Wouldn’t it? She supposed they’d survived in the crystal chamber, when they regulated each other. And she was selfish enough to want his presence. So…they’d figure it out. They’d trust the Giver to sustain them. “All right. Then we need to get as far away from everyone else as quickly as we can, and I’ll use my magic as much as possible, root it, so Fodur knows where I am and can pinpoint his attacks.”
Nik winced. “Great. Really looking forward to this.”
They watched their new friends turn toward the dome towering in the distance, Raf giving a wave and shouting, “See you soon!”
The elder’s grandson took off at a lope to the north. Good.
She took Nik’s proffered hand, and they set off at a brisk walk. She called to the water, the ice, with every step, sending that beacon out to her father. Nik kept the protective flame above thegroup as long as he could, and from the looks of the sky, their plan was working. The darkest clouds hovered over them on the coast, so the thanes ought to be clear of it any moment now.
Magic surged in the seas, and she came to an abrupt halt.
“Kyrja?”
“There are more of them—more Blessed joining Laila and Magnus and their friends in weaving their magic into mine.” Her brows knit as she identified the other Blessed whose magic had been interwoven with hers. Definitely not just the handful she’d invited to her conversation the other day—more. At least half of the Blessed in Fjordlandi, and not just in the seas. In the clouds over the cities too. They shifted, grew, nudged at her threads of power, as if asking her to release them. Not a forceful shove, but a request. “They’re asking me to release the sea to them. And the storms over the cities.”
“Let them. It will free you up to focus on your father.”
Her brows knit. “They have to know Fodur’s free. Every Blessed must. Those still loyal to him will no doubt be backing his efforts.”
“And those loyal to you want to back yours.” Nik lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Let them, Kyrja. Let them declare their allegiance, let them do what they can, so that you can focus on what only you can do.”
Grateful tears stung her eyes. She wasn’t alone. Even with Fodur free, more than half the Blessed had chosenher, her vision for Fjordlandi. They were casting their lot with hers.
With a long breath, she released control of the seas, of the clouds over their cities, to them.
For now, she needed to let go and focus on the skies above them on the plains. The moment they stepped onto the ice, Nik would need to relinquish his connection with the lava in the earth, and his protection would end.
She’d be ready to pick up the slack.
29
His feet felt like blocks of ice. His core on fire. Much like on the trireme, Nik found he had plenty of heat available to him even without a direct link to the ground…and that was the problem. He had to keep that heat out of his legs, his feet, or he’d start turning the ice to slush he then had to trudge through. Holding it in made his torso overheat. Sending it up in the air meant that he was then freezing until it built up again. He let Kyrja funnel some of it away now and then, but it weakened her ice too much to be a constant answer.
It was some consolation to think that, thanks to Pab’s bracelet, at least Raf would easily be able to keep his group of refugees warm on their way to the dome, lighting whatever fuel they could find quickly. Flint worked, but it could be finicky. The bracelet would simplify things.
They walked through the night, and by the next morning, he felt much like he had in those first two days after his Awakening, when the fire raced through him like a fever, leaving him weak and more than a little nauseated.
Kyrja’s fingers found his, and she gave him the same worried look she’d been giving him for the past twenty-four hours. “Nik—”
“I’m fine.” He had to be. What choice was there? He gave her a smile and glanced to the southwest. Harroby’s enormous dome was no longer in sight, though its glare still reflected back onto the clouds above it.
Raf and the group of outcasts who had welcomed them would surely have made the safety of the dome well before nightfall yesterday. No doubt the elder’s grandson had already reached the next village, perhaps even the one after it, to send them inland as well.
Good. Because the fact that Isidor’s ice daggers had stopped was more worry than relief. He wouldn’t have given up, especially not with so many of the Blessed helping Kyrja from Reykstoll, in whatever ways they could. That would only infuriate him more. Make him more determined to stop her.
Behind them, the peak of Radsla grew ever more distant. Ahead of them, Helviti beckoned, though it was still days away.
“We can cut inland. Walk on the ground for a while,” Kyrja offered for the fifth time.
Nik shook his head. “We’ll lose hours that way and have to navigate terrain. Plus, that’ll put us on the main road, which means people.” At least the ice flats were flat.
Kyrja looked to the west, where the Frozen Sea shimmered a few miles out. When she drifted to a halt, her hand tightening around his, Nik sucked in a breath. Waited for her to tell him what had nabbed her attention this time. Probably just Isidor slipping into the work of the other Blessed, as he’d been doing off and on since she gave the Blessed loyal to her control of it.
But then she sucked in a breath, and he knew it was something more. “What?”
“He’s close. He’s…I don’t know what he’s doing. Pulling seawater, but not in, not out, not—” Brows creased, she turned fully toward the water.
He didn’t have to ask what she was sensing as she gasped. He saw it for himself. A mountain, rising from the sea—but not of earth. Ice. All ice.
