30
Frankle sat back and rubbed his full belly, a comforting sleepiness fuzzing his brain. Sitting across from him on the low table, Heather nursed a cup of steaming chocolate, her eyes snapping between Daemi and Haddar at the head of the table as they conversed about Redmondis, Sontair, and their plans for landing at their destination.
Frankle tried to pay attention, but his mind refused to obey, his head constantly turning to face the wall in the direction of the great mountain of fire—what did Haddar call it? Pankesh, that was it.
Pankesh, the beating heart of the world.
It hadn’t been marked on any map in the queen’s study in Sontair. Nothing had been, other than the Eternal Sea stretching to the edge of every parchment he had found. Perhaps Heather knew more; she always seemed to.
