Page 184 of The Cradle of Ice

Aalia nodded. “You owe us some explanation.”

Kanthe agreed, focusing on a more immediate concern. “Can you do that to any of us?”

Tykhan shook his head. “No. It has taken me five decades of slow manipulation to achieve this with the emperor. Closing a pathway in his mind. Opening another. Moving a few others. A million tiny changes to be able to enthrall him.”

“Like bridling?” Frell asked.

Tykhan lifted his bronze fingers. “Such gifts are weak in a Root. They’re stronger in an Axis. And in a Krysh, they’re frightening. Each caste is imbued with unique gifts, to suit our needs in the collective. While Shiya is stronger in bridle-song, she cannot melt her form like I can.”

“‘Each to his own place, each to his own honor,’” Aalia said, quoting an old Klashean adage about their strict caste system. “The ta’wyn are not unalike in this manner.”

“I suppose we are,” Tykhan admitted. “While my communication skills are robust, my synmeld—my bridle-song, as you call it—is weak. I can barely cast a glow past my fingertips. As such, it has taken me these fifty years to be able to achieve a weak form of bridling over Makar.”

“But why do this?” Kanthe asked.

“I foresaw a future where to wield an emperor would serve my cause.”

“So you truly are prophetic,” Aalia said, her brows pinched.

“Not at all.”

“Then I don’t understand.” Aalia folded her arms, clearly not happy to be in the dark, not in this matter, and likely not any other.

Tykhan stated matter-of-factly, “I don’t believe in prophecy.”

Such words from an augury stunned everyone, especially as they all were placing their faith in his guidance.

Tykhan continued, “The fumes I pretended to inhale are mildly hallucinogenic—not that they have any effect on me. But I’ve learned that the fumes make others swoon with a thrill of exaltation, as if the very gods were smiling upon them. It was not hard to suggest that such feelings were indeed visitations by the deities, who sought to share their divine wisdom. Time and belief took care of the rest. I built a temple, then a village, and now a town around such claims.”

Frell stepped forward. “But I reviewed centuries of Qazen’s prophetic statements—your words—and they’ve shown to be uncannily accurate.”

Kanthe nodded, remembering Frell claiming as much before.

Tykhan sighed. “It was not hard. I’ve lived in the Crown long before I took up the shawl of an oracle. I’ve watched history write itself. I’ve observed the lives of untold millions. I retain it all. While I might not be able to predict the outcome of the fall of a single coin, I know after thousands of tosses that the two sides must eventually fall an equal number of times. Time is like that on a grander scale. There are tides that flow, where the accumulation of past trends points to future events. I merely have to recite what history seems to forecast.”

“But some details of your prophecies are so exacting,” Frell challenged him. “About personal lives, about what’s in another’s heart.”

“Ah, that’s even easier. I have eyes and ears everywhere who help me. Oftentimes, my revelations are just recitations of what’s been told to me. Plus, after so many millennia, I can read the subtlest of expressions and interpret the responses that are secretly desired. A wife who suspects a husband of adultery and seeks a reason to poison him. Someone who believes a rival is corrupt and looks to me to justify discrediting and ruining them.”

He shrugged. “More often than not, prophecy is just me telling someone what they want to hear. And other predictions are simple obfuscation, couching my words in such vague ways that they fit nearly any situation.”

Pratik looked crestfallen, barely able to speak. “So nothing you’ve said was gifted by the gods. It’s all trickery or extrapolation.”

Tykhan didn’t bother to answer.

“Then why are we following you?” Rami exclaimed. “We’re risking everything on the words of a charlatan.”

Tykhan showed no offense. “A very ancient charlatan. I’ve been following variables and trends, going back millennia, pointing to the certainty of a war to come. With enough knowledge, I can predict likely outcomes. It’s allowed me to rule empires and bring down kingdoms, all leading to this moment. To ready the Crown as best I can for the tumult to come. If you follow history in all its telling detail, prophecy is simply inevitability.”

Kanthe remembered Tykhan using similar words in describing Nyx’s vision.

“It is a dangerous game you’re playing,” Rami said darkly as he collected his father under an arm. “With all our lives.”

* * *

AFTER HELPING RAMI carry Emperor Makar back into the cabin, Kanthe stayed there. He needed time to ponder all that had been shared. He also helped Rami gently clean his father, a difficult task for any son. Rami said little as they worked, but he gave Kanthe a brief and sincere hug of gratitude afterward.

Once done, Kanthe left Rami with his father and returned to the arrowsprite’s main hold. He now felt more settled, especially as he had dug out the thorn that had been troubling him about Tykhan’s story. A detail had been brushed over, one that still nagged at him.