Page 79 of City of Stone and Silence

The lassitude creeps up on me, slow and gentle, my eyelids feeling heavier by the moment. I don’t remember nodding off, only waking up in a sudden panic, my heart hammering triple-time against my ribs. I’m gasping for air, but what fills my lungs feels wet and heavy, as though I’m drowning. My vision starts to go gray.

Fortunately, all I have to do is roll over and flail at the barrier of ice and snow with a Melos blade. This opens a narrow gap, and freezing air rushes in. It’s bitterly cold—ice forms all over me, even in my eyelashes—but I gulp it in greedily.

People die this way in the Sixteenth Ward, every winter, stuck in basements or windowless rooms with a coal-burning stove, their air going foul. Apparently, enough steam will give you the same effect. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And luckier than I have any right to be.

While I’ve got a hole cut in the barrier, I look for the sun, and find it’s made considerable progress to the horizon. I block it back up, but only loosely, and boil more water. From that point on I fall into a regular routine, melting snow for water, boiling it for heat, then periodically opening a hole to refresh the air. I watch the shadows lengthen, the crags of ice fading from brilliant gold to black as the pallid sun sinks toward the horizon. That golden spark slips away, as though it were passing under the ice.

The hardest part is getting back to the dome. I stand up, sheathed in sweat and condensation, and grit my teeth. A swipe of my blade opens the shelter again, and the killing cold floods in. I start to shiver immediately, my teeth chattering. As fast as I can, I wriggle through the gap, then slog through the snow back the way I came.

There’s no sign of Gragant. I don’t know if he gave up, or I stayed out longer than I had to.

The barrier looms ahead, and I tumble through it, feeling the faint tickle of Eddica energy passing across my skin. It’s dark here, too, with the stars just emerging, and so warm I want to cry. I fall to my knees, shuddering, and Meroe and Zarun are suddenly beside me, throwing something thick and soft over my shoulders.

After a moment, Meroe pulls the edge of the blanket up and slips under it with me, pulling herself tight against me. She clutches me, desperately, and my shivering slowly subsides.

“You are completely rotting crazy, do you know that?” she whispers. “Gods and rot, Isoka. I was sure we were going to find you frozen solid.”

“The thought … crossed … my mind.” Speaking is hard, my throat raw from the cold.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

“Didn’t … want … to lose.”

“Crazy.” Meroe sounds resigned. “Completely rotting crazy.”

“Deepwalker Isoka.” Gragant. I kiss Meroe’s cheek, then stand up, wobbling only a little, pulling the blanket around me like a cloak.

Gragant, I note, looks somewhat the worse for wear. I’m amazed he’s upright—his arms and legs are tinged with blue, as though he were already half a corpse. I remember the agony as warmth brought back feeling into my feet; he must be in horrific pain, but he shows none of it on his face. Grudgingly, I have to admit that there may be something to monastic discipline after all.

“Sunset,” I croak. “I made it, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Gragant says. “The Divine Being clearly holds you in favor.”

Harak, looming behind Gragant, gives a disapproving grunt. “That was no proper contest,” he says. “She knows nothing.”

“I know what you promised me,” I say.

“The Divine Being—” Harak begins.

Gragant cuts him off. “The Divine Being desires our perfection, using whatever gifts we have at our disposal. Isoka’s technique may have been … unorthodox, but that only proves the breadth of the Divine Being’s plan. She has done everything we asked of her.”

“Then…” I take a deep breath. “The access point?”

Gragant nods. “I will take you there myself.”

15

TORI

Isoka’s Melos blades are ignited, brilliant green energy crackling and spitting. Very deliberately, she raises one of them above her head, and brings it sideways in a sharp stroke. There’s a twang like a piano string breaking, and threads cascade down all around her, their severed ends drifting in the breeze.

I look at my hands, and they’re covered in blood.

“I should have known,” she says, raising her blades. “I should have known you were a monster.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can do to force the words out. “I’m so sorry.”

When the searing heat of her blade slides into my chest, it’s almost a relief.