Page 62 of The Cradle of Ice
Where are you both?
Off to the side, Rami stood with his arms crossed, his face turned to stone. Loryn kept near the prince. The Chaaen’s expression was far easier to read, shifting between fury and terror.
A trio of swordsmen guarded over the pair; the others had gone aboard to prep for a quick departure. Most of the men had doffed their helmets and veils, revealing faces raw and scarred. They appeared to be a hard lot, showing no humor, only a barely constrained anger.
They likely wanted out of here.
And I’m holding them back.
The ringing of the dawn bell made Kanthe jump. It clanged across the palace and extended out into the city. Kanthe turned to Symon, who stared apologetically back at him.
No …
Rami stiffened, unfolded his arms, and pointed. “Look!”
Kanthe swung around. From the dark doorway, figures spilled into the stone well, rushing headlong. They all wore byor-ga robes but quickly stripped off their headgear. Kanthe searched the ash-stained faces until he spotted Frell and Pratik.
He ran over to meet them but stumbled when a small-framed woman shoved to the front, tossing her headgear aside. With a shock, he recognized her.
Guildmaster Llyra …
Kanthe blinked as he caught his balance. He remembered Symon saying there was someone trying to help Frell. At the time, he had thought the man meant Pratik, but that clearly was not the case.
Llyra noted him, too, and offered a mocking bow. “Prince Kanthe.”
She then swept past him, shouting orders to the others.
Kanthe reached Frell and grasped him in a hug. He tried to do the same with Pratik but was gently rebuffed.
“I didn’t think you’d make it,” Kanthe said.
“We shared that same sentiment,” Pratik said.
Together again, they followed the last of Llyra’s crew, who had begun shedding their robes. Kanthe collected Rami and Loryn on the way to the ship.
Rami stared back at the discarded byor-ga garb. “If I ever become emperor, my first order will be to change the policy of dress. It’s clearly a liability.”
“Keep moving!” Symon shouted, herding them to the ship. “We can wait no longer.”
They obeyed and clambered up the ramp. Symon stopped at its foot and craned his neck, staring skyward, where a column of fresh smoke marred the blue sky. His expression darkened as he backed away from the ramp.
Kanthe called from the hatchway, “Are you not coming with us?”
“No.” He waved dismissively. “I have other matters to attend. I’ll leave you all to the tender graces of Llyra hy March.”
“But—”
“Fear not, young prince. I’m sure our paths will cross again.” His eyes glinted with a bit of sly amusement. “No doubt you’ll all throw yourselves into a boiling pot before long.”
Kanthe couldn’t argue with that.
Symon turned and headed away with a pair of companions. They all donned their headgear, ready to vanish into obscurity.
Frell gripped Kanthe’s arm and drew him back, allowing a thick-shouldered crewman to winch the ramp up. “The others headed up to the wheelhouse. We should join them.”
Kanthe nodded and followed the alchymist through the packed lower hold and over to a flight of narrow stairs that headed up.
From his study of wingketch schematics, he knew the steps led to a narrow tween-deck that contained a few private quarters, a small cookery, and a large bunkroom that filled the stern. But most of that level was consumed by the wheelhouse at the bow. Above all that stretched a flat open deck, shadowed by its tapered balloon.
