Page 9 of Queen of Shadows and Ruin (The Nightfire Quartet #4)

EIGHT

While they waited for Kishore to return, Miraan brooded in his room, and Rabin introduced Yasen to the Cradle.

Ekaja had created the treacherous sparring ring decades ago atop a mountain near the castle and nestled in the Zamina Valley. She’d spent months slicing off the top with her air and earth anchors, leaving behind a massive plateau.

She’d then spent the better part of a decade carving a spiraling line of stairs up the side before adding storage racks, weapons, and provisions. There was even a small hut with a wood-burning stove and a few palettes scattered on the floor where one could sleep. Most people needed a moment to rest after spending a few hours in the Cradle.

Rabin and Ekaja had been drinking too much wine one night when she’d turned uncharacteristically maudlin. She confessed she’d built the Cradle to silence the tortured voices plaguing her consciousness. During a brutal campaign against a rebelling mountain clan, her army was ambushed by a group of renegade clansmen. She’d been caught off guard. She’d missed the telltale signs and was terrified of disappointing Abishek after making such a rookie mistake.

So, as punishment, she ordered her soldiers to finish off the entire clan. No one was left alive. After returning home, she was riddled with guilt, unable to sleep or function without seeing their faces or hearing their screams.

The arduous task had temporarily taken her mind off the violence and brutality, giving her somewhere to channel her shame. Enough years passed that time dulled her emotions enough that she could exist again. But every once in a while, she would disappear for days at a time, sleeping and living in the Cradle, and he knew those ghosts had returned to haunt her once again.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Yasen asked as he trudged up the stairs behind Rabin.

“You’ll see,” he replied, ignoring Yasen’s grumbling as they made the ascent. The narrow staircase was a test of one’s balance and agility in itself.

When they reached the top, a blast of icy wind hit them with the force of a gut punch. This was one of the primary reasons Ekaja had selected this spot. The added distractions of the cold and wind were enough to test even the most battled-hardened warrior.

Yasen came up beside him, taking in the scope of the Cradle. Snowy mountain peaks surrounded them, casting cold shadows under the pale sky.

Ekaja stood in the middle of the plateau, performing a series of drills as she withstood the harsh elements.

She’d never told another living soul her reasons for creating this place—the king would have called her weak and questioned her role as his commander—but Rabin had been honored that she trusted him enough to unburden herself.

“Welcome to the Cradle,” Rabin said with a sweep of his arm.

“The Cradle?” Yasen asked.

“You’ve heard the term ‘from cradle to death?’ It’s a little play on words.”

“Well, this is insane,” he remarked wryly.

Ekaja noted their presence as a grin stretched across her face. She stalked over with a confident stride.

“You think you can handle this?” she asked Yasen, who narrowed his eyes.

“Probably not.”

That earned him a laugh as she cocked her head and gestured towards the center. “Can I teach you a few things?”

“Sure, probably how to get my ass handed to me,” he grumbled as he glanced at Rabin. “How often do you come out here?”

Rabin smirked at Yasen, wrapped head to toe in leather and fur, his teeth chattering, and his hands jammed into his armpits for warmth.

“A few times a week,” Rabin said.

Yasen shook his head and shucked off his thick outercoat to reveal his fur-lined fighting leathers while muttering under his breath, “I suppose this is what passes for fun on a frozen wasteland.”

Over the next few days, they all formed an easy friendship as they bantered and fought until the sun set each day.

Miraan spent much of his time in his room writing and exchanging letters with his brother about the state of affairs in Ishaan. It had taken some convincing, but Yasen eventually talked him into joining everyone outside.

Now he sparred with Ekaja, just barely holding his own.

Yasen scanned the horizon, taking in the snowy peaks. “You like living here?” he asked, and Rabin shrugged.

“It has a certain charm. Not a fan?”

Yasen snorted. “It’s positively wretched.”

That almost made Rabin smile as his gaze slid to Yasen. He’d always admired Yasen’s way of moving through the world with that easy disposition, never letting too much ruffle him. Rabin wished he could exude the same effortlessness.

“You get used to it,” Rabin said. “The cold becomes invigorating.”

Yasen stomped his feet and rubbed his hands. “Sure, if you’re not particularly attached to your extremities, I suppose.”

Rabin offered him a wry look, and they watched Ekaja knock Miraan flat on his back before pointing her blade at his throat. She stared him down, arching an eyebrow before Miraan raised his hands in defeat.

“So, what’s her story?” Yasen asked as Ekaja held out her hand and pulled Miraan to his feet.

Rabin shrugged. “Abishek found her when she was a child, abandoned by her parents. She was freezing, almost starved to death. He brought her in and raised her practically like a daughter, teaching her everything he knew and creating the most lethal, skilled, and loyal army commander a king could ask for.”

Yasen nodded. “I guess the king is good at collecting…orphans.”

Rabin snorted a wry laugh. “I suppose he is.”

They watched Miraan and Ekaja circle each other for another round.

“We’ve been friends for years,” Rabin continued. “She’s the only one I’ve been able to confide in during my time away from home.” He paused before adding, “I regret how I left things.”

Yasen didn’t respond for a moment as they watched Ekaja and Miraan start fighting again, their blades flashing in the light. “Vikram is…I don’t want to say he’s angry because that isn’t the right word. Disappointed? Hurt? I don’t think he understood why you left.”

Rabin turned to look at Yasen. “Do you know what my father did?”

Yasen nodded. “Not at first, but the truth eventually came out.”

“So, you understand why I had to leave.”

“I do. I don’t blame you, just so we’re clear. I know better than almost anyone what a complete fucking asshole your father is.”

Rabin turned to Yasen, noting the hardness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry that he hurt you, too,” Rabin said. “One day, I will kill him with a smile on my face.”

Yasen shook his head. “As long as you let me help.”

“With pleasure.”

Yasen met his gaze as a shared understanding passed between them.

“I wish Vik would see it the same way,” Rabin said as they turned to scan the horizon.

Yasen ran a hand down his face. “Your father has brainwashed Vik. He still looks up to him despite everything he’s done. He lost so much when he was forced to become Amrita’s steward. I think he’s still mourning a different life, but he’s a good man in his heart, and I think he’ll eventually realize what he gave up.”

Rabin inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Ekaja knocked Miraan down again before the prince scrambled to his feet. “I don’t think I can take any more,” he said with his hands on his knees as his breath sawed from his chest. “Someone save me.”

Ekaja barked out a wicked laugh and flipped her blade. With a hand planted on her hip, she cocked her head at Rabin. “Let’s do this, Ravana. It’s been ages since I’ve kicked your ass.”

Rabin’s face stretched into a grin as he withdrew his sword.

Amidst all the uncertainty of the past few weeks, this was one place where he still felt like himself.

Without missing a beat, he sprinted towards her, their blades ringing against the echo of the mountains and the endless northern sky.