Page 73 of The Cradle of Ice
He nodded, withdrawing deeper into the shadows.
Daal swung around. He had his own duty. He stumbled into a run, chasing after Nyx. He paused only long enough to grab an abandoned trident. He intended to pay back the blood-debt he owed for Henna’s rescue.
But he knew it was more than that.
I won’t forsake you.
In her enfeebled state, Nyx had not gotten far. He easily closed the distance and pushed next to her. She shied away, as if not trusting herself.
“Stay back,” she warned.
He moved closer and grabbed her hand. She yanked, but he firmed his grip. Her palm and fingers burned his cold skin. With that contact, he again felt that emptiness inside her. Only now, it held no sway over him. She was too weak. He could easily resist that tidal pull.
Still, he knew she needed his strength, the little that remained. He gave it freely. It took no effort. He simply let it flow, like filling a bucket. She gasped quietly, trembling all over. Her legs grew steadier, her breathing less ragged.
She stared up at him, her eyes appreciative but still scared.
As they walked, that essence passed back and forth between them, shared now, not stolen, warm water spilling back and forth. But that was not all that was pooled together.
With each wash into him, he felt her anguish and guilt and a well of heartbreak that was nearly unbearable. Overwhelmed, he almost let go, but he refused and held tighter—even while suspecting she could sense his inner self just as well.
He stared down at their joined hands. He felt her palm in his grip, while also feeling his fingers in hers. It was the strangest sensation, as if they were sharing their bodies, too.
It was an intimacy beyond any kiss.
Together, they continued through the wreckage of the street. While the nearby raash’ke had fled from Nyx’s outburst, a battle still raged in the plaza. Agonized screams echoed, along with booming explosions. Flaming arrows traced the sky, illuminating a storm of black wings.
It was certain death to go there.
Still, he tightened his hold on Nyx.
I won’t forsake you.
33
FROM THE TOP step of the lodestone chamber, Graylin stabbed at the face of a massive bat, a male twice the size of an ox. Jaws snapped wildly at his blade, trying to rip it away. Poison slathered those lips and dripped from his sword. Wings beat at the opening. Claws dug with a furious savagery, tearing through the soft sandstone as the beast tried to dig its way inside.
It screamed all the while, determined to drive him into submission. Even with the protection offered here, the bridle-song was a gale in his face. His vision blurred under the assault. His aim wavered.
A shout burst behind him. “Move!”
Exhausted and addled, he fell back. Jace rushed forward and swung his ax with great force. Steel cleaved the air and struck the bat between the eyes. The ax-head cracked deep into its skull. The beast reared back, dragging the weapon and Jace with it.
Fenn rushed up and hugged his friend’s legs. The navigator pulled Jace back, forcing him to relinquish his ax. They both tumbled down the steps, tangled together, into the deeper safety of the stone chamber.
Not that anywhere was truly safe in this village.
Graylin watched the massive bat flop and writhe in death, the ax still imbedded in its skull—then it lay still, its dreadful keening silenced.
And not just the beast.
Past its bulk, the screams of the dying had ebbed to moans. Only a few stands of guardsmen still fought on the plaza. Bodies sprawled everywhere, soaking the sands black with blood.
Still, a cauldron of bats churned above.
Jace regained his feet and lunged toward the doorway with an arm outstretched, looking ready to rush out and retrieve his precious ax—but that was not his intent.
“Look!” he gasped.
