Page 178 of The Cradle of Ice

“What would you have us do?” Wryth asked.

“This is a chance to strike a resounding blow. After the execution of Prince Paktan, we know the Klashe will attack again.” His gaze flicked angrily at Mikaen, but the king pressed on. “Makar will undoubtedly demand more blood. But he is wounded and said to be addled. His son Jubayr rules in his stead—a young prince no more fit to command than my own son.”

Though Mikaen was masked, Wryth saw the prince’s jaw clench.

Toranth continued. “We must use this rare moment to quash Makar’s desire for further revenge. We must show the imperium the cost of vengeance.”

“What action do you propose?” Provost Balyn asked. “Do we attack their coast, like they did ours?”

Toranth’s eyes gleamed. “This is not a moment for half measures.”

Balyn sat straighter. “Then what—?”

“We will bomb Kysalimri itself.”

A stunned silence followed.

“We can’t hope to take the city,” Toranth admitted. “But if we move swiftly enough, we can wreak a path of destruction that will scar Kysalimri for centuries.”

Reddak glanced to the king, who nodded for the liege general to speak. “Tomorrow morning,” Reddak said, “we’ll be taking three warships, led by our newest flagship, the Hyperium. Each ship will carry a Hadyss Cauldron—while the majestic Hyperium will wield the latest of our Cauldrons—a Madyss Hammer.”

Gasps rose from around the table. Even Wryth flinched. A Madyss Hammer had never been dropped. It was said to be an alchymical storm trapped in metal. Once unleashed, it created a cascading wave of destruction that would lay waste for leagues in all directions.

Mikaen ignored all of this and shifted higher. “But what of my brother? What of Kanthe?”

Toranth cast a scolding frown toward the prince. “Wherever he is, he is of no consequence.”

Mikaen huffed, his deep glower suggesting otherwise.

Wryth knew all the fiery Cauldrons in the world wouldn’t satisfy Mikaen’s lust for revenge. Still, the prince wisely settled back to his seat.

Thoryn rested a palm on Mikaen’s shoulder, as if ensuring that the prince remained there.

Wryth wished that hand were his own, that it was his will that reined in and wielded the future heir. But even under Thoryn’s steadying palm, Mikaen remained obstinate, his face growing redder. Atop the table, the prince formed a hard fist. Mikaen didn’t even bother to hide it.

In that moment, Wryth accepted a darker truth.

No one truly ruled this prince.

71

AALIA WAITED WITH ink in hand. A long, blank strip of parchment lay on the table in front of her. She watched the black ink in the crystal well roll back and forth with the motion of the imperial arrowsprite as it fled through the clouds. Out the tiny window near her elbow, she tried to judge the landscape passing below.

Green forest stretched in all directions, marking the woodlands of Myre Drysh. Directly ahead, a silvery waterway split the forest into two halves.

The river Styma …

She frowned. From the width of the river, she calculated they were much farther west of Styma’s headwaters than she had expected. If their destination was Kysalimri, it made no sense to be this far off course.

Where was the Augury—Tykhan, she corrected—taking them?

Aalia struggled with the many mysteries of the past day, determined to discover a path through them. She refused to stay idle and passive, something she had always fought against.

As the Illuminated Rose of the Imri-Ka, Aalia had been forever confined and restricted in her movements. It was a cage of perfumed oils, pampering, and idle days. She chafed at all of it, especially watching the freedoms allotted to her older brothers. Before her mother passed away, she had instilled and encouraged an active imagination, an insatiable curiosity, and a sharp mind.

A woman’s greatest weapon is her wits, her mother had once told her. Keep them as keen as any dagger.

Aalia lived by that philosophy, especially after her mother died. She had studied with private tutors in every discipline, only releasing her tutors when she could surpass them. With every passing year, she honed that dagger. All the while, she allowed herself to be primped and paraded, keeping secret what was in her heart. Once older, with the help of a maid, she often snuck away to explore the city, to learn more, to cultivate interests wider than the walls of the palace citadel. It was such study and explorations that slowly revealed the rot and decay and stagnancy of an empire in decline.