Page 54 of The Cradle of Ice
The Sparrowhawk fell through the air and crashed into the water, just missing the ends of the piers. A huge wave blasted outward, ripping boats from tethers, shredding through the fenced pens. The swell struck the shore and washed halfway across the plaza. Dancers and musicians were flooded in all directions.
Out in the water, the Sparrowhawk heaved high after sinking to the depths of its deck rails. It bobbed crookedly, casting forth more waves. Beneath it, fires burned undersea, then went dark.
In the plaza below, people screamed and yelled, trying to rescue those flailing in the tides. Confusion reigned.
But not up here.
A sting poked Graylin’s neck. He turned to find the Reef Farer holding Heartsthorn at his throat. Fire sparked those eyes. The man’s lips curled into a sneer of fury.
I’m about to die by my own blade.
But the worst was not over.
Darant had not come alone.
Fresh screams of terror rose from the plaza. Ularia covered her mouth and fled back. Graylin followed her gaze skyward.
High overhead, black shadows shredded free of the steamy fog. They cartwheeled and spun through the air, diving toward the sea, determined to pursue the crashed ship. More and more appeared out of the mists, creating a dark thunderhead that descended toward the village, drawn by the noise and firelight.
The Reef Farer gasped their name like a curse. “Raash’ke…”
SIX
A PALACE IN PANIC
Ne’er flee from adversiti—for whil the bolden maye die wenn they stoppe, the feerfull must ne’er stoppe renning.
—Attributed to Plina im Kastia
26
STILL SEATED ON the balcony of Rami’s rooms, Kanthe recognized the shock and disbelief shining on the Klashean prince’s face. Rami’s pipe had long been forgotten, its fiery leaf gone cold.
Kanthe had just finished explaining the true reason he and the others had come to Kysalimri, to the lands of the Southern Klashe. Rami had clearly suspected something was amiss. The prince had somehow discovered their interest in the moon—but he did not know the full extent of the danger.
Now he did.
Rami sat straighter, choking to speak. “You … You all believe the moon will come crashing down upon us? It’s not some jest? That the Urth will be destroyed.”
Kanthe had held little back of their story. He even raised Frell’s concerns about the growing frequency of quakes and more turbulent tides. Still, he suspected that the others would not be happy with all that he had shared, but with war threatening, it was time to loosen the tight clamp on their secrets.
We need an ally here, or we will fail.
That was part of Kanthe’s justification for including Rami in their secret endeavor. But deeper down, it was mostly born of Kanthe’s growing discomfort at having to lie to a young man he considered a friend. Plus, the weight of all the secrets had become a boulder sitting on his chest. He had needed to unburden a portion of it, even if it meant placing that weight on another’s shoulders.
Kanthe studied Rami’s face, his dark eyes. The prince had gone stone-faced and unreadable.
Did I make the right decision? Or have I ruined everything?
With no indication of what he was thinking, Rami dumped the cold contents from his pipe’s bowl and set about tamping in fresh leaf. He lifted the pipe to his lips, and with a flaming taper, he set the leaf afire as he puffed it brighter. He leaned back, took a deep inhale, held it, then let it ease out in a long curl of smoke.
Only then did he turn to Kanthe. “So what do we do?”
Kanthe lifted both brows. “You believe me?”
Rami shrugged. “First, I see no benefit in fabricating such a story. If anything, it makes you sound mad. Second, as the fourth-born prince of these lands, few consider my actions. It wasn’t hard to sneak into your alchymist’s chamber and note his peculiar line of inquiry. The moon and apocalyptic omens.”
Kanthe’s eyes widened. “Wait. You broke into Frell’s sanctum? Without him ever knowing?” He was both shocked and impressed. Frell had placed all manner of wards to detect anyone meddling with his books or work.
