Frozen Tides by Morgan Rhodes Page A

Neela whispered, patting Amara’s shining hair.
    â€œYes.”
    There was a moment of silence. “Did he suffer?”
    Amara swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped back from the old woman. “It was quick. Just as you suspected, he betrayed me at the first opportunity, choosing to give his trust and loyalty to a boy he barely knew rather than to his own sister. Grandmother, I know it had to be done, but I have so many doubts.”
    Neela nodded, her lips thin and expression plaintive. “Your brother had a good heart. But that was his fatal flaw. He trusted strangers too easily; he saw good in those who only had bad within them. He could have been a valuable ally to you, to
us
, but when it came down to the crucial moment, he didn’t prove himself.”
    She knew Neela was right, but it didn’t make any of it easier. “He spent his last moments hating me.”
    Neela pressed her cool, dry palm against Amara’s burning cheek. “Then let that hatred make you stronger,
Dhosha
. Hatred and fear are the most powerful emotions there are. Love and compassion make you weak. Men have known this since the beginning of time, and they use this knowledge for their own gain.”
    Her grandmother spoke without a trace of anger or pain in her voice. Rather, she made her statement simply, as a truth handed down from a woman who’d lived her whole life under the thumbs of oppressive, controlling men.
    A question Amara had locked away inside her heart her whole life burned on her tongue, brought back to the surface after having been insulted and dismissed by her father. She needed to ask it now—needed an answer that could help her make sense of so much.
    â€œ
Madhosha
 . . .” It was the Kraeshian word for grandmother, just as
dhosha
was for granddaughter. As he continued to add new kingdoms to his empire over the last three decades, Emperor Cortas had allowed their language to fade away in favor of the universal dialects spoken by most of the world. Neela had always mourned the loss of her native language, and had privately taught Ashur and Amara several Kraeshian words to ensure that they would retain some of their heritage. Amara had a large Kraeshian vocabulary, but the language was complex and she wasn’t nearly fluent.
    â€œYes?” Neela replied gently.
    â€œI . . . I know we’re not supposed to speak about the ancient laws, but . . . please, I’m nineteen and I need to know. How did I survive the ritual drowning? How is that even
possible
?”
    â€œMy sweet, it pains me greatly that you even know about that horrible day.”
    The memory was foggy now, as Amara was not much more than five years old, when she’d overheard her grandmother and father talking about her—her grandmother speaking softly, her father’s voice booming.
    â€œSpecial, you say,” he snarled. “I see nothing special in her.”
    â€œShe is still a child,” her grandmother replied, her voice small but calm—a tiny ship in the middle of the sea confronted by a looming hurricane. “One day, you’ll see why the gods spared her.”
    â€œBah. I have three fine sons. What use do I have for a daughter?”
    â€œA daughter means a marriage to the son of a worthy king, to help political negotiations.”
    â€œI’ve no need for negotiations when all I need is to send my armada tothat worthy king’s shores and take his land in the name of Kraeshia. But blood . . . I could certainly use a fitting blood sacrifice as an offering to the gods to keep my empire strong.”
    â€œYou already had your chance with Amara,” Neela hissed. “One chance and one alone. But she survived, because she is special and meant for greatness. Make any further attempt on her life and it will be a black mark against your soul. You know this to be true. Even you would not be so bold as to risk so