The Cradle of Ice (Moonfall #2)

Chapter 32

32

N YX LUNGED UP as Henna was snatched from Daal’s arms.

“No!” she wailed.

Nyx thrust an arm high. Her fingertips brushed a wingtip as the beast swept upward. But she could do nothing more to stop its escape. She could barely keep her legs, exhausted from her battle with the horde-mind, beaten down and weak.

Next to her, Daal cried out in anguish and panic.

His pain, her guilt, stoked a fury inside her. It steadied her feet, narrowed her vision to a sharp focus. She had suffered so much, an innocent herself. She did not ask for any of this. A litany of misery and pain ramped through her: orphaned and abandoned, tortured and humiliated for being born near blind, seeing her dah and brothers slain—then torn from all she knew and loved, thrust into a role she didn’t want, a duty that would only leave a wake of death.

No… no more…

She gathered all that pain as she stared up at Henna’s limp form.

Another innocent…

I won’t allow it.

She grabbed Daal’s arm, mostly to keep from falling, but down deep, she instinctively knew what she wanted. A part of her knew from the moment she met him. It wafted off of him like his sweaty musk and shone from the ice of his eyes.

With her touch, fire surged into her body.

She gasped at the power, fueled by Daal’s panic. Each beat of his heart—sounding like the distant beat of a drum to her roaring ears—filled her with those flames, driving into a dark well that welcomed that energy, sapping it out of him.

She understood what was happening.

He is flashburn, and I’m the forge.

Nyx accepted this and stood tall, raising her arm again. She dug the nails of her other hand into the muscle of Daal’s arm, drawing blood. She drew and drew upon his fire until she could hold it no longer.

She screamed that energy back out, a dragon’s roar of bridle-song. She gloried in that power, ablaze in the energy. It struck like a fiery arrow into the beast.

As it did, for a breath, she saw the creature in its entirety, stripping through shaggy fur, down to bone, blood, and nerve.

The bat writhed in midair, trapped there.

She drove deeper and burned its heart away with a dark satisfaction.

It wailed, flailing wildly, casting smoke from its mouth. Linked by death, she again brushed against the malignancy of the horde-mind. She sensed no fear, no anger, only cold interest, as frigid and immense as the Ice Shield itself.

To it, this death was but a single mote.

She also didn’t care.

As the bat died, so did that connection, snuffing out like the life itself. Still, for the briefest flicker, she sensed another lurking in the depths of that malevolence. A spider in the shadows. Thwarted, it slipped deeper into the darkness, turning away, but not before she caught the icy glint of its cold cunning, appraising and adapting even now.

Before she could look closer, it was gone.

“Fre gah!” Daal hollered at her, slamming her back into her body.

He ripped his arm free, her nails gouging his flesh. He lunged away, as if scared of her. But that was not it. Instead, he dashed off, arms outstretched. A tumbling figure fell through the air.

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.

D AAL 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.

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.