Knowing I can’t squeeze answers out ofthatparticular stone without the risk of crumbling it—or perhaps harden it from the pressure—I shove down the thoughts, grab a loaf, and rip it in half. “The bunker will be fully functional in two daes, with everything your folk require until the surface settles again.” I wave a piece of meat at her. “Though you’ll need more ofthisfor those who can’t stomach the rich river fish that get reeled in down here. I know you’ve got hunters out, stocking up on game to salt. Once I’m done with the dwellings, I’ll give them a hand.” I tuck the meat into my small loaf, topping it with a slice of cheese. “Depending on how long everyone’s forced to be below, sun starve will be a big concern for those of northern descent, used to constant rays. I estimate half a phase before any Burn folk experience a rapid decline in health, perhaps double that for folk born of The Fade. I discovered a vein of bloodstone that’ll help stave it off. I’ve pointed it out to Húrild.”
“Thank you, Kaan. Truly. I just wish I—”
Siharna’s sentence cracks off.
I look sidelong at her, at the somber frustration pooling in her eyes as she stares at her belly, rubbing gently.
I don’t feign confusion.
She can’t risk helping in her condition, lest she give too much of herself at such a delicate time in her swelling. But for most in our family, that’s a hard tonic to swallow. Shaping slips through our blood like silt, as does our protective nature that’s said to have been fed down from some ancient, mighty secret.
After losing so much this phase, sitting aside while others do the work required to protect her folk and family will be her own special form of torture.
“Your strength is better spent on your son, Siharna.”
“I know.” She lifts her chin and blasts out a breath. “Now hurry up and eat, or I fear you’ll be forced to deliversaid son.”
“Don’t say things like that,” I mutter, and she smiles as I take a deep bite of my stuffed loaf, certain it’s delicious, but struggling to taste a thing with my nerves so frayed.
“What of the rest of your kingdom? Are they preparing?”
I swallow, the satiating weight in my gut making me feel …better. “Larks were distributed across The Burn the moment I got notice—to the clans, too—as well as capital representatives and my strongest brown beads.” I stuff my loaf with more meat. “We’re shaping similar bunkers beneath every village or clan settlement that are accepting of the help and don’t already have one, suggesting they be stocked with a phase of rations. Those with low reserves have been instructed to syphon families north. I’ve been compounding nonperishable supplies for phases in preparation for discord, storing them in the bunker I forged beneath Dhomm just after I took the crown.” I peel more bits of cheese from the pile, adding them to my loaf as I think of Slátra’s fall. Of how underground scavengers were the first to brave the thick, choking smog that clouded the sky—those with little to lose.
Everything to gain.
A moonfall brings out the worst in society, turning homes and villages into corpses folk rip into, stripping them bare. And in our known history, we’ve only lost one moon at a time.
Nevernumerous.
“Our world will be different after the fall.” I take a hearty bite as Siharna nods, tension thickening.
“Our family roots run deep here, Kaan. I’d hoped to pass this village to Korie one dae. For her to shape her own dwelling, perhaps beside your mah’s. Or her grandmah’s.”
I drop my gaze and force myself to swallow.
“The thought of emerging to find it flattened—” She shakes her head. “Creators, it damn near guts me.”
Her words salt wounds I hadn’t yet allowed myself to recognize. Fear of emerging to find Mah’s place crumbled, or the one I built for her. Or perhaps the home I shaped for Elluin and me, an ancient relic of our love.
My thoughts drift to Roan, probably still in the blue wing where I last sighted him, hunched over the Book of Voyd. No doubt growing more gaunt by the dae as he works around the cycle, searching for the runes to protect our most precious infrastructure. Though I don’t tell Siharna. Don’t give her hope that might be for naught. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that vast expectations often equate to vast disappointment.
Instead, I put my hand on her shoulder and gently squeeze, even though I know she hates being comforted. Or maybebecauseof it.
She laughs and swats my hand away, looking sidelong at me. “Your mah would be so proud of the king you are …” A foreign tenderness softens her features. “I hope you know that.”
I look away. Stuff my mouth with another bite, swallowing before I say, “There are skeletons in my past, Siharna. Many.”
“She would be proud,”she implores, and though I appreciate the sentiment, Siharna wasn’t there the dae I took Pah’s head.
She didn’t see the bloodlusting monster I became. Didn’t hear my thoughts or feel the rabid compulsions thrumming through my blood as I fought back urges to sully our culture. To use Bulder’s language to break …everything.
Every bit of the world she loves. The world Mah adored. It almost became dust in the wake of my rage. Would have, had Rygun not anchored me. Brought me back from the edge.
I’m almost finished with the meal when I finally draw the courage to ask the question burning the tip of my tongue.
“Is Raeve—”
“Still close. They seem to be scouting the area, just beyond the perimeter of my sentries. There’s also been sightings of them hunting nearby. Raeve’s riding saddleless.”
