Page 85 of The Cradle of Ice
The prince crossed his arms, clearly holding those two equally responsible for the kidnapping of his sister.
“Rami, whether you forgive me or not, you know why you agreed to travel with me in the first place. You know what all this effort—and missteps”—he glanced to the blanket curtain—“was meant to prevent.”
The answer came from that shrouded bunk. “Moonfall.”
Aalia pulled aside the drape and unfolded herself from the bed. She still wore her bedclothes, a silken shift, now belted high at the waist. She stood unabashed, as if she wore the finest gown. Her black eyes shone with fire, hot enough to force Kanthe back a step.
She brushed aside a scatter of loose curls that had escaped her fall of dark braids. Her cheeks were flushed darker. Though not primped, coiffed, and painted, she remained regal, even more beautiful now, a stunning black diamond that had fallen from its gold setting.
She challenged him scornfully. “You truly expect us to believe the moon will crash down and destroy the world?”
Kanthe glanced to Rami for help. He must have shared everything with his sister. She had no doubt demanded an explanation from her brother, for how Rami came to be found among the traitors who had abducted her. Rami simply stared coldly at Kanthe, offering no support.
Up to me, then.
Kanthe stared down at Aalia, letting her see his sincerity. “It will happen. Unless we act. And soon. I did not wish to burden you with any of this. But there is something vital hidden in the Klashe that we must—”
“A mysterious Sleeper,” she spat back.
Kanthe flicked a look at Rami. The prince had clearly held nothing back from his sister. He returned his attention to Aalia, remembering Pratik’s assertion that there was more to this woman than the indignant fire of a pampered princess.
“Whether you believe me or not, it is what drives our action,” Kanthe said. “Consider us deluded, moon-addled, even ridiculous, but we mean no harm to the Klashe. Or to you and your brother. We wish only to follow the path assigned to us.”
“By the feverish dream of a blind girl who regained her sight.”
Kanthe sighed.
Rami had definitely spared nothing.
“Alchymist Frell also believes her,” Kanthe stressed. “And he is not one to adhere to the wisdom of soothers and bone-readers. Before even hearing of Nyx, his own precise studies of the moon had already confirmed such a threat.”
Aalia took a deep breath, some of the fire dimming in her eyes. “As I understand, your mentor served as a member of the Council of Eight at Kepenhill. An esteemed position and one of high regard.”
“That … That’s right.”
Clearly the Illuminated Rose had done her own inquiries.
“And he truly believes this?” Aalia asked.
Kanthe nodded and motioned to her brother. “When Rami picked the lock and broke into our chambers, he saw the focus of Frell’s study. About the moon and prophecies of doom.”
Aalia glanced sharply at Rami. “What is this? You broke into the alchymist’s chambers?”
Rami’s eyes widened. He lifted a palm. Apparently, the prince hadn’t been entirely forthright with his recounting of events.
Aalia glared at him. “Does that mean you’ve been continuing your training with Chaaen Pyke? In the ways of thieves and pilferers? Even after I told you to stop? If Father ever found out…”
“He didn’t,” Rami said. “And wouldn’t. He never attends to me. Nor to most of the empire, for that matter. You know this, sister. He’s too lost in whispers and omens. While Alchymist Frell might not listen to soothers, our father bends both ears to that accursed Augury in Qazen.”
Aalia crossed her arms, looking perturbed—but whether at Rami’s low pursuits or her father’s neglect, it was unclear.
Kanthe sensed a well of pent-up frustration in both of them.
Aalia faced Kanthe again. “You claim your alchymist is not swayed by auguries of his own. Then why does he go to such efforts to aid that swamp girl, someone who is clearly a charlatan of some sort?”
“First of all, she’s not so much a girl. She’s nearly the same age as you.” Kanthe pictured Nyx, fiery in the battle atop the Dalalæða, just coming into her power. “And trust me, Nyx is not one to be trifled with. Even your Dresh’ri fear her. They call her the Vyk dyre Rha.”
Both Rami and Aalia gasped at the name. Even Loryn retreated a step and pressed a thumb to his lips in a warding against evil.
