Читать книгу The Black Khan - Ausma Khan Zehanat - Страница 26

LARISA TOOK HER FATHER IN HER ARMS, UNABLE TO COME TO TERMS with his rebirth. For so long she and Elena had believed that their father had met his death at the Authoritan’s hands. Searching his haggard face, she knew that his survival had been purchased at an inordinate cost. The far-seeing eyes were the same—kind and inspirited with belief—but something vital was missing. Perhaps that same element that had hardened inside Larisa after her detention at Jaslyk. Perhaps her father was looking at his daughters and telling himself the same thing.

I don’t know who they are anymore.

“You’ve come,” he choked out. “I told Captain Illarion I would see you again one day.”

Larisa’s face had lost all color. Her limbs trembled with disbelief and her voice was hoarse as she spoke. She looked like a woman who dared not believe her eyes, who dared not cling to hope.

Elena stayed quiet, the personal toll of discovery too wrenching for her to fathom. Her father was a ghost. He was nothing but a memory, a dream of what Marakand might be.

And who was this Ahdath who called her father Mudjadid? He had betrayed them—he might still betray them—or had she been wrong to doubt his loyalty all along? She was swept up in an excess of emotion, unable to separate her feelings.

Had she finally met a member of the Ahdath who’d earned something other than her hate?

She brushed a shaking hand across her eyes, unwilling to face Illarion—to witness his compassion at how deeply she’d been harmed by the knowledge of his treachery. His blue eyes were alight with concern, but she turned her face away.

“I was in the Plague Wing,” her father said. “The Technologist kept you away from me—I would never have let you suffer had I known. After you escaped, he transferred me back to this ward. He took pleasure in describing all that my daughters had endured.”

Her hatred so great that it engulfed her like a living skin, Elena drove the heel of her boot into the Technologist’s severed head. She heard the grinding of his bones with a savage satisfaction.

Illarion flashed her a glance but didn’t interfere. He crouched down on his knees to search the Technologist’s body, coming away with a small object that he tucked into his belt.

“I heard you,” Larisa murmured, disbelieving. “I heard the song of the Claim—the song of our childhood. I didn’t think I ever would again.”

Salikh kissed the top of her head, his pale, rheumy eyes leaking tears. He hugged his daughters close, his thin frame shuddering with sobs.

“Nothing is stronger than the power of the Claim. No matter the gifts of the Authoritan, he cannot override it.”

She wasn’t sure she could believe that, despite what she’d heard firsthand, but there was no time to discuss it further. Reinforcements from the Crimson Watch were already on their way.

“Free us!” The prisoners in the cells called out to their improbable gathering of allies.

Sinnia moved to obey, but Illarion turned to Salikh. “What is your command, Mudjadid?”

“If you unlock these cells, you will never reach the Plague Wing as you hoped. You must leave us at once.”

“Must I also leave you, Mudjadid?”

“I could only hinder you in your plan.”

“Then flee with your daughters to the graveyard of the ships.”

Salikh’s pale eyes were kind. “I cannot leave my followers to suffer when they’ve done everything I asked. And there is more to accomplish.”

He spoke to the men in the cells in the dialect of Marakand—his instructions deliberate and fierce. “You’ve done so much of what I’ve asked, but my daughters must go free. Forgive me that we must remain.”

He was using the Claim. The men in the cells grew calm.

“As you command, Mudjadid,” promised one.

Larisa’s protest was firm: she refused to abandon her father to his fate at the Ahdath’s hands. That she had found him was a miracle surely granted by the One; she wouldn’t leave him behind. “If you won’t come with us, Father, neither will we leave. We’ll make our stand here together.”

Salikh shook his head, unable to explain his will or to describe his purpose. He gestured weakly at Illarion, who spoke in a cutting voice, to return them to the urgency of the moment.

“Your father knows what he’s doing. You need to get out of Jaslyk while you can.”

“You won’t make it to the Plague Wing alive,” Larisa warned him. “Come back with us to the graveyard of the ships.”

Illarion shook his head. “I can’t. Not now that I have the talisman.” He turned to Sinnia. “Companion, follow them to Black Aura, where the First Oralist has been taken prisoner. She sent me to deliver you from Jaslyk, and now she has need of you in turn.”

Sinnia nodded at him briskly, taken aback by this news.

“Yours is a fool’s errand,” Larisa persisted. “They will hunt you into the ground. Better that you escort the Companion safely back to Black Aura.”

“I can’t,” he said again. “I have a mission to complete. You needn’t worry—anyone who could betray me here I’ve already killed.” He touched the crimson splash at his throat. “This will get me into the Plague Wing.”

Elena cleaned her sword on the Technologist’s smock. “What is it you seek to find?”

His eyes met hers, a banked flame in their depths. “Did you never learn why these prisoners submit to the Ahdath’s tortures—why these Basmachi in particular were captured by the Crimson Watch?”

She frowned at him, unwilling to admit her ignorance of anything concerning her men.

“They keep the Technologist focused on themselves to draw him away from the Plague Wing. Each man here volunteered. Each has a loved one who suffers the torments of the Plague Wing. It’s what keeps them here, deflecting the Technologist’s attention.”

Her voice softer now, Elena asked, “And what of you, Ahdath?”

Illarion shrugged without meeting her eyes. “They have my sister. It’s why I joined the Salikhate. Now go. You’ve delayed too long as it is.”

Elena’s voice was matter-of-fact as she gathered up her weapons. She had shut her father out of her mind, to force herself to focus on their plan.

“Take the Companion to Black Aura,” she told Larisa. “Father must decide his course for himself, and you know the way back, so you won’t be needing me. I’ll meet you in Marakand. This Ahdath won’t make it to the Plague Wing on his own.”