Page 229 of The Cradle of Ice
Kanthe nodded. Like all of them, Tykhan had clearly wanted to go with the others to Kysalimri, but he still needed to stay close to Makar, to keep the emperor under his thumb.
Kanthe made a half-hearted effort to stand. “Do you want me to go with you?”
Frell scowled again. “That’s not necessary. And clearly, you’re much too busy contemplating the status of your navel.”
Kanthe sank back down. “True. I have a navel that requires considerable introspection.”
Frell huffed his derision and set off across the gardens, slamming the door on his way out, punctuating his scorn.
Kanthe smiled, feeling incrementally better.
He lounged back, letting his eyes drift closed, listening to the caged bird’s soliloquy to the night. Through a slight gap under his relaxed lids, he caught sight of a dappled shift of shadows.
He tilted to the side to peek past the marble columns of the pergola. Something ticked off the stone next to him. A glance up revealed a black-cloaked figure, with features hidden behind shadowy wraps, rushing at him. Other shadows swept in behind the first.
What are the Rhysians doing here?
Fearing something was amiss, he sat up. Fiery stings struck his chest and neck. Flinching, he brushed aside a tiny puff of feathers. As he did, the world spun and grew hazy—then he slumped face-first into the water.
* * *
AALIA STOOD ON the private balcony outside of the emperor’s spread of rooms. She preferred the open air. Inside, she still felt like a trespasser. Her father’s presence was everywhere. From the grand treasures he had collected adorning the walls to more personal items: small notions, oddments, trinkets that marked a man’s more private life. But what had struck Aalia the hardest was the discovery of a jeweled comb that once belonged to her mother. It rested at her father’s bedside, as if he were still waiting for her to return. It was an intimacy of heart that her father rarely shared.
It broke Aalia into pieces, knowing what had been done to him.
The smell of him also filled the spaces, as if even in his absence, his grandness refused to be ignored. Standing at the rail, she took deep breaths, trying to gather her thoughts before she returned to the Blood’d Tower, where a war was about to be waged from afar.
“Are you all right, sister?” Rami asked.
Her brother had accompanied her here, as much a Paladin to her as the warriors in silver outside the door.
“What have we done?” she whispered.
She hated to show weakness. All her life, she had hardened herself. A Rose that could never be bruised. Only with Tazar had she let her softness show, but even with him, there was a core she kept hidden, walled off and protected.
Rami crossed to her and drew her into his arms. She hugged him back, needing this brother who was the closest to her heart. She hung there, letting his arms pull her back together when she could not do so herself. She sobbed for several breaths, but she allowed herself no more.
She finally broke free and turned back to the rail. Off in the distance, a storm of fire rolled north. Hundreds of forges blazed the sky, marking the passage of the imperial armada.
She gazed out at their flight.
“How will we survive this?” she whispered.
She wasn’t just talking about the battle to come.
Rami took her hand and answered.
“Together, sister.” He squeezed her fingers with that promise. “Together.”
* * *
WITH A FARSCOPE fixed to his eye, Mikaen stood at the prow of the Hyperium as the mighty ship crested out of the smoky Breath. Fires burned behind the ship, marking the end of a brief skirmish against meager Klashean forces.
As expected, the Klashe had luxuriated in victory following the razing of the Shield Islands. They had not reinforced the coast after the Falcon’s Wing had returned to roost in Kysalimri. It was further proof that his father and the king’s council—including Reddak—had correctly surmised that Prince Jubayr was weak, swayed by those around him, listening rather than leading, tossed about by the council as they debated and argued and delayed.
At this moment, the Klashe was truly leaderless. With the iron fist of Makar loosened by madness, the empire remained rudderless.
Mikaen smiled at the destruction to come. As the Hyperium cleared the Breath’s pall, the coastline of the Klashe rose in the distance. It was a bright green line rising from the blue waters, marking the northern edge of the Tithyn Woods. Far to the west, a huge column of smoke marred the shores, marking where he had dropped a Hadyss Cauldron atop Ekau Watch. The forest there continued to burn.
