Chapter 68 Nowhere
The Whispering Isles.
The oars of the pod began to struggle. The water here was slushy, filled with grinding shards of ice that shrieked against the metal hull. The temperature inside the sphere plummeted. I could see my breath blooming in front of my face in white, jagged clouds.
"The current is pulling us in!" Rook cried, frantically hauling on the levers. "I can't steer! It’s like something is breathing beneath us!"
He was right. The pod wasn't just moving; it was being inhaled. A massive, slow-moving vortex was drawing us toward the largest of the ice pillars.
I stood up, bracing myself against the wall. Through the mist, I saw a light. It wasn't the green glow of the ice. It was a warm, steady orange—the flicker of an oil lamp.
"There," I said, pointing. "The cave at the base of the spire."
"We're going to crash!" Rook screamed, covering his head with his arms.
The pod surged forward, caught in a sudden, violent surge of water. We flew toward the ice. I saw the jagged walls of the cave rushing at us, blue and terrifying.
The impact threw me across the pod. My head hit the iron bench, and the world exploded into white sparks. I heard the glass of the sphere crack—a sharp, high-pitched sound of failure. Cold, freezing water began to spray inside, hissing against the hot metal of the stabilizers.
"Mistress! Mistress, get out!"
Rook was shoving the hatch. It was jammed, bent by the impact. He kicked it with his small, booted feet, his face red with effort.
I scrambled to my feet, my vision swimming. The water was already up to my ankles, and it was so cold it felt like being bitten by a thousand needles. I grabbed the leather bag and shoved it into the front of my dress.
"Step back," I told Rook.
I didn't have the strength of a vampire, but I had the resonance. I took a deep breath, ignoring the sting of the ice-mist in my lungs. I focused all my grief, all my anger at Klaus for leaving me, and all my hatred for the Emperor into a single point in my throat.
"OPEN."
The word wasn't a sound; it was a physical blow.
The iron hatch didn't just open; it was torn from its hinges, flying out into the dark cave. The pressure equalized, throwing me and Rook out onto a narrow ledge of slick, blue ice.
I landed hard, the air driven from my lungs. I lay there for a moment, gasping, the freezing air burning my throat. Above us, the pod groaned one last time and then slid backward into the dark water, vanishing with a final, gurgling sigh.
We were alone in the ice.
"Mistress?" Rook groaned, shivering so hard his bones rattled. "Are you... are you alive?"
"I think so," I whispered.
I pushed myself up. My charcoal silk dress was already beginning to freeze, the hem turning into stiff, jagged blades. I looked around.
The cave was vast, the ceiling dripping with massive icicles that looked like spears. The orange light I had seen earlier was further in, flickering behind a wall of translucent frost.
"Who goes there?"
The voice was dry, like old parchment being folded. It came from the shadows behind the frost.
I stood up, my legs shaking, my skin glowing with a defiant sapphire light. I didn't hide it. I let the power of the Siren fill the cave, reflecting off the ice until the entire cavern was a temple of blue.
"I am Nerissa Thalassyne," I said, my voice echoing like a bell. "I am the Arch-Duchess of the Citadel and the Voice of the Empire. And I am looking for a man who knows how to break a heart of stone."
Silence followed my words. Then, the sound of a driftwood staff clunking on the ice.
The Scribe stepped out from behind the frost. He looked exactly as he had in the library—skeletal, sightless, and draped in tattered grey robes. But here, in the cold, he seemed stronger. The mist didn't bother him.
He tilted his head, his sightless eyes fixed on the spot where I stood.
"The Little Fish," he whispered. "You survived the deep. But you smell of obsidian and tears."
He walked toward me, his staff scratching the ice. He stopped a foot away and reached out a gnarled hand. He touched my cheek.
"The lines are gone," he murmured. "He took them. He took the world’s rot and let you fly."
"He's a statue," I said, my voice breaking. "He’s at the bottom of the trench, and the Emperor’s fleet is searching for the pieces. I need to know how to pull him back."
The Scribe sighed, a sound like a winter wind through dead branches. "The Salt-Kiss was the bridge, child. I told you that. But a bridge works both ways. He is stone because he holds the weight. To break the stone, you must provide a new foundation."
He turned and beckoned us deeper into the cave.
"Come. The ice remembers everything the Empire tried to burn. But be warned, Nerissa—to save the Anchor, you must decide if you are willing to let the ocean go back to sleep."
"I'll do anything," I said.
"We shall see," the Scribe said. "Everything has a price in the North. Even love."
We followed him into the heart of the ice spire. The orange light grew brighter, revealing a small, stone-lined chamber filled with scrolls, jars of glowing moss, and a single, massive block of clear ice in the center.
Inside the ice, I saw a shape.
It wasn't a man. It was a heart. A massive, crystalline heart that beat with a slow, deep thrum.
"The Bound Heart," I whispered.
"The real one," the Scribe said. "The one the Emperor didn't tell you about. The one that was stolen from the First King."
He looked at me, his sightless eyes reflecting the orange flame of his lamp.
"You want to save Klaus Falkenstein? Then you must learn the song that predates the fangs. You must learn the song of the Salt-Kiss, not as a thief, but as a giver."
I looked at the crystalline heart. I looked at the black lines that were no longer on my arms.
I reached for the leather bag of secrets.
The journey to the Abyssal Gates was over. But the war for his soul was just beginning.