Page 11 of The Cradle of Ice
He glanced past Pratik to the figure sharing their bench. Brija sat stiffly, her usual posture. Kanthe swore the old woman’s spine had been fused into that position. Her collar was silver, marking her studies in religion and history. She served as Kanthe’s aide in matters of Klashean language and customs. Though he suspected her true role was to spy on him and report back to the emperor.
“King Toranth must be furious that you fled here,” Pratik said, drawing back Kanthe’s attention.
“That was made plain enough this morning. My father was always quick to anger and even swifter in his punishments.”
Pratik leaned back. “To drop such a fearsome bomb as a Hadyss Cauldron atop Ekau Watch, he is determined to make his claim on you clear, to demand the emperor hand you over.”
Kanthe exhaled heavily. “My father was never a subtle man.”
“No matter. The Imri-Ka will never relinquish such a prize as you.”
Kanthe glowered. “I don’t think anyone ever considered me a prize.”
“You are sworn to the emperor’s only daughter. To give you up, the Imri-Ka would lose honor. Not just him, but his entire Haeshan clan.” Pratik nodded at Rami and waved toward Aalia in the next carriage. “His Illustriousness would never let that happen.”
“Then war is inevitable.”
“Not just inevitable. With that fiery act, it’s already started. For now, we must consider how it affects our plans.”
Kanthe frowned, reminded that he had not come to these shores just to get married. While Nyx and the others had flown off in search of a mysterious site deep in the Frozen Wastes, his group’s mission was twofold. They were assigned to search for further knowledge out of the ancient past, from the Forsaken Ages, an era that predated known history. Pratik claimed there were rumors of unspoken prophecies, portents from the past that spoke of a coming apocalypse. It was whispered that ancient tomes held in the royal librarie—the Abyssal Codex—offered insight into those prophecies. The collection was buried under the private gardens of the Imri-Ka and guarded over by the Dresh’ri, a mystical order of scholars.
Agreeing to this marriage had been one notch in the key that could open that forbidden door. From here, it would be up to Pratik and Frell—the alchymist who had accompanied Kanthe here, his former mentor from school—to gain entry to that librarie. Frell had already been in contact with an emissary of the Dresh’ri. Still, it had taken months to gain an audience with that sect. It had only been granted this morning. Pratik had wanted to be present, too, but the Chaaen could not refuse to escort the prince on the day’s sojourn across the Bay of the Blessed.
Still, it was not that aspect of their mission that concerned Pratik. “If war breaks out, it will be much harder for us to reach that buried Sleeper.”
That was this team’s other goal. Kanthe pictured the shining crystal globe resting in Shiya’s bronze palm. An emerald glow had marked the spot in the Frozen Wastes that Nyx and the others sought to find. But a blue dot had also shone on the globe, within the Crown itself. It lay south of Kysalimri, beyond the Hyrg Scarp mountains. It marked the possible location of another figure like Shiya, a living bronze construct, one of the Sleepers left by the ancients to help guide the world should doom threaten. Unfortunately, Shiya’s memories—stored in a repository beneath the Shrouds of Dalalæða—had been mostly shattered, leaving her with only dregs of knowledge from the past. The hope was that if they could wake this other Sleeper, its memory might still be intact.
Pratik sighed loudly. “I do not imagine Emperor Makar ka Haeshan will allow his newly wedded daughter to have her grand procession across the lands, celebrating the nuptials and introducing all to her new husband. Not with a war being fought.”
Kanthe knew that had been the original plan: to use that royal procession to reach the site of the blue blip. It lay outside the city of Qazen, a fortuitous location, as it was tradition for the newly wedded, especially among the imri, to seek the counsel of the Augury of Qazen to foretell the future of their union. But not everyone was pleased with the fortunes spoken by those oracles. It was said many a marriage ended there, well before it even started, with countless bodies buried in the neighboring salt marshes.
Maybe I’ll end up there, too.
“If we’re in the thick of war,” Pratik continued, “we may need to concoct another excuse to reach those lands.”
Kanthe glanced over. He noted Brija tilting in their direction. The old Chaaen was surely attempting to eavesdrop on them, likely stymied in her effort by the near-deafening rattle of wheels and the pound of hooves.
Kanthe leaned closer to Pratik with a slight nod to their curious neighbor. “Best we save such a discussion for another time. If we’re lucky, my father won’t disturb my nuptials any more than he already has. Time is running short. The winter solstice is almost upon us.”
“It’s still a full turn of the moon away,” Pratik reminded him. “But you’re right. If we could get ahead of your father’s plans, before war fully breaks out, then our original strategy could still hold. To that end, we must plead with the emperor to move up the date of your wedding.”
Kanthe swallowed hard, glancing across to the other carriage. “That’s not what I meant—”
Pratik ignored him, sitting straighter. “Maybe as soon as this week.”
Kanthe slumped back.
What have I done?
6
LOST IN HIS own worries, Kanthe winced as the midday bell rang out across the city. The incessant clanging ached the bones of his skull. He groaned heavily. He was arse-sore and sunbaked, but their carriage had finally reached the blue expanse of Hresh Me, the city’s central freshwater lake. The Klashean name roughly meant the Silent Mouth or Hungry Mouth. The exact translation depended on whether one rolled that R across one’s tongue or not—though, he was still unsure which was which.
I really should study harder.
Their procession of carriages mounted the shoreside road that circled the lake. The emperor’s palace lay on the far side, seated atop a hill. The walled grounds occupied a landhold as vast as most cities. In the center rose its hundred-spired citadel. The fortress was so expansive that it took a multivolume series of atlases to map its countless rooms and passages. Many of the baseborn caste lived their entire lives there. They were birthed within its walls and eventually burned in the crypts below it.
Kanthe shuddered at the thought and turned away from the lake. He studied the passing spread of Kysalimri. The Eternal City of the Southern Klashe could be a country in and of itself. It spread outward from the Bay of the Blessed, encircled by a concentric series of walls, each marking the passing of centuries as the city grew. Thousands upon thousands of white towers pointed at the sky, all crafted of the same white marble, all set ablaze by the sun. The stone had been mined from the neighboring eastern mountains of the Hyrg Scarp. It was said a score of the Scarp’s peaks had been worn to nubs to build the Eternal City.
