Chapter Twelve
Titus wakes me at dawn. We did not bank the fire for the night, so my breath frosts the air inside the hut.
He remains silent, frowning deeply while I rebraid my hair and tie up my bedroll.
I dare to ask, “Are you . . . frightened?”
“I’m angry.”
At my confused look, he adds, “I scouted forward while you were sleeping. I wanted to see the mine entrance for myself. Just
in case there was an easier way inside.”
“And?”
“That entrance was collapsed on purpose.”
“How could you tell?”
“The rock around it is still scorched, even after all these years. Did you know that granite could melt?”
“What? No!”
“Only two ways that I know of: a volcano, or magic.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
“It was the king,” Titus says. “Raddivorg. He told me about his hiding place in the mine, said he’d taken steps to make sure
it wouldn’t be found. I’m sure he thought he was doing the right thing. The fate of the Sunderland, and all that. But . . .
those miners, your grandfather . . .”
It’s a good thing I haven’t eaten anything yet.
“He needed it to look like an accident, I suppose,” Titus says.
“He couldn’t have waited until everyone left?” I say.
“Maybe there was some sort of miscommunication. Maybe his fire thrower didn’t realize there were people inside.”
It’s hard to get enough air. My grandfather may have been murdered by King Raddivorg the Beloved. My da considered him the
greatest king in the history of Grimsvold. Maybe Titus is wrong. Maybe the miners . . .
I have to set it aside. It’s too big to think about right now. We have work to do.
“Let’s get this done,” I say. “I’ll worry about it later.”
“Yes, of course. The temperature dropped again this morning,” Titus says as I pull on my scavenged boots. “A thin layer of
ice covers part of the quarry.”
“I can’t believe I escaped a burning inn only to freeze to death,” I grumble.
Titus glares at me. “Bria, you are not making the swim; I am. You’ll stand watch.”
I gain my feet and meet his glare. “That’s a terrible plan,” I say.
He frowns. “You have a better idea?”
“I make the swim and you stand watch. I’m a very good swimmer.” Grandda taught me the year before he died. I have a vivid
memory of playing in the creek, his gentle hands beneath me as he coached me to kick. The old scar running from the edge of
his right eye deepened with his smile whenever I did something right.
Titus is shaking his head. His hand grips my shoulder, startling me. “Bria, it’s too risky.”
He seems to have startled himself too. The hand drops away quickly, leaving phantom warmth.
Titus has touched me many times since I’ve known him—in training, to wake me in the morning, to heal my shoulder. But this
was different, somehow. Judging by the way he avoids my eyes, he feels it too.
“I’m your shield maiden,” I remind him. “Taking risks for you is my job.”
“But I in turn have sworn that your life is my honor. I take that seriously, you know.”
I stare down at my boots. Best to swim with them or without? How will I get warm once I get to . . . wherever I’m going? I’ll
have an hour at most before the cold sickness sets in. Though an hour is more than most people would have.
“You know how Gifts often have accompanying properties?” I say. “Like my sister, Anja, who could know the best use for something
just by tasting it. Well, she had the strongest stomach too. Moldy bread, rancid meat, poisonous berries—they would sometimes
make her a little sick, but nothing more. Which makes sense. A Gift is useless if it gets you injured or killed. Or take the
blacksmith’s boy who was in the cage you rescued me from. He could change the colors of his fingernails. His nails always
grew strong and long to display the color. He was forever trimming them.”
Titus is nodding. “My tutor called it a solace. When a Gift has an accompanying trait. Master weavers keep whole catalogs
of them for study.”
“I have a solace,” I tell him.
His shoulders slump. “You can withstand the cold,” he says in defeat.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still freeze to death or get cold sick, eventually. But I have a good tolerance. Otherwise I’d risk
frostbite every time I froze my father’s venison for storage.”
Titus runs a hand over his ruddy hair, dislodging strands from his ponytail. “I hate this.”
“Don’t. My da always said, Use the right tool for the job. I’m the right tool for this one. And you’re the right tool for standing watch. You’re a trained warrior and an extraordinary
hunter.”
“Again with making good points.”
Now I grin. “Of course you’ll have to actually tell me where to go and what I’m looking for.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, as though steeling himself. Then he reaches into his pack and retrieves something.
Titus holds it out to me. It’s a long-armed glove made of stiff brown leather, with bits of tarnished metal sewn into it at
strategic protective intervals. The finger pads are worn gray, and the stitching is loose at the wrist. He says, “You’re looking
for the mate to this.”
“A glove? King Raddivorg killed Grandda for a glove?”
“It’s a gauntlet. It’s a thousand years old, and it possesses incredible power. Especially worn as a set. After we retrieve the gauntlet hidden
in the mine, we’ll need one more piece of the set. A horn.” Gently he adds, “I’m not sure anything justifies the murder of
your kin, though.”
If definitely does not. I stare at the gauntlet. It doesn’t seem important at all. It looks old, but not a thousand years old. Then again, a skillful weaver can combine Gifts to create and preserve something for a long time. Like the ocean’s barrier at the Edge of the World.
“What does it do?” I ask.
“It helps you talk to monsters.”
“What monsters do you need to talk to?”
His lips press tight.
“At least tell me where we’ll find the third and final piece?” I ask.
“In Suratia. Under the protection of the high potentat. The set was split up, each one given to a monarch for safekeeping.”
My heart races. I’ll be going far, far from home. Which I suppose I knew, but it suddenly feels inevitably real. I used to
dream about adventure, journeying to far-off places, experiencing different lives and lands and cultures. Now I’d give anything
for another night in my cozy inn.
But this is my life now. I put on my bravest face and say, “I’ve always wanted to see Cathira.”
“The city on the Edge,” he says, nodding. “Everyone should see it once in their lifetime.”
“And dare I ask . . . who am I kidding? Of course I dare. Where did you get the first gauntlet?”
He smiles humorlessly. “I stole it. From my father.”
“Oh,” I breathe. I had suspected, but it’s still shocking to hear it confirmed. “And that’s who took out a Deathsworn contract
on your life. King Jaydeth of Corth, yes?”
“Right on all counts.”
“The gauntlet must be powerful indeed, to turn a father against a son.”
“Oh, he wanted me dead before I stole it,” Titus assures me, as if that makes everything all right. “But since my theft of his gauntlet, he’s become obsessed with killing me.”
“That’s . . . I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs it off, as though it doesn’t hurt him deeply. “He’s the worst person I know,” he says flippantly. “Mother says the
sweetest revenge is to be nothing like him.”
I open my mouth to ask about his mother, but his face has changed. He’s withdrawing into himself again, and I sense I shouldn’t
press. “Let’s get this done,” I say instead. “Then we can be on our way to Cathira, where it’s warm even in winter.”
Moments later we stand on a granite slope that slips into the quarry, like a beach of solid stone. It’s slippery, but at least
I won’t have to climb a cliff with numb fingers to get out of the water.
The quarry sparkles with morning light. It’s not too wide across, but I imagine it’s deep enough to reach Barathrum. I shield
my eyes with a hand, peering for any sign of an underwater cave, but I detect nothing. “Where am I going?” I ask Titus, who
stands beside me. “Do I just swim around until I find something?”
He points. “Watch that shadow over the water. As the sun rises, the Spire to the east will cast a shape like a diving dragon.
It will point to the cave entrance. Or so I was told.”
I stare at the shadow. What seemed like a blot of darkness on the water is already sharpening into something more interesting
with the brightening day. “Told by the king?” I ask.
“Raddivorg the Third.”
I glare at him. “I’m starting to feel like the only person in the Sunderland who doesn’t know your quest.”
“Raddi was very keen to help when he learned what I was looking for.” His grin is smug, and it occurs to me that he may have said that last bit simply to get a rise.
I kick off my boots with more thrust than necessary and start to remove my improvised blanket coat. “While you stand watch,
it would be helpful if you got a fire going and set my clothes beside it. I know people are looking for us, but I’ll need
to warm up quickly when I return.”
“Of course.”
I hesitate, my hands hovering at the drawstring of my scavenged Suratian pants. Then I realize Titus has seen just about everything
already, after he pulled me unconscious from that cage cart and tended to my wounds.
Before I can think twice, I whip them down and step out of them, leaving my legs bare in the icy sunshine. I glance up at
Titus and find his eyes wide like a startled rabbit’s, not sure if he should hide or flee.
A little dart of pleasure leaves me feeling warm. I’m careful not to smile as I remove my shirt more slowly. When I’m standing
before him wearing nothing but drawers and a camisole, I ask, “Once I reach the cave, where to next?”
He blinks a few times. “Er, first left will take you to a small chamber. The gauntlet should be inside a chest, packed in
straw.”
“Sounds simple enough. The glove will get soaked during the swim back, though.”
“Gauntlet. It’s survived a thousand years. A little bath won’t hurt.”
The winter chill penetrates my skin already, turning it to gooseflesh.
This is going to be miserable. But it turns out that King Raddivorg III was right about the dragon shadow.
The nearest Spire is now casting the undeniable image of a great beast in a dive, wings tight to its body, pointed snout stretched forward. “I guess it’s time.”
“Bria.” A large hand grabs my forearm. “Be careful. And don’t take any unnecessary risks. If you get into trouble, come right
back and warm up. We’ll figure out something else.”
“Yes, my lord,” I say, just to irritate him. “Back soon!” And with that, I step into the water.
The cold is so intense it’s like fire on my legs. I’m knee-deep when I get a better idea.
I return to shore and face the lake, thinking.
“Bria?” says Titus.
I ignore him, instead reaching for the sparkling magic that threads through my whole being, always there, just out of sight
until that day when I was fourteen and something compelled me to look with more than just my eyes.
My thread is a bright, shimmering blue, the color of ice reflecting a cold, clear sky. I concentrate on it—the color, the
way it tethers me to the earth, the charge of energy that courses through my body whenever I embrace it—and I step my bare
foot on the surface of the water.
“Freeze,” I whisper, and I pluck the shining thread.
I’ve never done it like this before, with my foot instead of my hand, but it works just fine. The water solidifies, crystallizes,
crackles beneath my toes. I’ve created a tiny ice floe.
Slowly, carefully, I press down with my foot, giving the floe more and more weight.
It sinks, and water sloshes over the top.
I need more magic.
Again, I reach inside, find the shimmering thread, give a stronger, more demanding pluck.
A wave of dizziness makes me feel like I’m sinking . . . but then my mind rights itself, and I see that my magic has obeyed
once again. This time, I’ve frozen a chunk of ice as big as a small island. I step onto it, and it shifts in the way of a
small boat, but it doesn’t sink.
“That was incredible,” Titus says at my back.
“I can’t believe that worked!” I say. “I mean, I’ll still swim down to the cave entrance when I get across. But this will
buy me some time against the cold sickness.”
“I’ll have a fire and food ready for you,” he says. “You’re going to come back from this dizzy and hungry.”
I already feel lightheaded. Magic always exacts a cost, and I’m ill practiced at using so much. But I say, “I’ll be fine.”
“We may have to flee as soon as you return,” he adds, voice grave.
Smoke from the fire will draw his enemies. Our enemies, I remind myself.
“I’ll hurry,” I say, and I step forward across the slippery ice floe.
It’s torture on my bare feet, but not as bad as being submerged in icy water. I move with care, and when I reach the edge,
I call on my magic and extend the ice.
I’m nearly across, to the shadowed nose of the diving dragon, when I see a smudge just below the surface, hugged up against
the cliff. It’s hard to gauge the depth through water and light, but I’m certain it’s the entrance to the mine.
This is going to hurt.
I take a deep breath, and before terror and dread can fill me and overflow, I dive headfirst into the lake.