Page 237 of The Cradle of Ice
The bronze woman marched inexorably toward her destiny. Once close, she shed out of her shift, baring her nakedness. She mounted a short ramp up to the copper shield.
Rhaif no longer tried to stop her. Like Nyx, he had seen such a cocoon of metal and crystal. “It’s like back at the Shrouds,” he mumbled. “Or inside the egg where I first found her.”
Shiya turned her back to the shield and pressed herself against it. As contact was made, the floor jolted under them. The dome rang like a bell. The noise deafened and drove them to their knees.
Shiya stiffened, her head thrown back.
We have witnessed this before, too.
But not this powerful.
The crystal that cupped around the copper shield grew brighter and spread outward in dazzling waves of energy. The rhythmic sweeps of fire sailed outward, swirled wide, then rushed back, crashing like a wave against a cliff.
With each strike, Shiya’s back arched off the copper, her mouth open in a silent cry that looked rapturous.
Rhaif took a step forward, but Graylin held him back—not that Rhaif could have reached her.
Thick curves of glass swept out of the walls to either side and closed over Shiya, encapsulating her, becoming a true chrysalis.
Nyx knew this felt right, where Shiya’s long journey was meant to end.
She was wrong.
From the edges of the cocoon, jagged coruscations of green fire burst forth, wrapping around the crystal. More flames shot across the inside of the dome. The energies out there still swirled but only seemed to fuel the green fire with every crashing wave. The emerald flames became an inferno across the chrysalis.
Shiya vanished behind the blaze, but not before Nyx saw her bronze form thrashing and convulsing inside. Her silent scream was no longer rapturous—only tortured.
Nyx and the others backed away, recognizing the truth.
This wasn’t Shiya’s destiny.
It was a trap.
88
AALIA RUSHED ALONGSIDE Rami through the cavernous throne room. They were surrounded by a cadre of forty Paladins. The clatter of their escort’s steel-shod boots on hard marble echoed throughout the great hall, sounding like a stampede of panicked horses.
Her heart pounded in tempo with them.
They sped around the huge pillars that held up the roof, past the arcades to either side that would seat the thousands who would gather for great events. They aimed for the two gold thrones atop the dais at the far end. One was slightly less prominent than the other. Sheltering both were two huge wings, spreading high, climbing toward the rafters. Two giant obsidian swords curved in front of those wings, standing out against the gold feathers, merging the sigils of the Haeshan Hawk and the Klashean Arms.
Between those wings rose a huge rosette of stained glass. The low winter sun shone through its center, creating a shining bloom that blessed those seated below. It was the glorious Illuminated Rose—a namesake that her father had gifted to Aalia.
As she fled toward the thrones, she wondered if the violence committed upon the emperor had cursed her.
Still, she ran, refusing to relent.
A short time ago, she and Rami, along with a small cadre of Paladins, had been on their way to the Blood’d Tower, to ready for the battle over Tithyn Woods. Then horns had sounded everywhere, echoing from within and without the palace. Screams soon followed and the strident clash of steel.
Aalia had urged her Paladins to reach the Blood’d Tower. Along the way, they had gathered more royal defenders. As they fled, they caught flashes of fighting in the surrounding halls. Bombs blasted in the distance.
Now their goal was in sight.
The archway into the Blood’d Tower stood to the right of the throne dais. They rushed toward it, only to meet another force flooding out. The Paladins closed tight around Aalia and Rami. Through their barricade, she spotted Shield Angelon as he came pounding out the archway with a rush of guardsmen. He had Prince Jubayr under his wing.
Both sides froze, not sure who was enemy and who was friend.
Aalia shouldered through her Paladins. “Shield Angelon!” she called over, testing the mettle of the matter.
