Page 186 of The Cradle of Ice

“There is too much at stake in the days ahead,” Tykhan snapped. “Not only can’t I risk alerting any of Eligor’s cohorts, but I told you about how Hálendii has discovered a way to track a ta’wyn. If I attempted even a brief communication, the kingdom would know another Sleeper is awake. Such a new variable would take a hammer to all my plans. All the trends and forecasts that led to this one moment could be dashed. Nothing would be predictable afterward.”

Frell nodded. “He’s right. If Shrive Wryth suspects there is another Sleeper here, he’ll direct all of Hálendii’s forces toward us.”

Tykhan nodded. “For now, the situation remains too fragile. We’ve cast our lot. There’s no taking it back.”

Kanthe growled his frustration.

Tykhan tried to soothe him. “Once we’ve secured the imperium and if the others successfully reach the great machine, then I will break my silence.” He stared hard at Kanthe. “But only briefly.”

Kanthe frowned.

That’s a lot of ifs.

But he would have to settle for it.

Frell used the lull in the conversation to broach a concern that had been troubling him since he was dragged into the librarie of the Abyssal Codex. “You stated that you don’t believe in prophecy, but what of the Vyk dyre Rha? The foretold rise of such a dark figure seems tied to the ta’wyn.”

“Certainly, I recognize such a name. Over the millennia, I’ve heard whispers and rumors. But I don’t know if such stories are myths, legends, prophecies, or simply a daemon created out of necessity. Another inevitability.”

“What do you mean?” Pratik asked.

“Every culture has a dark corner of their pantheon. Hálendii has Hadyss. The Iflelen have Ðreyk. The Southern Klashe—never one to limit their gods—have four of their own. Maybe it speaks to a frailty in all of us, a need to put a name to the darkness in our natures, a way to cast blame for our worst aspects, rather than accepting and addressing it.”

Kanthe swallowed.

“And maybe we ta’wyn are no better. Perhaps we, too, needed a dark god to blame.”

Kanthe shared a worried look with Frell and Pratik.

Tykhan finally shrugged. “Again, as a Root, I can’t offer more on this subject. Perhaps there was once a ta’wyn—someone far more skilled than I—who foresaw the rise of such a creature. Only time will reveal the truth.”

Kanthe had his fill of such mysteries. They made his head throb. With an exasperated sigh, he headed to his seat and fell heavily into it.

Out the window, the arrowsprite had finally crossed the vast breadth of the M’venlands and reached the southern shore of the Bay of the Blessed. To the east, the sprawl of Kysalimri rose in blazing white tiers, climbing in stacks of walls, each more ancient than the last, leading to the towering citadel, the crown of the Eternal City.

The arrowsprite angled away from it.

That was not their destination.

Not yet.

Tykhan believed it would be too sudden to dive upon Kysalimri with a new empress aboard. Change came slowly to the Eternal City, and they needed to take that into account. To that end, the Augury had settled on the town of X’or along the bay’s northern coast. It was a sanctuary of healing, renowned across the Crown for its hundreds of cascading baths, all bubbling with elixirs, oils, and tonic.

There, the fate of an empire would be decided.

Kanthe sighed, picturing a long, hot soak.

If nothing else, at least our bodies will be clean when they kill us.

FIFTEEN

THE MOUTH OF THE MAELSTROM

KALENDA: I aske you. Whenne it comms to betrayal, which’es easier to forgive—frend or enemi?

MARCELUS: I saye enemi, for it is a wound expect’d.

KALENDA: I say neither. For in both, it is youre innocens that bears the grettest gylt & is the hard’st to absolve.