brass platters until the driver and coachmen yelled at them in Yrstanlan to keep moving. That, however, only seemed to draw them like flies to sitting fruit.

The crack of a whip cut through the air, and for a moment the din of the market subsided. From the rear of the coach that was directly ahead of Atiana’s, one of the janissaries hopped down and yelled at an old merchant who lay on the ground writhing, his sweetmeats spilled over the street. The guard pulled his whip back and lashed the man once more. The whip cut a line through his shirt, and blood welled beneath the bright yellow cloth. Only after the man had crawled away and the crowd backed up did the coaches resume their slow trek.

At last, after what felt like endless hours through the city, they reached Kasir Yalidoz, a massive and expansive palace that dwarfed Galostina, at least in terms of the land it covered. Atiana was led by a dozen servants to her apartments, a set of three rooms that looked eastward toward Vostroma. The servants offered her hot mint tea and candied lemons. They asked if she wished to be bathed, offered to help her dress, gave her a list of small plates she might enjoy before the masquerade that evening. She knew it was an insult, but Atiana declined all of their offers, preferring the help of her handmaid, Yalessa, over this cadre of servants. Finally they left, and Yalessa helped her to change into her dress.

“Will you see Bahett tonight?” Yalessa asked.

“I imagine so, though this is more to put the Kamarisi at ease than anything else.”

After brushing Atiana’s blonde hair and pulling it up into a bun, Yalessa opened a case and began to powder her hair. In the mirror, Atiana could see her staring into the corner, her mind clearly wandering. “Bahett is beautiful, is he not?”

“I suppose he is.”

Yalessa snapped her head toward the mirror, meeting Atiana’s gaze. “I’m sorry, My Lady Princess.”

“Whatever for?”

“Nikandr…”

She didn’t like speaking of Nikandr, and Yalessa knew it. Why she would bring him up now-particularly when Atiana was away from home and unsure when she’d get to speak with Nikandr again-Atiana didn’t know, but it grated. “Don’t fear that I’ll be watching who enters your chambers,” Atiana said.

“It isn’t that.”

“Then what?”

“It isn’t my place to say.”

Atiana stared into the mirror, meeting Yalessa’s innocent face with a serious stare.

Yalessa broke her gaze, brushing the powder carefully from Atiana’s neck and shoulders. “It’s just that, the prince… You’ve waited for so long to be with Nikandr. Why throw that away?”

“I’m throwing nothing away. Bahett is a powerful man. He can do much for Vostroma. For the entire Grand Duchy. Why should I throw that away for a marriage that might never happen?”

Yalessa nodded. “Of course, My Lady. As you say, the Kaymakam is a fine man.”