The Winds of Khalakovo Read Free

decorum?”
    “I have many things to attend to, Mother. My life doesn’t revolve around ceremony.”
    The rook cawed and flapped its wings. “Things to attend to... What’s done is done, Nischka. No matter how much sweat you’ve poured into that ship, it would be better if you left it to the Vostromas. There are more important things to worry about.”
    Nikandr bit his tongue. “Is there anything else?”
    “She is a fine woman.”
    “As I’ve said many times.”
    “So many times that I wonder if you say it in your sleep, but I’ve never once believed your words. The Duchy needs this marriage, Nischka.”
    “A fact you’ve made me well aware of, but you can’t expect me to love her simply because you say so.”
    The rook flapped its wings and cawed. “ Nyet , but I can expect you to treat her family with more than formality. While they’re here on the island, you will embrace them, and that starts with the launching of the Gorovna .”
    Nikandr stood. “Is that all, Mother?”
    There was a pause as the rook gave him a baleful stare, but then it cawed and pecked at the iron perch, producing dull, metallic tings. “Go,” it said. “Bid your farewells to your precious ship.”
    And with that the presence he felt in his soulstone fled. He waited for a few moments to be sure, the rook flapping its wings and hopping along the perch, showing none of the intelligence it had only moments ago, and then he retrieved the vials and tucked them inside his cherkesska.
    After leaving several banknotes on Aleksei’s desk, he left. He didn’t see Aleksei among the throng of clerks occupying the outer office. No doubt the man had secreted himself away to take care of business without being bled by the likes of Nikandr.
    He left the building and strode through the cobblestone courtyard, passing six wagons being loaded with grain from the Empire of Yrstanla, far to the west. The grain would be headed not to Radiskoye, but to the seaside, to Volgorod, where hundreds of starving families would be waiting for their weekly allotment. With the blight worse than it had ever been—fishing and hunting and farming yields all at record lows—grain was the only thing keeping the islands from collapsing under the weight of their own demands. The farming season was about to begin, though, and everyone was hopeful that this year would break the stranglehold the blight had taken on the islands.
    Beyond the courtyard was a wide road—sheer cliffs to one side, a low stone wall to the other. He followed this to the highest of the quays, the one reserved for ships of state. The calls of the gulls came louder. A strengthening wind assaulted him as he strode past the large ships moored to the first several perches.
    He stopped when he reached the fifth. There rested the Gorovna . His ship. The ship that would soon be given away to the Vostromas as part of the sweeping arrangements surrounding his marriage to Atiana.
    His first instinct was to go aboard and complete his business with the grub, but he stopped himself. This was not the time to rush. He closed his eyes and inhaled, taking in the distinct odor of fresh wood that mixed with the smell of the ocean. He realized the fear that had been building within him since he’d left Rehada’s home was gone. The only thing he could feel was a sense of pride at what he and so many others had accomplished. The ship might be transferring hands, but it would always bear his mark, and he would bear the mark of the ship as well. He had started a young man who knew the wind , but now... Now he knew ships , which was an entirely different thing. Helping design and build her had made him a better man, and for that, he was glad.
    He strode along the edge of the perch, close enough that he could run his hand along the freshly painted surface of her hull. He loved the feel of it—the smooth landscape of the delicate grain, the knowledge that every small part of her was connected to the others. He sensed the