Page 286 of The Cradle of Ice

Hope.

* * *

AS THE FIRST of the latterday bells rang, Aalia entered the strategy room atop the Blood’d Tower. She felt lighter after shedding out of her gown and into a simpler gerygoud habiliment, which consisted of a short tunic and white robe with splayed sleeves.

She entered with Tazar on her arm. She gave Kanthe a hard stare. She appreciated his support at the ceremony, but she made it clear the marriage to come would be as ceremonial as the finery they would wear. She dreaded having to prepare for that. Still, Tazar had helped her strip out of her gown and proved that a man on his knees could find a greater use for his tongue than simply swearing an oath.

Due to such diligent attention, they were the last to arrive at the small gathering. She crossed to the table with its map of the Southern Klashe. Tazar stepped away to join Llyra, likely to discuss matters of low armies and high affairs.

Kanthe and Rami whispered together to one side of the table, while Pratik and Frell seemed in midargument on the other. They all fell silent when she reached the table and cleared her throat.

“Why have you summoned us all here?” she asked the figure on the far end.

The Augury of Qazen stood in his black robes, with his bronze hidden under paint. Tykhan had asked them to gather in the strategy room, away from any other members of the imperial council, specifically before the wedding.

“I should let you know it is not only us in this room,” he stated. “But also in attendance, though obviously unseen, are those of our group who reside in the Wastes.”

“Nyx and the others?” Kanthe asked.

Tykhan frowned at him for stating the obvious. “They will be listening in, and Shiya will pass to me any of their questions.”

Over the past month, the two parties had shared and recounted their respective stories, but Tykhan had insisted on keeping any communications brief and sporadic. While he had taught Shiya how to shield her emanations, he remained wary of exposing themselves too broadly.

Tykhan started, “I’ve let both groups collect themselves and prepare for what’s to come, but as the nuptials are pending, I must raise one last warning to both sides. To let you know why I needed the empire readied with a new empress, one married to the rightful heir to the Hálendiian throne. Much depends on this coming to fruition.”

“Finally,” Aalia stated. “You’ve been secretive about this long enough.”

“True. As you all know, while the party in the Wastes was successful in seating the western hemisphere’s turubya, the same still must be done on the eastern side.”

“Off in the sunblasted Barrens,” Rami said. “Won’t they—”

Tykhan cut him off with a raised palm. He cocked his head, speaking askance, something he did when addressing those in the Wastes. “No, do not share your path. Not even with me. The fewer who know, the safer you will be.”

Tykhan straightened and addressed the room again. “But what I’ve not told anyone until now is that securing and seating the second turubya will not be enough to thwart moonfall.”

Aalia winced. “Then what else must be done?”

Tykhan stared across the table. “There is a third component to all of this.” He swept his gaze around the table. “One that will require you all in this room—and the might of the empire.”

“To do what?” Kanthe asked.

Tykhan stared the prince down. “To take over the Kingdom of Hálendii.”

Kanthe took a step back. “What? Why?”

“I’ve told you of the great war among the ta’wyn, when we fractured between those who wished to honor our creators and those that wanted to usurp this planet for themselves. Those usurpers were led by a betrayer, a Kryst who abandoned our side to lead the other.”

“Eligor,” Aalia said, remembering the bronze figure in the ancient pages stolen by Frell.

“The Revn-kree—those ta’wyn who broke from the creators’ path—call him the Rab’almat, which roughly means the Lord of Death.”

Kanthe exhaled in exasperation. “Sounds equally ominous and pompous.”

“Do not scoff. His title is apt. He does not care if any life survives. Not the Crown, not the beasts of the field, not the green shoots of growth. We ta’wyn have no need for any of that. We can thrive on a dead rock devoid of air. That is why the Revn-kree want moonfall to happen. It serves as a means to eradicate all life.”

Frell spoke up. “But then why didn’t the Root in the Wastes destroy the turubya long ago? That would have thwarted any future efforts to stop moonfall.”

“Because, before his destruction, Eligor forbade it.” He stopped to let that sink in. “I suspect it was the madness of isolation, coupled with despair, that drove the Wastes’ Root to commit such a heinous act, to defy the dictates left behind by the Rab’almat.”