“Rhaif…” Shiya whispered softly.
The rare use of his name flushed him warmly. He glanced away, embar rassed by his reaction. He remembered that moment when Xan had shown him how intimately he was tied to this bronze woman. But Rhaif knew it was more than bridle-song that bound him to her.
“Are … Are you ready for the gathering?” Rhaif stammered, glancing across the spread on the table. “They’ll be here soon.”
She acknowledged this by parting the front of her cloak, exposing her nakedness beneath. She placed her palm on the center of her chest. The bronze glowed brighter around her hand as she inhaled. As she exhaled, she lowered her palm, withdrawing a perfect cube of crystal from between her breasts.
Once done, she closed her cloak demurely and set the glass atop the table.
Rhaif pictured the other cube she had pushed into her body, near her navel, back at Dalal??a. It had been the same size as this one, only riven with copper and containing a globule of churning gold at its core. After that, she no longer seemed to suffer her earlier weaknesses, whether under clouds or in these caves. It was as if that cube continued to sustain her—which was a good thing. Considering where they were headed next—to lands frozen in perpetual darkness—she would need that tireless force.
Shiya still stared at him and perhaps sensed his consternation, though she mistook the reason. “You do not need to come with us.”
Rhaif winced. She may have thought she was offering him a kindness, but instead she wounded him. He dropped to a knee and touched the back of her hand. “You know I must.”
Does she feel nothing of the same? Is her heart forged of the same bronze?
Shiya rolled her hand under his. Warm fingers enclosed his hand. She turned the glow of her eyes upon him. Her lips parted with a whisper. “I know.”
The door banged open behind them. Startled, he let go of Shiya’s hand and jerked to his feet. Llyra marched in without invitation. Out in the tunnel, shadowy figures stirred.
“I’m leaving,” she said sharply to him.
He stumbled around to her. “Already? You’ll not be coming for the…” He waved at the spread atop the table.
Over the past weeks, their motley group—gathered from across the northern Crown—had slowly and somewhat warily grown into a makeshift alliance, united by blood, grief, and purpose, all centered on one word.
Moonfall.
Llyra eyed the table, as if reconsidering his offer to attend the meeting. Instead, she studied the spread and took what she wanted—like she always did. She grabbed one of the small casks of ale and tucked it under her arm. She scowled at the rest. “I have no interest in chattering and arguing. I know what I must do.”
She glanced over to Shiya. Llyra’s eyes shone with no avarice, not even for the block of crystal sitting on the table. The guildmaster of thieves had also witnessed the doom to come. In that moment, Rhaif had watched the greed fade out of her. Llyra was nothing if not practical. If he had any doubt, he just had to remember how she had sold him off to the mines in order to firm the guild’s footing in Anvil. So, she certainly recognized that all the wealth in the world would not matter if the world was not here.
“Do you think they’ll listen to you?” Rhaif asked.
Llyra frowned. “I wasn’t planning on giving them any choice.”
The guildmaster was headed out with a clutch of Darant’s men, to rouse as many of her ilk to their cause, to forge a secret army spread through whorehouses, thieveries, low taverns, and dark dens. With the drums of war echoing across the Crown, their group might need an army of their own before long—along with a certain cropped-hair Guld’guhlian to command them.
Rhaif nodded. “I have no doubt you’ll earn their—”
She crossed over, scooped the back of his head with her free hand, and pulled his mouth to hers. She kissed him hard, then maybe a bit tenderly in the end. She had never let him kiss her before—then again, she was the one doing all the kissing here. It was a heated reminder. If there was something she wanted, she took it.
She let him go, wiped her lips. Her eyes glinted with dark amusement. “Just wanted to prove to you, flesh can be tastier than bronze.”
He swallowed, his cheeks red hot.
She swung toward the door. “Don’t get yourself killed,” she called back.
He appreciated her rare concern, but mistook it, forgetting who he was talking to.
“You have a magnificent cock,” she finished. “I may want to use it again.”
Rhaif blinked as she slammed the door behind her.
Well, for last words … those weren’t bad.
* * *
NYX FELT THE press of time, not just for this meeting, but also for the world at large.
Still, she stood in the small cave far from the others. The floor was sand. A tiny spring-fed pool brightened a corner. Far overhead, an old collapse had opened the roof to the forest and sky above. The sunlight fueled a bounty of curl-leafed ferns and chains of climbing roses in blushes of pink. A few blooms had darker red petals, like sprays of blood.
She tried not to look at those.
Instead, she focused on the bright open skies, waiting. Then a shadow swept high and vanished. She held her breath. A moment later, the hole darkened with the passage of a large form. Black wings snapped wide once the bat was inside.
The wind buffeted her, carrying with it the scent of a gingery musk, laced with a touch of carrion. Bashaliia was long past feasting on gnats and meskers of the swamp. His larger body needed more sustenance. Gnawed bones were piled to one side of the cave—but no more than one might find in a vargr’s den.
She could not fault him for his new hungers.
Bashaliia landed in the sand, beating his wings high, then tucked them.
She crossed to him.
He shifted on his legs, prancing a bit, as he would do when he was small. It was a reminder that despite his large size, he was still her little brother at heart. He keened to her in greeting, enveloping her in his song. As her sight flickered between their two sets of eyes, she sang back to him. She sensed his unease with this new place, maybe even with his new body.
We both have much to get used to.
Still, she knew what troubled him the most.
As it did her.
She reached him and opened her arms as much as her heart. Even song could not replace the reassurance of soft touches and shared warmth. He tucked his ears, snuffling her face, taking in her scent. A warm tongue tasted her salt. He settled against her, framing her and balancing on the knuckles of his wings.
She lifted both hands and scratched his ears, rubbing the tender velvet in her fingers. She sang to him, entwining their strands, sharing his finer senses. Again—as she had noted upon arriving here—she could barely sense that greater mind any longer. It was still out there, like a storm on the horizon, just a whisper of distant thunder, but those winds could no longer reach her. The storm was too far off.
Understanding pounded her heart.
Bashaliia was losing his connection to his tribe across the sea. Their reach—as mighty as it was—had limits, distances they could not stretch.
She felt Bashaliia’s sense of loss.
Still, she had a greater fear. She considered where they would soon be headed. To icefields even farther away, on the other side of the world.