Read The Straits of Galahesh: Book Two of The Lays of Anuskaya for Free Online

something I can do to help us—to help all of us—then I would do it, or die in the trying. This is what my parents left me—the notion that in giving, we receive—and I cherish it.”
    Nasim smiled, for his words rang true. “Then come.”
    They left before dawn the next morning.

CHAPTER THREE
     
    T he sun hung low over the western end of Ivosladna in the Duchy of Mirkotsk. Long shadows stretched over the capital square that sprawled near the old stone wall of the posadnik’s mansion. The weather had already turned cold in the northern islands, but the last few days had brought with it a small reprieve from the bitter winds and early snows.
    Still, Nikandr Iaroslov Khalakovo pulled the collar of his cherkesska up. Two young streltsi wearing the gold-and-red tassels of Mirkotsk walked along the stone cobbles of the square, the echoes of their boot heels clicking among the monstrous buildings surrounding it. They glanced at Nikandr, but he stumbled and caught himself, as a man too deep into his cups might do, and they laughed and kept on moving.
    He waited as a pair of ponies clopped past the street in front of him and then ducked into a narrow lane that led down a steep slope toward the river. When he came to the first intersection, he waited, but not for long. To his right, from a doorway not far down the alleyway, a bearded man with a wine-colored kaftan waved to him. It was Anatoliy, the nephew of Duke Yevgeny Mirkotsk.
    Nikandr made his way into his home. Only after the door was closed did Nikandr step in to hug him. They kissed cheeks and held one another by the shoulders, slapping each other several times.
    “You look well, Nischka.” Anatoliy’s long black beard waggled as he spoke. He was thin—practically emaciated—and despite his warm greeting, his eyes were sunken and dark and filled with worry.
    “And you look miserable, Toliy.”
    Anatoliy smiled, ignoring the gibe. “I’m grateful you could come.” He motioned to the next room, and the two of them stepped into his sitting room, where a small fire lay dying in the fireplace. Nikandr unwrapped his scarf and took off his coat. After setting it onto the back of one of the two chairs, he sat while Anatoliy poured two healthy servings of vodka into wide pewter mazers. He handed one to Nikandr before lowering himself carefully into the other chair, as if his body had only enough energy left to perform this one final act.
    “Where is Kseniya?” Nikandr asked carefully.
    “She could not bear to be here.”
    Nikandr thought that statement through. “Does she not approve?”
    Before Nikandr had finished speaking, Anatoliy was already shaking his head. “She stands with me in this, but she cannot be here when you... When you try.”
    “And Mirketta? How is she?”
    Anatoliy glanced up toward the second floor, where his daughter would be resting. “Not well.”
    “You gave her the elixir?”
    “ Da .”
    “When?”
    “An hour ago, as you instructed.”
    Nikandr looked through the wavy glass of the nearby window. He could see little more than the building across the street, lit by the pale light of the dying sun. “We’ll give her some time yet.”
    Anatoliy released a deep breath, and with it some of the tension he was clearly harboring was released. “Thank you for coming. I wouldn’t blame you if you’d decided not to.”
    “I wouldn’t think of it,” Nikandr said. “But what of Yevgeny?”
    Anatoliy’s smile in the darkness of the room was grim. “My uncle, the duke, would not wish to hear of your presence in this house, but he will not ask me of it, nor protest if he learns of Ketta’s sudden return to health.”
    Nikandr shook his head. “I fear the same cannot be said of Borund. He will protest when he hears of it. And loudly.”
    “Borund can go fuck a goat.”
    Nikandr laughed, raising his glass and taking a healthy swallow of vodka. “ Da . He can do that, and sooner rather than later.”
    Anatoliy laughed ruefully, sitting