From the pair, Darant had learned that the barge and its support ships were the only ones dispatched into the Wastes. The two men had also revealed how Graylin’s group had been tracked all this time. Apparently, some emanation from Shiya was able to be detected by Iflelen alchymy. Such knowledge was worrisome, but for the moment, as far out in the Wastes as they were, it was not an immediate threat.
Still, the plan was not to spend any more time in the Crèche than necessary. If their group could be tracked, the best course was to keep moving. Fenn had some thoughts on that, but he wanted to do some further calculations.
A door opened behind Graylin with a blast of cold air. The whistling roar from the ruins of the ship followed Shiya as she entered with Rhaif.
“Did you get the devices secured?” Graylin asked as they joined him.
“Bloody things weigh as much as a forge,” Rhaif answered. “But we managed. Or rather, Shiya did. I clapped approvingly when she was done.”
Nyx limped over with Jace and Krysh. “But what are they?” she asked. “You never said.”
Graylin wanted to know, too.
Rhaif smiled. “We’re definitely going to need them soon. It’s why Shiya told us we had to come out to this site in the Wastes first, before traveling to the next one.”
Jace pressed him. “Why? What was so important out here?”
Shiya answered, “Cooling units.”
Rhaif shrugged. “If we’re heading next to the sunblasted side of the Urth, we’re going to need more than just new forges.”
Darant interrupted them, calling from the maesterwheel, “You might want to come see this.”
Graylin headed over with the others.
Darant pointed to their starboard, to where the copper complex still glowed on the broken plains of the Brackenlands. Only now it shone far brighter. From the chasms around its edge, molten rock bubbled and overflowed, spilling out around the dome and its legs.
Darant glanced back at them. “Glad we got out of there when we did.”
“Look,” Jace said, shifting to keep the view in sight. “I think it’s all sinking or melting or something.”
Graylin joined him. The entire copper structure was indeed sagging into the Brackenlands. The dome flattened and spread wider, while the limbs sank into the molten rock. Eventually, the intense heat fogged the view, erasing it from sight.
With nothing else to see, Darant turned the ship and swung away. “No one’s gonna be trespassing back there anytime soon.”
Graylin glanced at Shiya, wondering if her exiting the dome had triggered its final destruction. He remembered how the Root had called her an Axis, confirming she was the key to the facility.
Shiya ignored his look. In fact, she had gone very quiet and still during all of this. She held her head cocked to the side, her brows pinched and frozen.
Rhaif noted the strangeness, too. “Shiya, is something wrong?”
She didn’t answer, just continued her long stare.
Rhaif took her hand. “Shiya?”
She finally stirred and patted his fingers, reassuring him. She then faced everyone and announced, “Prince Kanthe wishes you all to know that he is getting married.”
97
WRYTH CROSSED THROUGH the slaughter, being careful where he stepped. Pools of blood covered the marble of the dimly lit palacio. Even the perfume of smoking incense could not mask the smell of split bowel and ripe meat. Bodies sprawled everywhere: cut apart in hallways, slashed across beds, floating in baths turned crimson. Most were pleasure serfs, indentured to servitude. The others were servants and patrons of the palacio.
Most of the latter were legionnaires and knights who had been rewarded access following the campaign to the Southern Klashe. Though the battle had been far from a success, the pretense of victory had to be promulgated. Behind closed doors, the results of that battle had not been as well heralded.
Wryth winced as he continued through the grounds—but not at the brutality and savagery. The ruins of his right eye stabbed with every step. It felt as if that shard of crystal were still imbedded there, but it had been removed eight days ago, along with the remains of his eye. The socket was still packed with a medicant-infused cotton and covered in a leather patch.
Provost Balyn wheezed his rotund form alongside Wryth. The man clutched a scrap of cloth at his nose and spoke through it. “We knew the Southern Klashe would retaliate, but to strike so close to the heart of the kingdom. The legion has been lax in its guardianship.”
Wryth scowled. “With a knight’s breeches at his ankles and his only weapon being his cock in hand, they could not offer much defense.”
