Page 3 of The Cradle of Ice

“I don’t think Graylin would take any solace in that detail.”

Nyx knew Jace was correct. Despite their confinement in the swyftship, she and Graylin had grown no closer. The man might be her father, but then again, he might not be. Still, he continually sought to assert some manner of control over her. She rankled at his ever-present shadow and searched for any moments to escape it.

Like now …

She recognized that it was not only Bashaliia who needed a respite from the ship’s close quarters.

Jace frowned at her, his lips set in a familiar firm line whenever he was confronted by her obstinance. “If Graylin ever learns that I knew about your little sojourns onto the open deck, he’d yank the beard right off my cheeks.”

She reached over and tugged at the drape of red curls under his jawline. “It seems secure enough to me.”

He pushed her hand down, a blush rising to his cheeks despite the cold. “Let’s keep it that way.”

She smiled. “The heavier beard does look good on you. It seems both you and Bashaliia are growing furrier with each passing league.”

His cheeks flushed a deeper crimson. “Like him, it’s not for looks, but to keep me warm.”

She shrugged, casting him a doubtful glance. “Help me get Bashaliia below, and we’ll head over to the wheelhouse.”

He gruffed under his breath, but she saw him comb his curls back into place after her ruffling. As the wind caught and parted his sheltering blanket, she also noted how else her friend had changed. Where Bashaliia had added a layer of warming fat, Jace had trimmed down. During the voyage, he had been sparring regularly with Darant and Graylin, honing his skills with both fist and ax. Additionally, as the ship’s larder was tightly rationed, he had shed a fair amount of his bulk.

Still, there was no removing the scholar from this novice warrior.

Despite his plain desire to escape the cold, Jace crossed toward the bloody haunch left on the deck. “Where did this come from?”

“Bashaliia’s been hunting,” she explained.

He squinted at the hoofed end of the carcass. “Three-toed and white-furred. He must’ve taken down one of the martoks. Though from the leg’s small size, one of their yearling calves.” He reached to the pelt and pinched up a bit of moss, which glowed faintly in the dark. “Fascinating. We should bring this leg to Krysh and see what else we can learn about those giants that roam the Ice Shield.”

Nyx disagreed. “It’s Bashaliia’s kill. He clearly needs more sustenance than can be found in our thinning stores. In fact, he should probably hunt more often before it gets any colder.”

“True.” Jace straightened and rubbed his belly. “The more he can sustain himself, the slower our larder will wane. I’ll have a couple of the crew drag the leg below and salt it down.”

“Thank you.”

As they headed to the aft deck, he stared longingly at the haunch, but with a hunger born of curiosity. “Who imagined such massive creatures foraged these frozen lands?”

Nyx understood his interest. Through the ship’s farscopes, she had spied the massive herds of martoks ranging the broken ice fields. The shaggy, curl-horned bulls looked to stand as high as the third tier of her old school. The cows were only slightly smaller. The herds appeared to feed on tussocks of phosphorescent moss that grew across the ice, ripping up sections with their tusks. Krysh—whose decades of alchymical interest focused on the Wastes—had studied dried samples of the same plant, collected during rare excursions by foolhardy explorers. He said it was called is’veppir and claimed the cold foliage was more related to mushrooms than mosses.

“Who knew such life could exist out here?” Nyx said, and stared to the west. “We’ll soon be beyond where anyone has ever set foot.”

“Not necessarily.” Jace’s voice lowered with a studious distraction that was as familiar as Bashaliia’s musk. “I’ve been reading accounts of those who dared venture beyond the Fangs. The Kronicles of Rega sy Noor. The Illumination of the Sunless Clime. Even a book that Krysh claimed was stolen from the Gjoan Arkives, a tome that dates back seven centuries. It’s what I found in those pages that I wanted to discuss with you, to talk it over before I brought it up with the others.”

By now they’d reached the double doors that led off the deck and down into the ship’s hold. She tugged the way open and turned to him. “What did you find?”

“If what’s written is true, we may not be alone in the Wastes. There could be other people.”

She scowled in disbelief.

That’s impossible. Who could live out here?

Jace held up a palm. “Hear me out, and I’ll—”

The entire ship jolted under them. Thunder boomed across the clear skies. On the starboard side, a flume of flame shot from the lower hull and across the sky. Chunks of draft-iron and shattered wood exploded high above the rail. A few pieces came close to ripping through the balloon. The blast shoved the Sparrowhawk into a hard spin. Strained cables screamed and twanged under the sudden assault. The deck canted steeply.

Nyx lost her footing, but she kept a grip on the door.

Untethered, Jace slammed hard to the planks, hitting his chest. He slid across the icy deck away from her. Half tangled in his blanket, he gasped and clawed and scrabbled to halt his plunge.