The Straits of Galahesh: Book Two of The Lays of Anuskaya by Bradley P. Beaulieu Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bradley P. Beaulieu
taken a room.
The way she’d said those words… That’s why I’ve come… Almost as if she were standing right beside him.
He walked down the street. The buildings became homes with proper lawns, and then they became manors. When Nikandr reached the final bend in the road, he looked up and saw that the road led to a keep that had been converted into a boarding house. He knew this place. It was old, one of the few places outside the palotzas and the proper keeps of Mirkotsk that held a drowning chamber beneath the structure’s lone turret.
As he climbed the hill, he could see a room on the third floor. A lamp was lit within, and he could see a silhouette standing at the window. It was a silhouette he hadn’t seen for months, but as he looked upon it, a sudden sense of relief and anticipation swept over him.
When he reached the keep, the heavy service door set into the old wooden gate creaked open before he could knock. A squinting woman with a bullseye lantern leaned outside and eyed Nikandr while shining the lamp up and down his frame. After a grunt and a look of disapproval, she waved him inside and led him up to the keep’s third floor.
Atiana, wearing a lush red robe, was still toweling her hair when he entered the room. The old woman remained, awkwardly watching this exchange. Atiana shooed her away and shut the door, nearly catching the lantern in it. After a humph , the woman’s shuffling footsteps picked up and faded away, leaving Nikandr alone with Atiana at last.
Atiana stepped in and gave him a tender hug. She didn’t exactly approve of what he’d been doing with his newfound abilities—finding those afflicted with the wasting and healing them—but she was setting that aside for him.
For his part, he was drained emotionally. He hardly knew what to feel. All he knew was that holding her now was like basking in the summer sun. He pulled her close, feeling her skin, which was chilled to the bone. He could smell the earthy smell of the rendered goat fat that would have protected her skin while she was submerged beneath the water. He could also smell the jasmine perfume she liked to wear.
The emotions that had been roiling through him since leaving Mirketta had been with him until now, but the truth was that he was so glad she was here that he felt nothing but relief and the deep connection he and Atiana shared. Their love had started on Uyadensk, when they were to be married, but it had grown since they’d parted after the ritual on Oshtoyets. They’d seen one another several times a year since then, and each time, he found that his feelings for her had grown since the last time they’d held one another in their arms, since they’d last kissed, since they’d last made love.
“Why have you come so far?” he asked.
She stepped back, staring into his eyes, perhaps to judge his sincerity. “If you think I would let a year pass without seeing you, Nikandr Iaroslov”—she stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the neck—“you are sadly mistaken.”
He looked down at her, her porcelain skin and her bright eyes. Her hair fell down her shoulders and back, making her look more primal than he had ever seen her. She looked nothing like a princess.
She took a step back with a beckoning look.
He reached for her and she stepped away.
He didn’t want to smile, and yet he did. He stepped forward, and she slid back, never taking her eyes from him.
She moved one hand down to the sash that kept her robe in place.
He pulled at his cherkesska, allowing it to fall from his shoulders as her robe slipped from hers.
He stepped toward her, and when she tried to dance away, he grabbed her wrist. She fought him, tugging, trying to make him lose his grip. She twisted her arm, crouched down, until he pulled her hard and brought her body up against his.
She embraced him then, her lips locking on his. Her skin was freezing to the touch, but she moved as though she were on fire, kissing his neck and chest, biting his
The way she’d said those words… That’s why I’ve come… Almost as if she were standing right beside him.
He walked down the street. The buildings became homes with proper lawns, and then they became manors. When Nikandr reached the final bend in the road, he looked up and saw that the road led to a keep that had been converted into a boarding house. He knew this place. It was old, one of the few places outside the palotzas and the proper keeps of Mirkotsk that held a drowning chamber beneath the structure’s lone turret.
As he climbed the hill, he could see a room on the third floor. A lamp was lit within, and he could see a silhouette standing at the window. It was a silhouette he hadn’t seen for months, but as he looked upon it, a sudden sense of relief and anticipation swept over him.
When he reached the keep, the heavy service door set into the old wooden gate creaked open before he could knock. A squinting woman with a bullseye lantern leaned outside and eyed Nikandr while shining the lamp up and down his frame. After a grunt and a look of disapproval, she waved him inside and led him up to the keep’s third floor.
Atiana, wearing a lush red robe, was still toweling her hair when he entered the room. The old woman remained, awkwardly watching this exchange. Atiana shooed her away and shut the door, nearly catching the lantern in it. After a humph , the woman’s shuffling footsteps picked up and faded away, leaving Nikandr alone with Atiana at last.
Atiana stepped in and gave him a tender hug. She didn’t exactly approve of what he’d been doing with his newfound abilities—finding those afflicted with the wasting and healing them—but she was setting that aside for him.
For his part, he was drained emotionally. He hardly knew what to feel. All he knew was that holding her now was like basking in the summer sun. He pulled her close, feeling her skin, which was chilled to the bone. He could smell the earthy smell of the rendered goat fat that would have protected her skin while she was submerged beneath the water. He could also smell the jasmine perfume she liked to wear.
The emotions that had been roiling through him since leaving Mirketta had been with him until now, but the truth was that he was so glad she was here that he felt nothing but relief and the deep connection he and Atiana shared. Their love had started on Uyadensk, when they were to be married, but it had grown since they’d parted after the ritual on Oshtoyets. They’d seen one another several times a year since then, and each time, he found that his feelings for her had grown since the last time they’d held one another in their arms, since they’d last kissed, since they’d last made love.
“Why have you come so far?” he asked.
She stepped back, staring into his eyes, perhaps to judge his sincerity. “If you think I would let a year pass without seeing you, Nikandr Iaroslov”—she stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the neck—“you are sadly mistaken.”
He looked down at her, her porcelain skin and her bright eyes. Her hair fell down her shoulders and back, making her look more primal than he had ever seen her. She looked nothing like a princess.
She took a step back with a beckoning look.
He reached for her and she stepped away.
He didn’t want to smile, and yet he did. He stepped forward, and she slid back, never taking her eyes from him.
She moved one hand down to the sash that kept her robe in place.
He pulled at his cherkesska, allowing it to fall from his shoulders as her robe slipped from hers.
He stepped toward her, and when she tried to dance away, he grabbed her wrist. She fought him, tugging, trying to make him lose his grip. She twisted her arm, crouched down, until he pulled her hard and brought her body up against his.
She embraced him then, her lips locking on his. Her skin was freezing to the touch, but she moved as though she were on fire, kissing his neck and chest, biting his
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