Page 10 of The Cradle of Ice

Kanthe’s hands tightened on the rail. He took a deep breath, trying to catch a whiff of what he suspected, but the distance was far too great. Still, he knew the source of that thunder. He had heard its telltale blast before.

The captain of the barge hurried over, closing upon Rami, who stood as stiff-backed as Kanthe. The hulking man carried a farscope in hand and held it forth.

Rami took it and extended it to its full length. “What is it, Ghees?”

“Looks to be coming from Ekau Watch,” the captain said.

Kanthe recognized the name of the large outpost on the northernmost coast of the Southern Klashe. He stepped closer to the others, drawing their attention.

“I fear someone must’ve dropped a Hadyss Cauldron over there,” Kanthe warned, picturing the barn-sized iron bomb named after the god of the fiery underworld.

“Are you certain?” Rami lifted the scope to one eye.

Kanthe shrugged. “Not long ago I had one nearly dropped on my head.” He then added a more worrisome note. “If I’m right, it takes a vessel the size of a warship to carry such a fearsome weapon.”

Rami leaned over the rail with his scope. “I don’t spot any wyndships. But that pall is dense. And flames are already spreading into the neighboring woods, churning up more smoke.”

Rami lowered the farscope and turned to Ghees. “Get us back to Kysalimri.”

The captain bowed brusquely, then hurried away. Rami gave Kanthe’s shoulder a last squeeze, then rushed after the man.

Alone now, Kanthe stared toward the horizon. He rubbed his shoulder where Rami had gripped him, plainly offering Kanthe reassurance.

I don’t deserve it.

He remembered his earlier reverie, wondering what had been transpiring in Hálendii. He was now certain: word had indeed reached his father of his son’s betrayal. While the tremble in the bay subsided, Kanthe’s breath grew heavier as he feared the worst.

Did my coming here push my father over the edge? Is this the result?

He couldn’t know for sure—but one certainty settled like a stone in his gut. He stared at the smoke, at the distant spark of spreading fires.

This act means war.

5

KANTHE FOUGHT TO keep his seat in the jolting carriage. He gripped the edge of the bench with one hand and pushed his princely arse more firmly into the pillowed cushion to hold himself in place. The coach was an open one. Winds from their swift passage through the streets of Kysalimri whipped his hair and buffeted his royal garb. He used his free hand to keep his gold cap in place.

Across the carriage, Rami bowed his head near one of his advisers. Though the elder’s features were presently cloaked by his byor-ga headwear, Kanthe knew the man. Within the palace grounds, the Chaaen were not required to cover their faces. The gaunt man’s name was Loryn. He served as Rami’s counsel in matters of the court. The rattle of wheels drowned their words, but the pair were undoubtedly discussing the explosive incursion to the north.

Kanthe turned away with a groan. Armed horsemen, a cadre of the royal guard, flanked the golden carriage. Ahead of them, another gilded coach rattled over the cobbles, carrying Aalia and her dozen Chaaen. Beyond them, the entourage was led by a war wagon, prickling with crossbows. Archers watched every shadow for dangers. More swordsmen in light armor crowded the middle of the wagon. Even the horses wore plates of metal. A second war wagon trailed the parade, guarding their rear.

Kanthe should have felt well protected, except he caught the glares from the nearest soldiers. Though their faces were half hidden by drapes of thin mail, their narrowed eyes glinted with accusation.

They blame me for the attack. Kanthe could not quell his own sense of guilt. I should not have come to these lands.

Still, Kanthe suspected the soldiers’ wrath was stoked by suspicions that he may have had a more direct involvement in the attack to the north. The nearest horseman bowed his chin so he could spit into the street near the wheel of the cart.

None but Kanthe noted this act. He lowered his hand from his cap and tightened his fingers into a fist.

I don’t even have a weapon to defend myself if I am attacked.

Gloved fingers touched his knee. “Do not be goaded,” the Chaaen seated next to him warned.

Kanthe glanced at the man. Violet eyes, framed by black brows, stared through the slit in the draped byor-ga coif. The man’s complexion was a few shades darker than his own. Kanthe forced his fingers to relax, reminding himself that he had an ally here.

Pratik had once been chaaen-bound to a royal merchant until half a year ago. While traveling abroad, Pratik had been pulled into the fold of those who sought to prevent moonfall. The Chaaen had escorted Kanthe to these shores. After the prince had been granted imri status by the emperor, Pratik had been assigned to Kanthe. Silver chains led from Kanthe’s boots up to the man’s collar, the iron of which signified his scholarship in alchymy.

Unfortunately, Kanthe had been gifted another Chaaen, too.