Page 42 of The Cradle of Ice

She faced the young man, who looked aghast. She didn’t know how well these people knew those bats who haunted the ice, but she ran her fingers along Bashaliia’s ears, extending them to their full height. Her other palm ran down the sleek fur of his chest.

She fixed her gaze on the man. “Not raash’ke.”

He finally lowered his dagger, looking more confused than relieved. The small girl tried to round his hip and come forward, drawn with the bright curiosity that only the youngest possessed. The man held her back.

“Nyan, Henna.”

Nyx left Bashaliia to draw nearer again. She placed a palm on her chest once more. “I am Nyx,” she repeated.

The man licked his lips and rested a hand to his own. “Daal. I be Daal.”

Krysh stepped closer, too. “I think he comprehends some rudimentary version of our language.”

Daal scowled at the alchymist. “Mother teach us. Makes us learn. To be”—he frowned for the words, then discovered them—“proud of our blood.”

Nyx struggled to understand. How could this be?

The answer came from the girl, Henna, likely the young man’s sister. She shifted clear enough of her brother to lift the long locks of her dark hair, which had strands of green woven through them. She picked out the darkest sections and pointed at Nyx’s black hair.

“You Noor. Like me.”

Jace stiffened with a gasp.

Nyx looked at him. “What?”

“These two.” His eyes grew even wider. “They have Noor’s blood.”

She still did not understand, frowning at him.

Jace tried again. “Rega sy Noor. The knight who captained a ship out here over two centuries ago—and vanished.” He pointed to the brother and sister. “I think these are his descendants.”

* * *

NYX KEPT CLOSE to Daal as his sister crept toward Bashaliia. The young man had sought to stop her, but Henna had kicked him soundly in the shin. As the girl extended her arm, her eyes glowed with childish longing, full of curiosity and wonder.

“Car’ada,” Daal warned her, shifting closer, one hand on his sheathed dagger.

Nyx touched his arm. “She’s safe. He won’t hurt her. I promise.”

Daal kept his place but didn’t lower his palm from the dagger’s hilt.

Steps away, Bashaliia bobbled back and forth on his legs, which drew a small smile from Nyx. Back when he was no larger than a goose—before he died and was resurrected into this larger form—he would prance like that whenever excited. It was a reminder that despite his large size, he was still her little brother at heart.

Henna reached a palm up to touch his chest. “Gree ly resh!”

Nyx glanced to Daal, who looked a year or two older than her and stood half a head taller. This close, he smelled of salt and a sweaty musk. “What did she say?”

Daal glanced over to her and translated. “He very warm.”

Nyx was momentarily captured by the ice of his eyes, so blue they were nearly silver. She realized she was staring and glanced aside. “He’s still probably overheated from his battle. Making him extra warm.”

Earlier, while they had tended to Bashaliia’s wounds, using a salve that Krysh had in a healer’s satchel, Nyx had offered Daal a sliver of their tale, of their encounter with the raash’ke. She wasn’t sure how much he had followed. She had also introduced the others, though she sensed him growing overwhelmed—not that she could blame him. Jace had practically peppered him with questions, trying to understand everything at once, his history, what life was like down here, and on and on.

Finally, Nyx had drawn Daal aside to give him a moment to collect himself. It also let the others attend to the sailraft and assess what to do next.

Though Graylin seldom let his gaze drift too far from her.

Still, it had seemed to work. Daal had grown more relaxed, even curious, asking questions about Bashaliia, about where they had come from. Again, she kept it as simple as possible. Longer conversations would have to wait.