Zanna looked away, uncomfortable with the praise.
“Can you be on the island when we perform?” Kurtz asked. “Cole won’t take Mistel there without a chaperone, and I agree. The girl doesn’t know how not to smile.”
“I’ll be there,” she said. “I promise.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Zanna studied him, searching for any hint of the rogue she used to know. But Mistel was right. Kurtz Chazir had changed. He wasn’t the same man he used to be.
And that wasn’t a bad thing.
Chapter 26
Cole
“If any guard so much as reaches for shackles,” Kurtz said, “I’m putting them in the ground, eh?”
Cole sat beside him in a dogsled driven by Verdot Amal, while Mistel rode in a sled steered by Zanna. Apparently, horses weren’t suited for the icy terrain, so Verdot had supplied dogsleds for the journey to Ice Island.
As they raced over the frozen harbor, bitter wind stung Cole’s eyes and made them water. His breath seeped through the gap in his scarf, turning the fabric damp and frosty. How could the sun blaze in a cloudless sky and do nothing to warm the day?
Kurtz had been grumbling since they left, clutching an unlit oil lantern like a child with a favorite doll. “We’ll be coming back after dark,” he’d said, “and I’m not crossing a barren wasteland blind.”
Had Zanna’s underground tunnel been this cold? They hadn’t mentioned it to Verdot—Kurtz’s call. He’d bloodvoiced Prince Oren, who had never heard of Bahram Rakkel. This had set everyone on edge, Kurtz most of all.
“Spent thirteen years trying to leave this place,” he muttered. “Seems it had other plans.”
Ice Island loomed ahead, a diamond-shaped monolith of gray stone rising twelve stories high. Jagged icicles clung to its crevices, glinting in the pale light. They were headed for Smokegate, the prison’s southern entrance, where the five-level curtain wall was half buried in snowdrifts. The dogs skidded to a stop before the gate: two watchtowers flanking a narrow iron portcullis.
As Verdot barked orders at a fur-clad guard, Kurtz muttered, “Looks worse in daylight. Swore I’d never set foot here again. Should’ve sworn louder.”
Cole elbowed him, nodding at white runes painted on either side of the gate. “Same as Cliffwatch.”
Kurtz’s eyes narrowed. “Won’t be able to bloodvoice here either. Zanna saw the same runes inside the tunnel’s cave.”
The portcullis groaned upward, and the dogs surged forward, pulling them into a snow-blanketed bailey. Trenches had been shoveled between wooden outbuildings and the Pillar, which was the towering heart of the prison that loomed overhead like a tanniyn ready to strike. Crates stamped “Thusk Shipping Exchange” had been stacked outside several structures. So, Master Thusk delivered goods to the prison, did he?
Cole would have to wait to discuss that with Kurtz since the sleds halted at the Pillar’s entrance, and he didn’t want Verdot to hear.
Kurtz sighed, tipping his head back to take it all in. “Last time I entered this place kicking and screaming. Let’s hope history doesn’t repeat itself, eh?”
Into the Pillar they went, and the cold seeped into Cole’s bones. The only way to reach the prisoners was up a one-way stairwell to the roof, then descend back down into the yard in the center of the diamond.
So, up they went.
No number of torches could heat the twisting stairwell, but the effort of climbing soon warmed Cole’s body. Still he wondered if his fingers would thaw enough to play his lute.
When they reached the roof, a gust of wind nearly sent him stumbling. Kurtz steadied him. Mistel shrieked as wind caught her skirts like a flag. Zanna wrapped an arm around her, and they hurried after Verdot toward the entrance where the steps went down.
Relief came inside the second tower, but as they descended, the prison’s weight pressed in. Kurtz had lost his usual swagger, nervously tapping his lantern like a drum.
The spiral stairwell fed into a corridor that echoed with clanking chains and disembodied whispers. Fingers clawed under doors. Voices garbled together. Cole didn’t need to understand the words. The sound alone was chilling enough.
Finally, they emerged into the yard, a vast, diamond-shaped atrium stretching twelve levels high. Cells stacked upon cells, iron bars like a thousand unblinking eyes. Dozens of prisoners shuffled through the yard or sat around crates that bore the same “Thusk Shipping Exchange” mark. Shackles clinked as prisoners walked or gambled.
Cole nudged Kurtz, then tapped his temple.
“Can’t in here,” Kurtz reminded him. “The runes, remember?”
