Page 33 of The Cradle of Ice

Rami took a deep draught from his pipe, holding it in for an impossibly long time, then steamed it out of both nostrils. He pointed the pipe’s glowing bowl at the swirling smoke. “All our fine leaf is grown from the royal farms out in the surrounding M’venlands. We should go there sometime. It is quite striking when all the fields are in bloom.”

Kanthe took this opportunity to broach the subject of his visit. “Maybe we could stop there during the royal procession following my wedding.”

“Indeed.” Rami lifted a brow. “Does that mean I’m invited to go along? My sister may have a say in the matter.”

Kanthe muttered as he took another tentative draw on his pipe, “I think if Aalia had any say, she’d call off this wedding.”

Rami smiled. “She’d never go against my father’s wishes. Your nuptials are too important to the empire. Both now and in the future, especially once she bears you a son.”

“Ah, someone who could claim by blood the throne of Hálendii.” Kanthe understood the situation all too well. “Still, that iron in the fire might take forever to heat, if it ever does. A war must be won, and a certain brother set aside.”

Rami shrugged. “My father strategizes beyond the moment. Like ancient Kysalimri itself, our people abide and are ever patient. Any stratagem, like our finest wine, is best appreciated when it has time to properly age. Nothing should be rushed.”

Rami’s gaze lingered a touch too long on Kanthe, silently hinting that the Klashean prince was willing to wait for what he wanted, too.

Kanthe turned away and cleared his throat. “Speaking of rushing. Plainly the situation between kingdom and empire is about to become more dire. I see the emperor is already mobilizing his own forces.”

Kanthe pointed beyond the balcony railing. The breadth of Kysalimri—a forest of marble towers and spires, some topped in gold—sprawled to the horizon, shining under a full moon and aglow from the low-cast sun. It was breathtaking and intimidating in equal measures. It appeared to have no end. It was as if the city were the world, and the world were this city.

Hovering over it all, a fleet of four ponderous warships slowly moved across the city, carried aloft by their giant gasbags. They dwarfed anything in the Hálendiian forces. The ships themselves were armored in drab draft-iron, but even at this distance, the rows of ballistas and cannons glinted in the low sun of midwinter. And if that weren’t enough, each ship was flanked by dozens of sharklike hunterskiffs and fox-nosed swyftships. The entire fleet headed north, ready to defend the coastline after the kingdom’s attack. Perhaps they’d even sail through the smoky Breath of the Urth to reach the southern shores of Hálendii and retaliate in kind.

“War will soon be upon us,” Kanthe continued. “Perhaps it might be best to firm those ties that will bind our two lands together sooner rather than later. Come the winter’s solstice, it may be too late.”

Rami shifted to lean on a shoulder, facing him more directly. “You wish to hasten your marriage to my sister?” The Klashean prince must have read the hesitation in Kanthe’s expression and pressed the matter. “Is this something you truly desire?”

“It … it could best serve everyone.”

Rami’s eyes narrowed. “Does that include you?”

Kanthe knew better than to lie to his friend.

Rami leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Is that why you came here this Eventoll? To petition me for this cause?”

“Yes,” Kanthe answered bluntly. “But that does not mean I don’t value our friendship—our future kinship. But I know my father too well. He must’ve learned of the coming wedding, and he’ll set fire to all the Crown to stop it. But if I’m already married, it will take the winds from his sails.”

“Or it may make him even angrier.”

“True. But if there’s even a chance to stop an all-out war, we must attempt it. To change the nuptials is a simple act that could be rewarded with a quelling of hostilities. At least for a time. A spell long enough perhaps for diplomacy to work.”

Rami took another long draw on his pipe, exhaling slowly before speaking. “You say you know your father well. As I do mine. The emperor is like a mountain, not easy to move. Once he has stated his will, it will prove difficult to shift off that date.”

“The winter solstice…”

“Let me confide in you.” Rami’s eyes found Kanthe’s again. “Not only is that day auspicious to my people, the emperor consulted with the Augury of Qazen, a prophetic wyzard who has my father’s ear, more so than any of his thirty-three Chaaen. He holds much sway over the emperor.”

“I know someone like that.” Kanthe gritted his teeth, picturing Shrive Wryth, a corrupt Iflelen swine who forever whispered in his own father’s ear.

“I suspect the reason the emperor seldom leaves the palace citadel is because of a warning from the Augury, though I can’t prove it or dismiss it.” Rami scowled deeply. “It was also the Augury who selected the date of your nuptials.”

Kanthe sat back with a groan. “So, Emperor Haeshan will never budge.”

“Like the stubbornest ox.”

Kanthe sagged, mostly disappointed, but also slightly relieved. “Thank you, Rami, for sharing this confidence.”

“You are most welcome, my friend. But I must ask the smallest of favors in return.”

Kanthe swallowed hard, knowing what was about to be requested of him. He tried not to glance toward the bedchamber door, struggling to think of a gentle way to dissuade this payment.