Page 228 of The Cradle of Ice

Nyx reached and took Daal’s hand, feeling a familiar flash of fire. She hardly had to hum to raise a glow to her lips. Shiya did the same.

As Shiya and Nyx built their song, layering on harmonies and melodies, Daal fueled their efforts. Nyx remembered how stubborn those doors had been in the past, with locks that only bridle-song could pick. She readied herself for a battle. She sent out tentative golden strands of song to test the copper.

As soon as her first thread touched the surface, a spiky coruscation of emerald fire danced over the copper and burned her thread to ash. Shocked, Nyx faltered and her song collapsed. Shiya grimaced, too, sensing the enmity in that fire.

They all knew the source of that energy.

And so did others.

Throughout the ship, the raash’ke screamed and keened, a fiery chorus of fear and fury. They, too, recognized what hid in this coppery lair.

The spider who had enslaved them.

86

KANTHE LOUNGED IN a steaming bath within the grounds of the emperor’s palacio. A spring bubbled into the pool. The bath was a natural pond whose rock had been polished and smoothed into seats. With his eyes closed, he listened as the fifth bell of Eventoll rang across X’or.

When it finally ended, Kanthe sighed and wiggled, struggling to find some relief from his tension. Relegated to the mercies of the sisters, he felt abandoned and left trapped in this gilded and fragrant prison. Aalia and Rami had been ferried to Kysalimri, taking Pratik with them. The sense of being jailed here was enhanced by the high walls of the palacio—and the scores of Paladins and imperial guards who patrolled the surrounding woods and hallways.

Kanthe had discovered this small oasis, a tiny garden in a quiet corner of the grounds. The bubbling pool was canopied by a marble pergola, which kept the petals of the surrounding Talniss trees from sullying the shadowed waters. Though, a few floated past Kanthe’s fingers. The petals had been blown in by breezes that also tinkled hundreds of chimes.

Nearby, a lone, caged songbird twittered mournfully into the last of the night.

I know how you feel.

But it wasn’t just being abandoned that made him tense and out of sorts. He lifted his hands and spun a gold ring around his smallest finger. It was the only digit whose knuckles accommodated its slim width. He imagined his mother wearing it, seeking a connection with her. It stirred up hazy memories, but they were not warm enough to dismiss his trepidation.

Firstborn …

It still seemed impossible to contemplate fully. His second-born status had been ingrained deeply into him, by nearly two decades of slights, abuses, and beatings. His bones and flesh were steeped in the certainty of it. He could not so easily dispel it, especially not with the trifling heft of this ring and an old garnet stone inscribed with a winged horse.

He pushed both hands back underwater, hiding them away. He sank deeper with them. The shadowy garden matched his mood. Midnight was only a couple of bells off. The high walls hid the low sun, casting this oasis into a deeper gloom.

Unfortunately, this oasis was not impregnable.

A door opened across the garden. He stirred higher as Frell approached through the manicured hedges and tall pots of flowers and simpering tiny fountains.

Without any preface, except for a scowl, Frell updated Kanthe. “Pratik sent word. Aalia has successfully roused the Klashean fleet. After the battle in the Breath, the northern coast of the Klashe had been left meagerly protected. It hadn’t been reinforced by Prince Jubayr. A mistake by a prince who should have been counseled better. He had been assured that King Toranth would not act so soon.”

“I can see where the imperial council might have that impression. My father was always more bluster than action. But torching the Shield Islands had clearly lit a fire under him. It was a step too far, too fast, even as punishment for Mikaen’s execution of Prince Paktan. My father can only be goaded so far before he explodes. Prince Mareesh should have held back his worst.”

“It was as much Jubayr’s fault. He had removed the reins from his brother, allowing the devastation to happen. Again, his council should have encouraged restraint on the part of both the princes.”

“And Aalia?”

“From what I’ve heard, she listens to the council but leans upon her own astuteness. She was swift in getting the fleet—which had been listless for too long—into the air. She has them moving north in great force. But her armada won’t reach the northern coast before the ships of the royal fleet breach our shores. The hope is to hold the three warships and the Hyperium at a battle line over Tithyn Woods, to keep them from reaching Kysalimri.”

“And what are the chances of that happening?”

Frell frowned. “Prince Jubayr had been lax in his stewardship. Reacting rather than acting. He’s left Aalia in a poor situation. It will be a hard battle.”

“And here we sit, being fed dainties and encouraged to enjoy the luxuries of the baths.”

Frell waved at him. “Which I see you’re taking advantage of.”

“It would be rude not to.”

Frell rolled his eyes. “I’m off to update Tykhan over in the blood baths.”