A broken path of ice leads to the palace, but it is too fragmented and unstable to ensure safe passage for an army of one hundred. Instead, we find a batch of large rowboats secured on the outskirts of the moat, where it is at its calmest, farthest from the three sides of the falling water surrounding us. We split ourselves between the vessels and row toward the mouth of the palace, our boat pushed half by Torik’s strength and half by the great gusts of wind that propel us forward in a crooked line.
When we dismount, the palace is leagues above us, and I have to arch my back just to get a good enough look. But there’s no time to take it in, or wonder how it’s possible that a palace built from snowstorms can seem somehow warmer. A degree or two above the rest of the Cloud Mountain. Yukiko powers ahead with purpose and we follow her into the depths of the iceberg, using her torchlight to guide us when she walks too fast for us to keep pace.
The walls gleam like halls of mirrors, so that suddenly our numbers are doubled. Tripled. All I see are faces and tufts of breath that mingle among us like fog. We can’t help but linger a little behind, walking slower as we try to decipher what is a reflection and what is actually Yukiko. When we fall too far behind and she rounds a corner much too far ahead, we’re forced into a fleeting darkness. Elian’s hand finds mine. He squeezes, just once, and everything in me quickens. Heats. My body curves toward him and I press my free hand to the glacier walls. When we find the curve to the corner, Yukiko’s light illuminates our faces once more.
I don’t drop Elian’s hand.
Yukiko pauses at a large ice wall that shines against the heat of her flame, echoing our faces back to us. She hooks the torch onto a small brace and takes a step back.
“We’re here,” she says.
Elian gives me a quick glance and then unhooks the key from his neck and hands it to Yukiko. His eyes are impatient as Yukiko holds it up against a concave in the wall. The dip mirrors the patterns on the necklace perfectly, from every ornate swirl to its fanged encasing. It’s the perfect lock for our key, and when Yukiko presses the necklace to the wall, it clicks securely into place.
Snow drops from the ceiling and runs from the walls like water. There’s a heavy groan, and then the thick pane of ice heaves itself backward and reveals a cavern too large to be housed inside this moderate palace.
Elian enters like the thirsty explorer. I follow quickly behind him, paying no mind to the princess I brush past. Everywhere is blue. Thick trunks of frost press against the ceiling and then drop back down in leafy tufts. They stem from the walls like branches, veins of ice paving the floor in roots. It’s a forest of snow and ice.
The crew swaggers slowly in and gazes around in wide-eyed wonder. Unlike the rest of this iceberg, the cavern is truly a place of beauty. A place touched by Keto. But Elian doesn’t marvel at his surroundings. He stares resolutely ahead, at the center of the dome.
A steeple of ocean water floats in a perfect mixture of emerald and sapphire, and I recognize it instantly as water from the Diávolos Sea. From my home.
In the heart of it is the Second Eye of Keto.
It’s like nothing I have ever seen. Even the eye of the Sea Queen’s trident doesn’t quite compare, with its form so roughly slashed into shape and its color dimmed from the decades underwater. This stone is unaffected by any of that. Crafted into a perfectly geometric circle, it is tinged with the florid eyes of my mother and the gallons of blood spilled in its name.
The steeple that houses it is a solid ice sculpture, but when Elian reaches out to touch it, he doesn’t recoil. It’s not frozen, but suspended. In time, in place.
“We can’t melt it, then,” Elian says.
“We can’t break it,” Yukiko urges. “It might shatter the crystal.”
He turns to her. “I doubt we could break it anyway. It even feels impenetrable.”
Yukiko shakes her head furiously. “We have to open it,” she says. “The ritual. What is it?”
All eyes turn to me, and I take in a breath, readying myself. This is the moment I’ve been working toward. The very thing I maneuvered myself back onto Elian’s ship to do. I look at him and how his hair curls by his ears, sticking up in a way that shows every moment he slept in a damp tent. The frown that pulses down to his jaw. The ridiculous smell of licorice whenever he sighs.
I am too close.
I clear my throat. “Siren blood,” I say.
Elian turns to me. “What?”
“Do you think just anyone can wield the Crystal of Keto?” I ask. “It has to be a warrior worthy of its magic.”