11-19-2025, 02:10 AM
Movement at the far end of the courtyard drew Nikolai’s eye. Three figures advanced through the wind-scoured emptiness, feet crunching over frost-hardened earth. Nox walked with that unplaceable swagger of his half defiance while Eliot moved like a man who carried storms inside him. But it was the third who tightened the cords of tension across Nikolai’s shoulders. Helena Asquith.
A woman of pedigree, clearance, and family. He had no particular issue with her specifically other than the surprise of her arrival. Two Atharim he could handle; Nox he trusted. But three Atharim? Not today. Behind them strode Ninacska, posture straight as a knife.
Nikolai felt the first stirrings of true rage then. The cold, deep sort. It rose through him like ice water forced through the veins. Outwardly, he remained still as stone. But the Dominions shifted beside him, each sensing the subtle change in the air. Three Atharim. Three potential channelers. Brought into his presence against his explicit command.
He measured them as they approached: their breathing, stride, and the potential each represented power unknown. He had not prepared for this configuration of power. That alone was enough to sharpen his mind to assimilating the potential threat, but that wasn't the source of his anger. They stopped at a respectful distance. Close enough for conversation but far enough for intent to be read.
Nikolai’s eyes slid past the three guests and settled on Ninacska.
“Despite my order,” he said, voice low, and drawn tight, “you admitted her?”
Ninacska did not flinch. Of course she didn’t. She only nodded short, clean, and unapologetic.
In Nikolai’s mind, the calculus was already done. Loyalty was the spine of his Custody. Break the spine, and the body collapses. Secrets, especially those belonging to the Atharim, were too corrosive to allow fractures within his command. She had known his order, and had denied it.
“Go to the administration building,” Nikolai said. “Wait for me there.”
She turned without hesitation and started across the courtyard, boots tapping steadily against the stone. She neither hurried nor slowed.
He watched her walk away a few moments before power rushed into his grasp, and a spear of lightning cracked down from the low-bellied cloud above. Its fury was instantaneous; its light bleached the Garden white.
When their light-blinded vision returned, Ninacska lay crumpled on the ground, smoke rising faintly from the furs at her collar.
A quick death. Justice, as he understood it. He felt no triumph. No regret. Only the sobering settlement of order restored.
Exhaling as if resetting his emotions back into their proper place, Nikolai turned back to the three who now stared at him with varying degrees of reaction.
“I hear you want my help, Praeceptor,” Nikolai said, meeting Eliot’s eyes.
A woman of pedigree, clearance, and family. He had no particular issue with her specifically other than the surprise of her arrival. Two Atharim he could handle; Nox he trusted. But three Atharim? Not today. Behind them strode Ninacska, posture straight as a knife.
Nikolai felt the first stirrings of true rage then. The cold, deep sort. It rose through him like ice water forced through the veins. Outwardly, he remained still as stone. But the Dominions shifted beside him, each sensing the subtle change in the air. Three Atharim. Three potential channelers. Brought into his presence against his explicit command.
He measured them as they approached: their breathing, stride, and the potential each represented power unknown. He had not prepared for this configuration of power. That alone was enough to sharpen his mind to assimilating the potential threat, but that wasn't the source of his anger. They stopped at a respectful distance. Close enough for conversation but far enough for intent to be read.
Nikolai’s eyes slid past the three guests and settled on Ninacska.
“Despite my order,” he said, voice low, and drawn tight, “you admitted her?”
Ninacska did not flinch. Of course she didn’t. She only nodded short, clean, and unapologetic.
In Nikolai’s mind, the calculus was already done. Loyalty was the spine of his Custody. Break the spine, and the body collapses. Secrets, especially those belonging to the Atharim, were too corrosive to allow fractures within his command. She had known his order, and had denied it.
“Go to the administration building,” Nikolai said. “Wait for me there.”
She turned without hesitation and started across the courtyard, boots tapping steadily against the stone. She neither hurried nor slowed.
He watched her walk away a few moments before power rushed into his grasp, and a spear of lightning cracked down from the low-bellied cloud above. Its fury was instantaneous; its light bleached the Garden white.
When their light-blinded vision returned, Ninacska lay crumpled on the ground, smoke rising faintly from the furs at her collar.
A quick death. Justice, as he understood it. He felt no triumph. No regret. Only the sobering settlement of order restored.
Exhaling as if resetting his emotions back into their proper place, Nikolai turned back to the three who now stared at him with varying degrees of reaction.
“I hear you want my help, Praeceptor,” Nikolai said, meeting Eliot’s eyes.