Page 243 of The Cradle of Ice
AALIA HEARD AN angry bark echo over the throne room. She knew that voice, that mocking fury.
“Dearest brother!” Rami shouted from halfway across the hall.
Aalia shifted higher to get a better view. Rami shed a cloak from his shoulders, revealing himself fully. She inhaled sharply, shocked to see him so far from the dais. She struggled to understand how he had managed to get there unobserved and unnoticed—then she remembered that Rami had been trained in more than knife play. One of his chaaen-bound had come from a long line of thieves and had skilled her brother in the art of subterfuge and misdirection.
It seemed such training had proven useful.
And not just the trickery of disguise and slippery-footedness.
Also in the art of pilfering.
“I brought you a gift!” Rami shouted. “Two, in fact, as a token of my generosity!”
He threw both arms high, casting a pair of hand-bombs into the air. Their flaming wicks spun as they flew.
Mareesh turned to run, his men closing tight behind him.
The bombs struck at their heels, exploding with a concussive blast and a wash of fire. Armored men were bowled over. Flames swept through them. Mareesh had been knocked to a knee, insulated from the worst of the bombs’ pounding—but not their blaze.
The tabard over Mareesh’s armor caught fire, burning up to his oiled hair. Then his head became a torch. One of his men smothered the flames as best he could. Another helped drag Mareesh away, hauling him out of the throne room.
Abandoned by their leader, his conspirators faltered, their will and spirit quickly snuffed. The fighting in the throne room continued for a short spell as a few of Mareesh’s men struggled to keep the imperial forces from pursuing their prince.
Another prince found his way back to the dais. Rami’s face was grim at the sight of so many dead around the thrones. Especially one. Rami closed his eyes and sank to his knees in the blood of his brother.
A commotion drew Aalia’s attention around.
Llyra pounded over from the archway into the Blood’d Tower. She was covered in sweat and ash. She stank of naphlaneum. She surveyed the carnage without any expression. That was not her concern.
“What is it?” Aalia asked.
Llyra frowned. “If we were attacked here…” She glanced toward the throne room doors. “What about Kanthe?”
89
KANTHE WOKE WITH a pounding headache that lanced across his eyes and throbbed his molars. But worse was the foggy confusion. He struggled to figure out where his body ended and the world started.
“He’s stirring,” a harsh voice grumbled.
Something foul was shoved under his nose. It stung his sinuses, as if a lycheen’s fiery frill had been jammed up there. He gasped and choked. Bile rose up his throat, then burned its way back down to his stomach.
He sat up as the world snapped sharply into focus, but it did nothing to dispel his confusion. He reached to wipe the snot running from both nostrils, but he discovered both his arms were bound behind him. His legs were also weighted by chains.
What the—
He glanced to his right and left, discovering black-cloaked figures seated to either side. Their wraps had been pulled to their necks, revealing silvery pale skin and ice-blue eyes. Rhysians? But these faces were men. Their black hair had been sheared to a stubble that formed a tight V over their brows.
Kanthe cringed inwardly, suddenly knowing what group had kidnapped him.
The Brotherhood of Asgia.
Kanthe flashed to the garden bath, the feathered barbs. His chest and neck still burned from those impacts. He silently apologized for thinking it was Cassta and her sisters who had attacked him.
Where am I?
From the motion of the cabin and the low roar of a forge, he knew he was in a small ship, though he could not discern the design or type. The lack of windows only added to his confusion. He heard booming outside.
Sadly, that he recognized.
