“We’re going to try again. The beast was trapped; it just foundcracks in the stone. We can create a tighter seal this time, one that’ll slowly squeeze it.”
“What if we free it?”
“What?”
“If we take its shackles off. I think it’ll go back to the Storm.”
He shakes his head. “Stormbeasts want to destroy. It’ll only go back once it’s been thoroughly beaten. Like any stormbeast.”
“But, Pa—”
“How ’bout you follow my lead on this?”
I squash down the feeling that rises in me, one that says I’m no longer just a child he needs to protect. “Sure, Pa. Let’s do it.”
He directs me to draw variations on the same three ikons as before, in spaces he’s left open in a complex, overarching ikon.
I get to work, but the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I glance up, meeting Dalca’s eyes.
Pa follows my gaze. “We need to talk about your taste in men.”
I don’t say anything. I guess he has a point.
As I finish up the last my ikon, I feel the presence of the Queen’s gift, like a whisper in the back of my mind.
I’d told Pa about the Storm briefly last night, in between him teaching me. But his face had crumpled as I’d started to tell him about Ma, and I couldn’t go on. We’d spoken of the curse, of the Queen, and he’d grown excited in a thoughtful, scholarly way.
I want to ask him what he thinks of it, but now there’s no time left.
“Ready?” I ask.
He nods and squeezes my hand.
I take a deep breath, and he connects the last lines of the ikon on the wall. The right half of it dissolves.
The beast bounds in, led by the opening right to the ikon. I hold my breath as it tromps on it.
As another cage of rock snaps shut over the stormbeast, Pa dissolves the rest of the stone wall and we put some distance between us and the beast. The next set of ikons goes into action: the rock cage heats up, its outer layer becomes molten, melting in sections and becoming smooth. I throw my arms up over my face as the blast of heat reaches me, squinting through my fingers.
The air ripples with heat. The outer layer of the stone cage shines like glass—no cracks, no weak spots for the stormbeast to exploit.
I crane my neck up. I ignore the roar of the audience—they don’t matter, not right now. Through the heat haze, Dalca draws his gaze from the glinting, glasslike mound to meet my eyes. There’s no hate in his expression, no fury, just a strangely blank, intent expression.
I inch closer to the stone cage, reaching out with the Storm’s gift. “Don’t touch it,” Pa calls. “Or the ikon will start working upon you.”
I nod and stop twenty feet away. The beast inside is frenzied, expanding in a volatile whirlwind of stormcloud, seeking a crack and finding nothing.
Pa motions me aside as the heat begins to dissipate. “Now the hard part.”
He begins drawing ikons to shrink the stone cage, to destroy the beast.
My heart pounds in time with the Queen’s curse.
Something is wrong.
The cage explodes, shards of glass-smooth stone flying. The crowd screams as some of them are pelted. One comes to a rest inches from my feet.
Pa stands, arms hovering at his sides.