The abbess glanced at Zole who had stood so impassive and immobile that it took an effort to remember she was there at all. “Sherzal told us that Zole was the only survivor from the town of Ytis on the empire’s border with Scithrowl. Why would she be in any particular danger on the ice?”

The judge narrowed his eyes. “She spent her early years on the ice and unfortunately spent considerable time in the company of the criminal, Yisht, who stole the Sweet Mercy shipheart. It is possible she might wish to return to her parents’ tribe on the ice or to seek Yisht’s tribe out of some misplaced affection for the fugitive.” He turned in his chair to face Zole. “I’m sure you’d like to swap your habit for something a bit more fashionable and join Sherzal at her palace, wouldn’t you? There’s a grand party coming up. She has exciting plans and wants you to be part of them!”

Zole regarded the judge without expression. “There are many things here I have yet to learn.”

“But Sherzal has teachers for you, child! Safira is waiting to resume your weapons training, and Sherzal can call upon instructors from the Academy itself!”

“I will ask the abbess for guidance,” Zole said.

“And I will give it.” Glass hid her surprise and placed both hands flat upon the table. “Now, have you any more business to discuss, Irvone?”

The judge shook his head in resignation. “This is a poor decision, abbess.”

“Even so.”

And with that push Abbess Glass set a new game in play, one domino falling into the next. So many pieces to fall, so many chances to fail. No one but her understood the game yet, but that didn’t mean she would win it. A thrill of fear ran through her. But the ice pressed in on both sides and somewhere high above them the moon continued its fall. It was time to move.

6

NONA LAY AWAKE her second night in the Mystic dormitory thinking she would never sleep. Joeli had retired to her cluster of friends and then to bed with nothing but hard looks thrown in Nona’s direction. Even so when the lamps were extinguished Nona curled beneath her blankets wondering if there and then in the darkness the girl was picking at the jumble of her thoughts, seeking loose threads on which to pull.

However long Nona tossed and turned before her dreams took her it was not long enough to see Zole return. In the morning the ice-triber rose early and was leaving the room as Nona threw back her covers.

Nona finally trapped her at breakfast, taking her seat next to Zole who sat, head lowered, eating with her usual dedication as if it were a chore to be accomplished as swiftly as possible. Nona picked up her fork, glancing at the heaped and steaming bowls lined along the middle of the table. “You didn’t see me.” She kept her voice low, leaning towards Zole. “In blade-path you didn’t see what happened.”

“No.”

“But you told the convent table that you did . . .”

“No.”

“But you said—”

“I told them you didn’t strangle the girl.”

“But you didn’t see . . .”

“Are you given to lying?” Zole looked up from her porridge.

“No . . .”

“The abbess says words are steps along a path—the important thing is to get where you’re going.” Zole shrugged and returned to her porridge.

Nona hesitated then spoke. “Is this because I saved your life when Raymel . . .”

Zole swallowed. “My life was only in danger because of your actions.”

“What? I saved—”

“If you had killed Raymel Tacsis at your first attempt I would not have been lying poisoned in a cave. You should have cut his head off.”

Nona sat back. Zole hadn’t spoken so many words in a row to her for years, perhaps ever. Over on the Grey table Ara and Ruli were laughing at Jula who seemed to be demonstrating knife moves with a spoon. Nona grinned. It would be good when they joined her in Mystic. She’d feel safer sleeping in the same room as Joeli Namsis with Ara in the next bed.

“You should hide him better.” Zole pushed her bowl back.

“Sorry?” Nona turned from watching her friends.

“You are careless. You lack control. I have seen him at your wrists when we fight, and at your neck when you are screeching.”

“I don’t screech!”

“Like a haunt-owl.”

“I—” Nona suddenly realized that whether she screeched or not wasn’t the important thing here. She lowered her voice, staring at Zole’s dark eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You’ve seen nothing!”

Zole shrugged. “On the ice we know the klaulathu. We do not run from them screaming ‘devils’ like you people huddling in the Corridor.”

Nona restrained herself from pointing out that Zole had been huddling with them for at least the past five years. “Klaulathu? Do you know how to get rid of them?”

Keot rose along her spine. I can only leave when you die.

Zole stood. “It is possible but hard. Better to live with him. They are of the Missing, you understand this? Pieces of the Missing that they abandoned before they crossed the Path.” She walked off, leaving Nona openmouthed.

“Looked as though you got more than three words out of the Argatha!” Darla sat down heavily beside Nona and started to heap her plate.

“Well, I am her Shield!” Nona reached for the food too. She made it a point of honour to always eat more than Darla managed, and Darla had an appetite most bears would envy.

“Path first today,” Darla grumbled. She took three smoked kippers.

“Not too bad.” Nona took four.

“For you maybe. For me it’s a choice between meditation until my brain runs out of my ears, or begging off to see if I can get past four steps on blade-path.”

Nona shovelled eggs and kept a diplomatic silence. Darla had the worst sense of balance of any novice at the convent. Path lessons for those with quantal blood at least consisted of more than hunting for serenity, clarity, and patience. Nona had a much more interesting time under Sister Pan’s close guidance, but every attempt to reach the Path was a reminder of the day Hessa died. With the shipheart gone, reaching the Path, which had always been a trial, became a feat of near-impossible difficulty. On the day Nona had fought Raymel somehow the depth of her anger, or being thread-bound to Hessa who was so close to the shipheart, had let her run the Path. In the years since, Nona had touched the Path on just a dozen occasions. Only in recent months had Nona regained the same level of competence without the shipheart’s presence as she had when it was kept at the convent.

“Practise the patience trance,” Nona advised. “It’ll make the lesson more bearable.” She crammed an overfull fork into her mouth.

Darla grimaced. “I don’t have the patience to learn the patience trance. It’s a vicious circle.” She filled her mouth too and they chomped at each other a while. Despite the gerant girl welcoming Nona to their first class together with a beating, they’d become firm friends, not that an outside observer would know it from the number of insults Darla threw Nona’s way.

* * *

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