Page 72 of The Cradle of Ice
Henna …
Aghast, Nyx realized she had forgotten about the girl.
Daal had not.
He caught his sister in his arms and rolled to the side. The dead bulk of the bat crashed to the street, shattering wing and limb.
Nyx, emptied and weak, sank to her knees. The surge of fire had hollowed her out. She stared down at her hands, expecting to see through them. She met Daal’s gaze over her fingertips. He shifted to his backside, cradling his sister.
She looked at him with hope.
Is she all right?
He just stared back. His face strained, his eyes shining with fear—but not for his sister’s welfare.
He’s terrified of me.
* * *
DAAL SCOOTED ON his backside away from Nyx. He hugged Henna close to his chest. Cold sweat slicked his body. His arms tremored. His breathing was ragged gasps.
The stench of burnt hair and flesh filled his nostrils, wafting from the broken bulk of the raash’ke. Smoke still steamed from its slack jaws.
What just happened?
He swallowed bile. His bones ached. It felt as if the marrow had been scraped from them. His skin prickled painfully, like after carving ice with bare hands. Even his gut had gone cold, his lungs heavy, as if frozen in place.
When Nyx had grabbed him, digging in her nails, he had flashed to another time, deep underwater, when he had been equally cold, his chest weighted down the same. Then, too, blood had been drawn. He pushed that terror away, refusing to let it rise up. Still, he remembered what had been pushed into him against his will back then—whereas Nyx had drawn everything out.
Both were violations in their own way.
Only Nyx’s touch had felt like the most powerful mag’nees stone. And I was the iron. The pull had been inescapable. It could not be withstood. In that moment, he had sensed an empty well inside her, a black hole from which nothing could escape. His life was drawn into it, sucking all from him, leaving him cold and numb.
He came close to losing himself then, pulled entirely into that well. But his gaze had remained upward. From down in that well, he had watched Henna being whisked upward. In that moment, even more was ripped from him, all to stoke the power inside Nyx—until finally she cast out that force with a furious scream, burning the beast out of the sky.
As Henna slipped from its claws and plummeted toward the street, panic finally sundered the bond between him and Nyx. He broke free and ran to catch Henna.
He stared down at his sister.
She’s safe.
His sister’s heartbeat fluttered against his chest. She breathed hard, as if somehow sensing her escape.
Tears of relief flowed, melting through the ice inside him. The pounding in his head ebbed. He searched the skies for any other threat. But whatever witchery had ignited here had chased off the bats.
But for how long?
His gaze fell back to Nyx. No matter what happened to him, no matter how much it felt like a violation, Nyx had saved Henna. He would give anything to protect his sister. As he accepted this, his terror of Nyx tempered into something like gratefulness.
As Nyx knelt, her shoulders shook with exhaustion. Her eyes shone in a dull glaze, looking forlorn, even frightened. But most of all, she appeared lost.
With a deep breath, she fought to stand. Her legs wobbled. Her first steps stumbled. She cast him a glance, but only from the corner of her eye, as if too ashamed to look at him directly. She headed away, toward the plaza, determined to reach her friends.
Daal groaned and pushed upright, hauling Henna with him. He turned his back on Nyx and staggered to the crowded mag’nees chamber. Those inside had witnessed the felling of the raash’ke. Eyes were huge; whispers murmured among them. He reached the guardsman at the threshold and pushed Henna toward him. As stunned as the rest, the man took her, staring down at her small face, as if she were a miraculous treasure.
She is.
“Protect her,” Daal told him.
