Page 141 of The Cradle of Ice
Despite her exhaustion, anxiety kept her edgy. She stared sidelong at Daal, picturing the Oshkapeer changing his gift.
Altering him for me.
According to Daal, that had happened six months ago, about the same time she had experienced her poison-induced vision, when her whole world changed. Had the Dreamers felt that awakening inside her? Was that why they had forged Daal, knowing she must eventually travel this way to reach whatever was hidden out in the Wastes?
She also considered Ularia, one of a long sisterhood of Nyssians. Ages ago, the first of them had been altered and forged to hold all the Crèche’s history and memories, not unlike what she and Daal had experienced. Was the sisterhood’s creation an early attempt by the Dreamers to do what had been done to her and Daal—before the Noor came and added their blood to these people, blood rich in bridle-song? According to Meryk, the Nyssian sisterhood had been fading in number over the past couple of centuries. Was that because the Oshkapeers had found a better method when the Noorish people arrived, a people imbued with a similar gift to their own? So they let the Nyssian sisterhood fade away.
She shook her head.
It was all too much to grasp, to even ponder.
Still, one impression of the Dreamers’ communion weighed on her the most. The overwhelming sense of urgency and warning. Bashaliia was in danger, and the longer they waited, the greater the risk that she would lose him forever.
Daal stiffened next to her and stumbled a step.
“What?” she asked.
He swallowed and pointed toward the spread of boats and piers. “That’s our skiff,” he said. “Tied up next to the Reef Farer’s barge.”
“Are you sure?”
“I see Neffa. I could spot her horn from a league off.”
Nyx hurried toward the town. “If your skiff and Neffa are here, Graylin must be somewhere, too.”
They sped past the last of the docks and reached the open plaza. As they marched across it, Nyx searched the packed sands, especially where last night’s slaughter had taken place. Before leaving Kefta, they had done their best to scuff away the blood, but a few patches of ground were clearly darker. She hoped it wasn’t enough to draw anyone’s attention.
Daal dashed to the side and returned with two mismatched cloaks, abandoned by some drunken partyers. They were stained and fouled, but Daal passed her one. He threw his over his shoulders. She did the same. Hers stank of either sour ale or maybe piss, not that the two smells were all that different.
Daal inspected her, pulling his cloak’s collar higher. He then reached toward her face. She leaned back, but he simply untucked a few damp locks of dark hair from behind her ears and let them drape to her neck.
“You’ll want to keep those fresh scabs on your throat covered,” he warned. “And hide your wrists under the edges of your cloak. I don’t think anyone will notice the cuts in your leggings.”
She stared down at the holes, edged by dried blood, in her pants.
A loud bark made her jump. “Hold there!”
She twisted around. A cadre of guardsmen in leather armor appeared from a side street. They marched toward them, carrying spears and tridents. Nyx wanted to back away, but Daal steadied her with a hand.
Behind the men, a clutch of familiar figures appeared, led by the lithe form of Ularia. She wore a deep frown of annoyance.
Nyx barely noted her, spotting Graylin behind the woman. The relief shining on his face came close to breaking her. His normally stony countenance crumbled. His eyes welled with tears. He rushed toward her. One of the guardsmen tried to stop him, but Graylin knocked him aside with an elbow.
While still harboring a knot of resentment toward the man, Nyx stumbled to meet him. The night had been too long and too full of terrors. He reached her and hugged her to his chest, squeezing out what little breath she had left. She didn’t fight his embrace. Instead, she sank gratefully into his feverish warmth, a heat likely stoked by his terror for her. She drew strength from his hard arms, even as they trembled.
“Are you all right?” he whispered in her ear.
She could only nod, suddenly choked by tears.
He held her until they both stopped shaking.
Daal was greeted by his father. But Meryk, oblivious to all that had transpired, gave his son a short hug, then a scolding frown. “Where have you all been?”
“I would like to know that, too,” Ularia demanded in Noorish. She drew up to them, flanked by the armed men. “We spent half the night turning this town over.”
Before Nyx could respond, Graylin took a step back and grabbed Nyx by the shoulders. His eyes were wider than normal. “I went out to sea for a time of reflection.” He stressed the last word, clearly emphasizing a story he had fabricated. “Only to learn you had all vanished while I was gone. I told you to stay close to Vikas until I got back.”
He glanced over to the quartermaster, who stood nearby. Vikas silently gestured in Gynish to Nyx: “Take great caution with this woman.”
