“And you, Amilia? More wine?”

More, she thought. He could probably see the stains on her lips and teeth, perhaps even smell it on her breath. “Please,” she said.

“And the same for me,” Sevrin told his son. “Nice and warm, Devrin, as I like it.”

The prince bowed and stepped away. As he did so, Elyon swung the bag from his shoulder and placed it on a fine stone table, circular in shape, with chairs set around it for lazing here during warmer days. The snow was falling prettily beyond the high awning, some flakes drifting in, capering on the breeze. There was a certain purity to snow that Amilia liked, hiding all the horror beneath. A body lying dead in an alley was grim and woeful to look upon. Cover it in snow, and it became nothing but a pretty pile, soft and white and pristine.

“How long has this snow been falling?” Amilia asked.

“A few weeks,” the old king answered, tiredly. “It has come on very quickly, and unexpectedly. When we saw the first flakes falling, we were all quite bemused. When those flakes swelled and thickened and the ice started forming on the river, we began to grow worried.” He sighed, looking out. “We are finding people dead in their homes. Families frozen even as they huddle together for warmth. Mothers with babes in arm. Fathers clutching at their daughters. The old, lying in their beds, locked in eternal embrace. We have been working hard to bring firewood to the people, to gather them in safe spaces and halls, but many fear the crowds. They stay in their homes and sometimes we don’t know they’re there until we find them frozen and dead. And all so quickly. It has happened so very quickly.”

Amilia sympathised with the poor man. It was a foul inauguration of his time as king. To rule the frozen ruin, as he called it. She reached out a put a hand on his arm. “We have things we must tell you, my lord,” she said. “Elyon has brought you a gift.”

The king frowned, turning, as Elyon opened his bag and withdrew the Book of Thala, large and leather-bound and ancient. “It was in Ilithor,” Elyon said. “Janilah Lukar was the one who stole it.”

Sevrin did not show much surprise. “We suspected so.” He moved forward, running a hand across the old cover of the book. “Have either of you looked inside?”

Amilia hadn’t, not herself, though Elyon had spent time with Archibald Benton scouring through its pages. Her grandfather had recruited the scholar and his underlings to search for passages that might reveal the location of the Frostblade, the old man had confessed to them, though that was a long while ago now. In the end they’d found nothing, and there were many passages they did not have the skill to translate. And the mystery of the missing page, Amilia thought. But that was not for her to worry about.

“I have looked,” Elyon said, in answer. “Though the words mean nothing to me. Others have translated certain passages, my lord. I have them all here as well.” He pulled a heap of notes and scrolls from the bag, tied up in string. “I hope there is something here that will help you, King Sevrin. To master the Eye of Rasalan.”

Sevrin gave a soft laugh. “The Eye is not here, young prince. It was stolen the night my cousin was taken. And I am not king, not yet. Until I have confirmation of Hadrin’s death…”

“I saw him die,” Elyon said. “And I took back the Eye.” He looked at him intensely. “Could you master it, if I should bring it here?”

That was a lot for the king to take in, though Sevrin was a man of stout character, if not appearance. He took a moment to digest it. “I would try, certainly. But you must know…”

“I know,” Elyon said. “I have spoken about this with Lady Marian Payne, and she has made it quite clear that your sight through the pupil may be limited. You may not be the direct blood of Queen Thala, but you are as close as can be, and it is said that you are the son Godrin should have had. Until we try, we will not know. And perhaps…” He looked at the book. “Perhaps you will find something inside that will help.”

Sevrin nodded to that, pulling at a small length of beard trailing from his chin. His eyes flitted to the bag. “Unless the Eye of Rasalan is smaller than I remember, you do not have it with you. Pray tell, where is it?”

“King’s Point,” Elyon said. “I wanted to come and find you first before I flew it here.”

“I see. Then you have a lot more flying to do, Elyon Daecar. I do hope this is worth your time.”

Elyon smiled. “I hope the same.”

“A hope we all share,” said Prince Devrin, stepping back out onto the balcony with a tray of drinks in his grasp. He frowned at the book as he set the tray down on the table, plucking up the cups and chalices to hand them out. “A handsome tome,” he noted. “It looks familiar.”

“The Book of Thala,” his father said.

The prince smiled. “Truly? Or is this one of your japes, Father?” He looked at the others. “He is fond of japing. Not so much these days, perhaps, but…”

“No jape, Devrin. Elyon has the Eye of Rasalan in his safekeeping. He plans to bring it here. To help to win the war, I presume?” he asked Elyon.

The Prince of Vandar nodded. “Any glimpse of the future may help us, my lord. However blurred or trivial.”

Devrin had a sip of his mulled wine. “Well in that case we should go north at once, Father,” he declared breezily. “Perhaps not at once at once, no it’s getting a tad late for that. But tomorrow. We should leave tomorrow morning, so we make it in time.”

Amilia didn’t know what might be to the north, though Sevrin seemed to understand. “That is a long journey, son. Four hundred miles as the crow flies, and in this snow…” He shook his head. “The way would be slow and the seas are too iced over to take a ship. And besides, I cannot leave the city. I am king now, officially. I must stay to tend my flock.”

Devrin disagreed. “If the Eye is to open for you, Father, it will be there. We must go to where Great Rasalan’s presence is strongest. To where he first presented his Eye to Thala.”

Something triggered in the memory of Amilia Lukar. She recalled a conversation with Sir Munroe Moore as they journeyed across the Highplains, following the siege of the city. He had spoken of the Grey Keep and the many watchtowers that stood sentry along the northern coast, high on the cliffs. They were there to keep a lookout for threats and invaders, but there was one tower that held a different history and purpose.

“The Tower of Rasalan,” she murmured, remembering. Sir Munroe had said that kings and queens went there at times of need, retreating from the pressures of their rule to sit for long days, even weeks, with the Eye, to better understand and unravel its mysteries. Many of Thala’s prophecies had been foreseen there, she knew.

Prince Devrin was looking at her, smiling broadly now. “Yes,” he said. “Exactly so, my lady. We should go to the Tower of Rasalan, Father. It’s remote. And safe. If the enemy should find out of us…”

“Safe,” Elyon said. That was always of utmost importance to him. “How safe is this tower?”

“Very. Thala herself enshrouded it in seals and deceptions to hide it from the sight of her enemies. And yes, Father, four hundred miles is a long way, but not if we use the thoroughbreds. They can go for days without tiring and know the lay of every rock and stone, even under the snow.” He paused, taking a breath. “Father, we must go. You have been saying we have to do more to help, for months you’ve been saying that. This is our chance to do something in this war. I can muster a company to leave by morning.”

The old king had a smile on his face, part defeat and part pride and part doubt. But it seemed the impassioned plea of his son had won him over. He looked at Elyon, raised his cup, and Elyon did the same. “A toast to providence,” he said. “We can make our plans over dinner.”

36

She could feel Cevi drifting asleep behind her in the saddle.

“Cevi. Stay alert. You still have a job to do.”

The girl’s voice was sleepy. “Yes, my lady.” She gave out a yawn, stretching her arms, as they glided slowly above the fleet, Neyruu filling her wings with air to try to match their speed. That wasn’t possible, of course - the barges were painfully slow - but she was trying her best. When she got too far ahead she would circle slowly around. And again and again and again, Talasha thought. Endlessly. For days. Cevi yawned again, trying to shake herself awake. “I’m meant to be looking left, right, my lady?”

“Right,” Talasha said.

“Oh. I thought I was looking left?”

“Yes, you are, Cevi. I meant right, as in ‘yes’.”

“Right,” Cevi said. “So I’m looking left, then?”

“Right,” said Talasha, and they both began laughing.

They needed that, sometimes, because by the fires of Agarath, this was dreary work. For three days they had been circling above the barges, watching for shadows in the water, searching for creeping threats. There were a hundred predatory creatures that might be lurking in this lake, Sunrider Tantario had told them, and they had to keep watch for them all. So far they’d seen seals, the occasional lake shark or freshwater whale, something that looked ominously like a kraken, with its long tentacles and bulbous body, and about a hundred million birds, all bobbing on the water and nesting on the many little islands that peppered the lake like freckles on a gigantic face.

There were many species of bird, Talasha had seen, terns and ducks, geese and kingfishers, herons and cormorants and gulls, all screaming and squabbling for space. Talasha knew birds well, from her days hunting the Askar Delta, though many of these were different, not least the eagles. Of those there were many, perching in the tall trees that grew upon the islands, cruising on their hunts, even circling above the barges sometimes too. They seemed to have the rule of the lake, Talasha had noticed. And no wonder. It was called Eagle Lake, after all.

But as yet, the barges had gone undisturbed, and no creature had paid them much notice, save for a pod of porpoises that had swum alongside them for a while, leaping and jumping out of the water. A big whale had come close as well, though it seemed a passive beast, and had only been curious, before descending back into the grey-blue murk almost as quickly as it had appeared. The kraken, too, had proven no danger, because it wasn’t a kraken at all. The big bulbous body had turned out to be nothing but a large knot of kelp, and the tentacles its fronds, waving in the currents. Thankfully, Talasha had realised that before raising the alarm. She was misliked enough as it was without giving half the men heart attacks.

It just takes one time, though, the princess reminded herself. At any moment some vengeful fiend could come surging up from the deep, and she needed to be on hand to spot it, call the danger, and help fight it off. She twisted her neck back. “Are you keeping watch, Cevi?” The girl’s breathing had started to take on that slow heavy rhythm of a sleeper. “Next time you fall asleep, I’m going to have Neyruu do a barrel roll. We’ll see if you’ll still be sleeping when you’re crashing into the lake.”

“Sleeping?” Cevi yawned again. “I would die, my lady.”

“The long sleep, then.”

They were two hundred metres above the boats, so yes, Talasha supposed a fall from this height would be fatal. Occasionally they flew higher, to get a broader perspective, and sometimes they would fly lower, to share a word with Saska Varin or Sunrider Tantario or the King’s Wall, Sir Ralston Whaleheart, but mostly they remained at this height where they could get a good view of the waters around the barges, and quickly swoop down if required.