Page 109 of The Cradle of Ice

Shiya frowned. “Angels,” she corrected, using the ancient word for that place. “Once before, I told you that name was recorded in a language older than your histories, long before the Forsaken Ages.”

Shiya shifted her gaze over to Ularia. “The words she spoke just now—though I don’t comprehend their meaning—I know they were in that same language.”

Graylin stiffened. “How could that be?”

Shiya shook her head.

Meryk offered a possible explanation. “Ularia is a Nyssian. One of the most revered of the three. It is why Berent is not married to her. Such a union is forbidden. He loves her, desires her, but he does not carry the proper seed to give her the daughter she needs.”

“I don’t understand,” Nyx said. “What is a Nyssian?”

“There is no Noorish word for it,” Meryk admitted, scrunching up his face. “Nys Ularia and her sisters are the keepers of our history, preserving our past, all the way back to the first melt that formed the Crèche. They keep it all in their heads, far more than we can record in any of our books.”

Nyx looked shocked. “Do you mean they studied and memorized the entire history of the Crèche? All the way to its founding?”

Meryk shrugged. “Some say a Nyssian is born with this knowledge.”

“That’s impossible,” Nyx mumbled.

Meryk shrugged again. “All I know is that long ago, there were many sisters. Now only three. The first—Nys Pephia—was said to have been touched by the Dreamers. It is believed they shared a sliver of their godhood to grant her this gift. She was the only one to ever commune with Oshkapeers. Not counting our dead, of course. It is why it is forbidden to dive in those waters.”

Graylin glanced at Nyx. They had not shared their intention with Meryk to seek out those creatures. Daal had been adamant that his father not be involved, nor any of his family. It would pose too great a threat to them.

Across the barge, Ularia laughed, drawing Graylin’s attention, less from the outburst than its inappropriateness. Her eyes found him. The smile faded from her lips, turning harder. He tried to fathom the mystery behind the cold woman. How could she know that ancient tongue? And why did she offer those words to Shiya just now?

What is your game?

Ularia turned away, brushing past Berent, drawing the Reef Farer in her wake like some bridled pet. In that moment, Graylin knew the Reef Farer was not the true power in the Crèche. It traipsed at his side. As Graylin tracked her, he felt a familiar tingle along his spine. He had hunted the wilds of the deep Rimewood for nearly two decades. The perils of that icy forest had sharpened his senses. He had learned to recognize when a predator was nearby.

Especially one on his trail.

Certainty grew inside him as he watched Ularia settle to her throne.

That woman …

She’s far more dangerous than any shark in these waters.

44

FROM THE DECK of the barge, Nyx watched as the last of the wrapped bodies was lowered over a skiff’s rail and dropped gently into the water. Weighted by stones, it sank quickly away. She tried to follow its passage, but the form quickly vanished.

She leaned farther out, searching dark depths below for any sign of the Oshkapeers, for any telltale glow of bridle-song or other energy.

Nothing …

Worried, she forced her fingers to relax their grip on the rail. She gazed out at the steam-fogged waters. The hiss and bubble of boiling seas whispered over the waves. The heat stippled her skin with droplets. The air smelled of sulfurous brimstan, which turned her stomach, adding to her trepidation.

Around her, the lamenting elegy of the mourners had faded to a few voices. It was accompanied by the soft sobbing from the inconsolable. Otherwise, all others had fallen into a somber silence. Even those on the raft clustered in quiet groups, hanging on one another.

During the burial, she had noted the baleful glances cast her way, both from the skiffs and the deck of the barge. It seemed—despite Reef Farer’s best intentions—their presence among the bereaved, sharing their grief, was doing little to alleviate the smoldering resentment.

It confirmed Nyx’s earlier assessment.

We don’t belong here.

Still, she knew they would have to return again. She searched past the stern of the barge, toward the fiery glow in the mists that marked the distant town of Kefta. Daal had stayed behind and moored his skiff there, allowing Neffa and his other orkso to rest for a time.

A loud clang of a bell made her jump. She turned to where the Reef Farer stood at the prow before a large stone bell. He struck it again with a small hammer, then a third time. The sound reverberated in her chest. She rubbed her ribs to warm it away.