The Cradle of Ice (Moonfall #2)

Chapter 37

37

K ANTHE PLACED A palm on the prisoners’ door, readying himself for the storm to come. So far, he had tried four times to broker peace with Rami, to offer his solemn oath that he did not know Llyra would orchestrate the kidnapping of his sister. But Rami remained deaf and unmovable.

The prince loved his younger sister and would protect her with his life. Whether Kanthe knew of the betrayal or not, it had still happened under the guise of getting them free of the palace. To Rami, it was all bundled together.

Down deep, Kanthe knew the prince was not entirely wrong.

I do deserve a share of the blame.

Kanthe suspected part of the reason he needed Rami’s forgiveness was to assuage his own guilt. Aalia did not deserve to be dragged—literally—into this situation.

“Are you going in or what?” a guard asked, leaning on a wall and picking at his teeth with a dagger.

With no other choice, Kanthe knocked to announce himself. He had left Frell and Pratik back in their cabin with the infernal pages. The best chance of gaining the others’ cooperation was to go in alone.

An inarticulate response came from inside. Kanthe unlatched the door and waited. He refused to barge inside after being scolded soundly before. After three breaths, Loryn opened the door for him. The Chaaen’s role aboard the ship had been reduced to a manservant.

Loryn scowled at Kanthe. Likely, he had been expecting a crewman at the door with a midday platter.

“If I may…” Kanthe waved to the room.

Loryn turned and inquired in Klashean. Rami’s gruff voice responded with irritation. The prince clearly had had enough of Kanthe’s prostrations. Still, Loryn stepped back and invited him inside with a wave of an arm, as if he were welcoming a guest into a set of private quarters versus a prison cell.

Kanthe entered, struggling with how to win over their cooperation.

The cabin was identical to the others, with two bunked beds along one wall. A thin mattress had been dragged in for Loryn. The only notable difference to this room was that it was slightly larger and had its own privy closet. Still, it was a far cry from royal quarters.

Rami hopped off the top bunk. The lower had a makeshift drape drawn across it, made from a blanket. It sheltered the Illuminated Rose of the Imri-Ka. Aalia had remained hidden during each of Kanthe’s prior visits. He had yet to set eyes upon her after seeing her dragged out of the map closet.

Rami stepped before him, blocking the way into the rest of his cabin. He stood bare-chested, his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat from the stifling heat. He wore a pair of ragged leggings cast off by a crewman.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“Your help.”

Rami cocked an eyebrow high, his face darkly amused. “My help?”

Kanthe waved to the draped bunk. “Both of your help.”

That brow dropped and joined the other into a deep furrow. “Truly, this must be some jest.”

“I know you’re angry. Our trust broken. Again, I’m deeply sorry. But I came here at the request of Alchymist Frell and Chaaen Pratik.”

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 Dalal ?e a, 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.

Rami found his voice first. “Why… Why do you say that?”

Bewildered, Kanthe stared across the shocked group. He realized Rami had never heard the rest of the story, what had befallen Frell within the Abyssal Codex. Kanthe set about telling them, leaving out no details, describing everything from the Venin to the winged image shadowing a wall.

Loryn shook his head as Kanthe finished his tale, his voice aghast, dwelling on the least of this story. “The Abyssal Codex… it was torched. That was the smoke we saw rising from the Imri-Ka’s gardens.”

Aalia waved this off. She focused on Kanthe, stepping closer, her eyes shining with interest now. “The pages stolen by your mentor. He still has them?”

Kanthe nodded. “It’s why I sought you both out. Most of it is written in ancient Klashean.”

Aalia shared a look with her brother. “And you want us to help decipher it? That’s why you came here?”

Kanthe hadn’t mentioned this, but she had extracted his intent, nonetheless.

Aalia stepped forward, brushing past Kanthe. “Show us.”

F RELL HOVERED BEHIND the two Klasheans, his patience wearing thin.

For an entire bell, the pair had crossed back and forth between wall and table, examining all three pages ripped from the ancient tome.

Aalia carried Pratik’s reading lens. She peered through it often to better discern the writing. She stopped frequently to whisper with her brother, not that she needed to keep her voice low. The two shared their thoughts with each other in ancient Klashean, keeping cryptic what they were able to discern.

All Frell could do—along with Pratik and Kanthe—was wait them out.

“This is taking forever,” Kanthe mumbled.

Frell knew a good portion of the young prince’s impatience stemmed from hunger. He kept rubbing his stomach and looking at the door. Pratik concentrated on Rami and Aalia, cocking an ear, trying to eavesdrop, but his fluency in ancient Klashean remained poor. Whenever Frell cast the Chaaen an inquiring look, Pratik would merely shrug.

So we’re at a standstill for now.

The impasse was finally broken by a knock on the door. Kanthe opened it enough to allow a crewman to pass over a platter of soft cheeses and hard bread, along with a flagon of sweet wine. The server tried to poke his head inside, plainly curious, but Frell closed the door in his face.

“Finally,” Kanthe grumbled, and rested the fare on the lower bunk.

Each took a turn gathering a small repast, except for Aalia. She had returned to studying the image of a shattered moon. When she finally faced them, her eyes looked pensive, resigned, as if accepting the truth of moonfall. Earlier, she had engaged Frell in a discussion about the frequency of quakes and wilder tides. She had even tied the latter to the increasing severity of storms that had been plaguing the coasts. Frell had not considered this and was left rubbing his chin.

Clearly, Pratik was correct about the sharp intelligence of the Illuminated Rose.

Aalia crossed back to the table and swept an arm to encompass all of the pages. “Some of this is written in a challenging dialect of ancient Klashean. But it’s decipherable enough.”

“What does it say?” Frell asked.

Rami stepped forward, but before he could open his mouth, his sister silenced him with a raised hand.

She studied Frell with narrowed eyes. “I will tell you—but not before exacting a promise from you all, a sworn oath.”

Frell could guess her intent and stated it. “We will free you and your brother once we have sought out the buried Sleeper. We truly mean you no harm.”

“That’s well and good, but that’s not what I desire.”

“Then what?”

She gazed around the group. “I’ll leave it unspoken for now. But fear not, it’s something easily attainable and will not thwart your efforts.”

Pratik frowned. “You want us to swear an oath to perform a future act of unknown consequences?”

She arched a brow. “Do you wish to know what is hidden in these pages?”

Frell took a deep breath before answering. “If we have your word that such a boon will truly not damage our cause…”

Aalia bowed her head. “It is so given.”

Frell checked with Pratik, even Kanthe. The Chaaen nodded solemnly. Kanthe merely shrugged.

Satisfied, Frell pressed a palm over his heart. “It is so sworn.”

His companions followed suit.

Aalia stared a moment longer, as if judging their sincerity, then turned to the pages. She motioned Rami to her side, but not to engage him. She merely relieved him of his cup of sweet wine.

She took a sip and waved them over to the page atop the table. “This does describe a great war. One that started during the Forsaken Ages. Before the time of kingdoms and empires. Even before the Crown was fully forged.”

Frell stepped closer, remembering what he had learned in the glowing vault beneath the Northern Henge. “According to Shiya, after the world stopped turning on its axis, the Urth’s lands remained in chaos for countless millennia.”

Aalia nodded. “The pages tell of such a turmoil. People scrabbling to survive. The lands quaking and beset by storms that stripped forests and broke mountains.”

“But this war?” Pratik frowned down at the page. “If there were no kingdoms of men, who fought it?”

“I did not say they were men, ” Aalia clarified. “In these pages, they’re called ta’wyn. ”

She pointed to a set of illuminated images. They showed tiny battalions of shining knights. Some fought in great forces, crashing against one another. Others focused on smaller skirmishes, even on individuals brawling against one another.

“If not men, who are these ta’wyn ?” Frell asked.

“I don’t know,” Aalia admitted.

Rami interceded. “In ancient Klashean, ta’wyn means undying gods. ”

Pratik frowned. “Maybe the pages are referring to the Elder gods? The divinities before all others?”

No one had an answer.

Kanthe finally raised a question that had been plaguing Frell. “But what does this clash of gods have to do with moonfall or with the Shadow Queen?”

Aalia rubbed at her chin. “It’s unclear. The war ended, but it’s prophesied to start again. With the birth of the Vyk dyre Rha. Either the ta’wyn will hinder or help her. If we had more pages, or the entire book…”

She finished with a shrug.

Frell pictured that ancient tome burning in the pyre, along with one of the Dresh’ri. He inwardly cringed at the knowledge lost in those flames.

Kanthe scoffed next to him. “Then these pages don’t help us at all.”

Frell couldn’t disagree. Still, he shifted over and tapped a finger on a stylized picture of a stiff-limbed knight. The figure held an arm high, gripping a jagged bolt of lightning in one hand. The image filled an entire corner of a page, as if threatening all the other combatants in the war.

“This ta’wyn, ” Frell said. “He looks like a leader of some sort.”

Aalia joined him. “Yes, but it never describes which faction he commands. Only his name.” She pointed to a word in faded ink under the image. “Eligor.”

“Which means Morning Star, ” Rami shared.

Aalia frowned at him. “Brother, we spoke at length about this. You can’t truly say that with certainty—not when it’s merely written in ink. If spoken aloud with a stress on the first syllable, you are most correct in that definition. But if you stress the second syllable, the meaning changes.”

“Into what?” Kanthe asked.

She looked pointedly back at him with a flash of fire in her eyes. “It means Betrayer. Something you’re well familiar with.”

Kanthe lifted both palms. “Again, I’m sorry…”

As a dispute ramped up, Frell turned away. He concentrated on the image of Eligor, gilded in gold. He picked up Pratik’s lens to examine the figure’s features in finer detail. He squinted at the artistry, at the brushwork.

The warrior on the page wore no helm. His hair formed a golden corona around his head. His square chin and hard cheeks were bearded in amber curls. His eyes, tiny dots of blue paint, seemed to stare out of the page, out of the ancient past.

Under the lens, the god’s expression was stern, unforgiving. His face was painted in darker shades of gold and shone with a severe majesty.

Frell whispered to him, “Who are you truly?”