Page 162 of The Cradle of Ice
He glanced over to Nyx, picturing that tiny skiff sailing into those towering Fangs.
I should’ve tried harder to dissuade her.
Still, he saw how bright her eyes shone as she stared down at the skiff, at Daal and his two orksos. But he knew there was another who drew her even more.
Graylin had to accept the inevitable.
I could never have stopped her.
* * *
NYX CLIMBED FROM the stern of the hovering sailraft to the bobbling skiff. Daal helped her down, grabbing her hand. Upon his touch, she felt a flash of his inner fire, a lash of power that drew a sharp breath from her.
“I’ve got you,” Daal said in Panthean, but she understood him. That piece of his memory remained with her.
Once she gained her balance aboard the skiff, she forced herself to let go of Daal and shift to the bow where Jace waited. He sat to the right of where Daal’s reins were draped across the curve of the prow. She took a seat on the left. In the waters ahead, the horns of Neffa and Mattis pierced the waves, knocking playfully against one another. Nyx knew from Daal’s memories that Mattis was Neffa’s father. Their loving antics drew a small smile, helping to calm her, to stifle some of her anxiety.
Behind her, Graylin and Vikas dropped into the skiff, swaying the boat. When Shiya followed next, the stern dipped deep under her weight. Water washed over the rails before the skiff settled into a rocky bobbing.
Daal expertly crossed the deck toward the prow, balancing with little effort, and took up the skiff’s reins.
Shiya remained standing at the back. Overhead, the open door of the skiff hung near her head. Brayl crouched there and passed down additional supplies. They all had their own packs, but with so much unknown ahead, everyone else had contributed as best they could.
“Careful,” Brayl warned as she handed down a large basket. “Rhaif packed enough tack to last you all a good week. Plus, four bottles of sweet wine and a tiny cask of ale to wash it all down. Clearly, he had his own idea about essentials.”
Shiya took the basket and stored it in a small fish pen at the stern.
Brayl lowered more satchels and tools. Krysh had sent an oilskin-wrapped parcel of ink, pens, and parchment, to help them chart their route. The Hawk’s engineer, Hyck, shared a small farscope to help them survey the Mouth’s ravine, should they ever reach it.
“Fenn sent this for you!” Brayl called out, and heaved a pack at Jace, who fumbled but caught it. “There’s a compass, star charts, and a sextant. And other navigational tools that he thought you’d know how to use.”
Jace secured the satchel under his bench. “Once clear of the ice, we should get our first look at the open skies again.”
Last, Brayl rolled away and returned with a big crate. Straining, she held it toward Shiya. “Careful with this one. My father scavenged through the Hawk’s dwindling armaments. It’s packed full of our last hand-bombs and two folded crossbows and a score of bolts.”
Shiya added the weapons to the fish pen.
In their own way, everyone had contributed something. While they couldn’t be here, they intended to be a part of this expedition in spirit. Their generosity warmed Nyx. Still, as she watched Shiya settle the large crate of bombs into the stern, a twinge of unease trickled through her.
What are we about to face?
She turned to the towering cliffs.
From this vantage, the Fangs looked as if they climbed forever. The seas washed against their flanks with a shushing that felt like a warning. Caves looked like dark dens. The glowing blue drapes of foliage cast the ice in an eerie sheen. Breezes flowed in and out of those fissures and grottoes, carrying with them the scent of damp mold, stagnant algae, and salt-encrusted ice.
She stared up at the frozen titan before her.
What will we find in there—and beyond it?
Daal shook his reins and whistled to his two orksos. The beasts humped higher in their harnesses, then dove their horns deep. The skiff pulled forward, sliding from under the shadow of the sailraft. The raft was already skimming higher as Brayl headed back.
The blast of its forge made Nyx cringe. The flash of its flames turned the ice cliffs fiery for a breath—then went dark.
Daal drove them toward a wide crack in the ice, one among many. But he knew where to go, which path to take. He had the same map blazing inside his skull and had already searched the Fangs while waiting for them to arrive.
“Nyx…” Graylin whispered behind her, offering her one last chance to change her mind.
She simply shook her head as the skiff was swallowed by the icy Fangs.
