The Straits of Galahesh: Book Two of The Lays of Anuskaya by Bradley P. Beaulieu Read Free Book Online Page A

to Anatoliy’s grief.
    Anatoliy took one deep, quavering breath, and pulled Nikandr into a deep embrace. He did not kiss Nikandr’s cheeks, but when he pulled away, Nikandr could see the pain and gratitude warring within him. “Thank you for trying, for coming here when my uncle, the duke, frowned upon it. But thank you most of all for caring for her.”
    “Please, go to Kseniya,” Nikandr said, pulling him into a deep embrace. “You should be with your family.”
    The two of them kissed cheeks, and then they parted. Anatoliy nodded. “I will.”
    Nikandr took up his cherkesska and pulled it on in one smooth motion. From the floor above, the tapping sound came again, louder.
    Anatoliy glanced up the stairs and smiled grimly. “Our duties follow us, do they not?”
    “They do.”
    After one last hug, Nikandr opened the door and stepped outside, pulling the collar up around his neck, more for the warmth than to hide his appearance. Soon he was back among the streets, walking toward the northern end of the city, where he’d taken a room. As he walked, a flapping sound came from behind him, and a rook landed on his shoulder. It dug in its talons to remain in place, though it seemed tighter than it needed to be.
    The rook nipped his ear, a gesture Atiana had taken to. “I’m sorry, Nischka. She was young and strong once, but the wasting had taken too much from her.”
    “I know.” He walked, the sound of his boots rising above the sounds of revelry coming from the building on his right. Through the window, Nikandr could see a group of men laughing, two of them striking massive steins against one another, throwing beer into the air.
    Atiana was silent for a time, but Nikandr knew she was merely giving him time to deal with Mirketta’s death. “I’m tired, Atiana. Say what you’ve come to say.”
    “You were to tell me if you agreed to heal another.”
    “It’s difficult to get word to you. You know this. And I didn’t wish to make Anatoliy wait.”
    “I know you too well,” the rook replied. “You came to help Anatoliy, but you wished to study the rifts over Petrochka as well.”
    Nikandr shrugged. “If there are clues on this island, I would study them.”
    “I told you the rift was not wide.”
    “It doesn’t matter. We need to know more. And soon. I can feel it, Atiana. The world has been taking a deep breath these last many years, and soon that breath will be released. I would not be unprepared when it does.”
    “Neither would I, but there are realities to deal with as well.”
    Nikandr had nearly reached the far side of the capital square when a tavern door creaked open. Several men filed out, one of them wearing the uniform of a polkovnik, the second highest rank in the military of the Grand Duchy, beneath only the duke himself. The rook immediately flapped up and away as the men headed across the square. The polkovnik glanced at Nikandr, his brows furrowing momentarily, but then one of the men started a drinking song, and the others picked it up. Soon they were past him and Nikandr was up and into the higher reaches of the city.
    On a wide street with tall iron fences on either side, the rook flapped down and landed on his shoulder again.
    “What realities?” Nikandr said.
    “My father, for one. He wants you where you shine the most—at the helm of a ship, commanding other ships.”
    “He doesn’t think I shine . And he doesn’t command me, Atiana.”
    “He is the Grand Duke.”
    “I know this well.”
    The rook flapped to keep its balance as he took a short set of stairs between two tall stone houses. “Your father agrees with him. He wants you home.”
    “A home that is threatened.”
    The rook paused as the wind blew through the narrow walkway. “There’s no need to be cold, Nikandr. You know I agree.”
    “Then help me.”
    “I do.”
    “I need more.”
    “That’s why I’ve come.” The rook paused, and then took wing. It flew north, away from the inn where Nikandr had