The Flames of Shadam Khoreh (The Lays of Anuskaya) by Bradley Beaulieu Read Free Book Online

Oramka and the nearby coast of Yrstanla, and he was now pushing westward to take as much of the continent as he could in hopes of blunting the Empire’s response when at last it came. Only in the past few weeks had a sizable force been sent from Alekeşir, the capital of the Empire. More were headed south from the northern reaches. The desert tribes had been called upon as well, but they had long been hoping to throw off the yoke of the Kamarisi, and they’d been slow in responding. Still, the armies of Yrstanla were triple what the islands had so far gathered. Were it not for Ishkyna, Atiana would be worried, but with her and the other Matri, they had a good chance of turning the tide against the counter-assault that was sure to begin soon.
    Ishkyna had helped lead them through the desert, and she had promised to find them each fortnight, but Ishkyna had been trying to find Kaleh ever since the events on Galahesh, with no success. Since those fleeting feelings she’d felt in the days that had followed the destruction of the Spar, there had been nothing.
    “She won’t come,” Atiana said. “Not for several days yet.”
    “We need her to come more often.”
    “You know she cannot. The war—”
    “I know the war’s begun, Atiana, but here we are again, ignoring what needs to be done. It’s the Atalayina that matters, and Ghayavand, not a hurried grab for power while the Empire marches east.”
    “I know. And Borund knows.”
    Nikandr couldn’t even bring himself to scoff. He merely stared at her with cold, incredulous eyes.
    “He does .”
    “He is a lapdog, as he ever was.”
    “Do not speak of my brother so! Dhalingrad is the Grand Duke, and he will brook no insult, no test of his authority. He’s already hung dozens of men from his own duchy, and three from Bolgravya for what he saw as insubordination. Borund must be careful, especially since the spire on Kiravashya is still only half-built. The spoils from Yrstanla are being funneled to the duchies, but the lion’s share goes to feed the mouths of Dhalingrad. And don’t forget, Borund spared your life.”
    “How very gracious of him after killing seven innocent men and women in cold blood.”
    “You left him no choice! The Maharraht should have been brought somewhere else.”
    “Where could they have gone, Atiana?”
    “Anywhere but under Borund’s wing. Face it, you were thumbing your nose at him.”
    “I was saving those that had—“
    “Nischka! I’ve heard it all a hundred times before! You could have brought them to Mirkotsk. You could have brought them to one of the smaller islands, to be ferried to Iramanshah later. By the ancients, you could have let them find their own way, wherever they wished to go. You didn’t have to bring them to Khalakovo!”
    Nikandr set his flatbread aside as if he were disgusted by it. He picked up a goat skin, realizing only then that it no longer held any vodka. He fumbled around the blankets until he found another, at which point he opened it and took a long pull from the liquor within.
    Atiana stared, wishing she knew what to say. He was lost, and yet he was sitting right before her. They’d found a way to be with one another at last, and yet they were more distant than ever.
    “Nikandr,” she said softly, “this isn’t about the hangings, and it isn’t about Borund.”
    He stared with flat eyes and took another drink.
    “If Nasim were dead, you’d know.” She reached out and gripped his hand. He squeezed back, but it was practically lifeless. “We’ll find him.”
    “I know,” he lied.
    Late that night, long after the sun went down, they lay on their blankets, their backs to one another. She felt him turn over. He was facing her, waiting for her to turn around. It was then, with that one simple gesture, that much of the tightness within her melted away. She turned toward him, hoping to see his smiling face. And he did smile. But she also saw within his eyes that haunted look. He might never