Page 292 of The Cradle of Ice

Besides the extra men, Daal had also handpicked and trained five raash’ke, who would be coming with them. Graylin had wanted to bring more bats, but the limits of their food larder had to be considered, especially not knowing if there were any martoks or other beasts to keep the predators fed.

No one wanted a flock of ravenous raash’ke aboard with them.

A murmur rose behind him, respectful and slightly awed.

Graylin turned around and stiffened. Two old Panthean women moved across the dais, walking slowly with canes, one more decrepit than the other. They were dressed in matching gray shifts. Beyond their great age, they looked so much like Ularia that it was uncanny.

Meryk noted his attention, his voice growing reverent. “Nys Playa and Nys Regina,” he whispered. “The last of the Nyssians. I can’t believe they traveled so far for this ceremony.”

He and Floraan greeted them and offered them their own seats. The pair accepted them graciously, ending up on either side of Graylin. One looked to be in her eighties and the other well into her nineties, if not beyond.

Graylin nodded to them respectfully, but they must have noted his misgivings and divined the source.

The younger of the two, Nys Playa, patted his knee. “Do not judge our sister Ularia too harshly. She was under much pressure.” She offered an amused glint to her eyes. “As you might imagine, we’re too old to bear children.”

Graylin mumbled that this discussion wasn’t necessary.

Nys Playa ignored him and continued, “Desperation makes one hard and mean. As the last of us who could bear children, Ularia was weighted by the history of the Crèche, the responsibility of passing on our heritage. She saw in you hope—and terror.”

Graylin turned to the woman, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“We Nyssians know when someone with the proper seed is at hand. It is a gift from the Oshkapeers. As you can tell, we are little different in appearance. So it has been since the first of us. The daughters we birth are simply the rebirth of ourselves. We are little changed. Born with the memories of those before us. So it has always been.”

Graylin stared between the two women.

“The men we choose to spark our next generations do not give our lineage more than the barest snippet of themselves, bits that might enhance us, but not truly change us. As you might imagine, it is a rarity. But in you, Ularia saw aspects that could nurture our lineage.”

“Me?”

“It’s what frightened and angered her. Pantheans sadly consider the Noorish to be unworthy, so for her to be stirred toward you—” She shrugged. “It distressed her.”

Graylin remembered meeting Ularia atop the dais. She had seemed strangely taken by him. He had attributed it to him being new to the Crèche.

The older of the two, Nys Regina, nudged Graylin with her cane. “Ularia was young. But even my bleary eyes can see you are special. There is more to you than just a stout heart.” She lifted her cane enough to point a few rows ahead. “One only has to look at your daughter to know this is true.”

“I don’t know if Nyx is truly my—”

Regina stared hard at him, her eyes bottomless and ancient, revealing one woman going back ages. “She is your daughter, young man. The Dreamers granted us the ability to see the seeds, roots, and branches of a tree. Even yours.” The old woman dismissed him with a wave of her cane. “No wonder Ularia was so confounded by you—someone so blind and foolish that he can’t see his own daughter standing before him.”

Graylin sank back straighter in his seat. He watched Nyx whisper to Daal, her smile bright, so much like her mother’s.

If these two were right, Nyx was not just Marayn’s daughter.

She’s also mine.

* * *

NYX SAT ON the edge of her chair with Daal on one side and Henna on the other. Kalder lay at Nyx’s feet, but Henna had a firm grip on the vargr’s ear, as if refusing to let him go.

Around them, the crowd in the plaza anxiously awaited the appearance of Darant and his repaired ship. The entire village had helped this miracle happen in time for the winter’s solstice. So, they all wanted to be here to share in the success, especially after so much misery and death.

Nyx stared across the sea as it glowed with the reflection of the mists overhead. Raash’ke plied the skies and skimmed the waves, scribing ripples with their wingtips over the waters.

She hummed under her breath. It was the melody she had shared with Bashaliia, a memory of home distilled into song. She reached to Daal and took his hand. As his fire melted them together, she shared it with him, to let him feel the longing and grief for a home lost, maybe forever.

She wanted him to know she understood the sacrifice he was about to make. He might never see the Crèche again. She turned to him, to let him know he could stay, that he had done enough.

He smiled, his eyes shining with the grief in her song. Still, he gripped her fingers. Not to share his fire, but to simply let her know how he would survive it, how she would.