The Providence of Fire (6 page)

“As I recall,” Kaden replied, “no one is like the Shin.”

“You thought your training hard?” the older monk asked. “It was a pleasant diversion compared with what the Ishien endure. They have a different path and different methods, methods that lead to unpredictable results. It is impossible to know how they would respond to our arrival.”

“You were one of them once,” Kaden pointed out. “They know you.”

“They knew me,” Tan corrected. “I left.”

“If you don't want the imperious young Emperor to go through the mysterious gate,” Pyrre opined, flipping a knife in the air and catching it without opening her eyes, “then don't show him where the gate is.”

Kaden turned to the Skullsworn. “Why does it matter to you what course I follow?”

She flipped the knife again. “As I've explained, I was paid to keep you safe. No one's stuck a blade in you yet, but I wouldn't call this”—she waved her knife at the surrounding peaks—“safe.”

On that point, at least, she and Valyn agreed.

“I release you from your contract,” Kaden said.

She chuckled. “You can't release me. I understand that you've had a very exciting promotion, but I serve a god, not an emperor, and Ananshael is quite clear about the honoring of contracts.”

“And what,” Valyn asked finally, unable to hold on to his silence any longer, “are the exact terms of your contract? To protect Kaden at Ashk'lan? To escort him back within the borders of Annur? Or is it a permanent thing—you have to follow him around the rest of his life, making sure no one sticks a knife in his back while he's eating braised duck or making love to his future empress? I'm not sure the Aedolians—let alone the empress—will appreciate a Skullsworn lurking around the halls.”

Pyrre laughed a warm, throaty laugh. “One could be forgiven, after the recent performance of the Aedolian Guard, for thinking the new Emperor might prefer a change of personnel.” She looked over at Kaden with that half smile of hers, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. When he didn't respond, she shrugged. “Sadly, I won't be fluffing his imperial feather bed or massaging his radiant buttocks. My task is to see him back to the city of Annur, to ensure that he reaches the Dawn Palace safely. After that, our time together, sweet though it has been, is finished.”

Valyn studied the woman, trying to see past the careless façade, the casual bravado, past the very real fact of the 'Kent-kissing knife she kept flipping and flipping.

“Who hired you?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. “That would be telling.”

“It's time to do some telling,” Valyn said, shifting to put a little more space between himself and the Skullsworn.

She noticed the movement, caught her knife, and smiled. “Nervous?”

“Cautious,” Valyn replied. “A Skullsworn shows up in the Bone Mountains, just about as far as you can get from Rassambur without hiring a ship, claiming she has come to guard an emperor when the whole world knows the Skullsworn pay no fealty to any state, kingdom, or creed but their own sick worship of death.”

“Sick,” she replied, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “
Sick
. How uncharitable. There are priests and priestesses of Ananshael who would kill you for those words.” She tapped the blade of her knife speculatively against her palm. “Are you interested in seeing how your Kettral training holds up against someone more skilled than those cumbersome Aedolians?”

Valyn measured the ground between them. The woman hadn't moved, hadn't even bothered to sit up, but a quick flick of the wrist would send that blade straight at his chest, and he didn't have any illusions about his ability to snatch daggers out of the air. She didn't smell scared. She smelled … amused.

“I am interested,” he said, keeping his voice level, his anger in check, “in understanding why you are here. In knowing who hired a Skullsworn to guard an Annurian emperor.”

She watched him carefully, almost eagerly, as though she were hoping he might reach for his blades, then shrugged and put her head back against the rock, closing her eyes.

“You haven't guessed?” she asked.

Valyn had plenty of guesses, but none of them made much sense. The Skullsworn were assassins, not saviors.

“My father,” Kaden said quietly. “Sanlitun hired you.”

Pyrre pointed at him without opening her eyes.

“He's not quite as hopeless as he looks, this new Emperor of yours.”

Valyn glanced over at Kaden. “Why would Father send
Skullsworn
?”

“Maybe because the 'Kent-kissing Aedolian Guard turned out to be filled with traitors and idiots,” Gwenna observed. “The men he sent to warn you got themselves killed, and the ones who came for Kaden came to
kill
him.”

“It makes sense,” Kaden said. “A strange sort of sense. He didn't know who was a part of the conspiracy, and so he tried to protect each of us in a different way. He sent his most trusted Aedolians after you, but one of them must have let the plan leak. For me, he decided to send people who weren't involved with imperial politics at all.”

Valyn blew out a long, slow breath. It
did
make sense. It also spoke to Sanlitun's level of desperation. The Skullsworn, after all, had been hired in the past to murder Annurian emperors.

He shook his head. “Well, it's a good fucking thing whoever we're fighting against didn't hire their own batch of Skullsworn.”

Pyrre chuckled. “They did. Who do you think killed the boatload of Aedolians dispatched to warn Valyn?”

Valyn stared. “You bastards are fighting on
both
sides of this thing?”

“Kill her,” Gwenna said. “Let's just kill her and be done with it.”

The assassin didn't even open her eyes at the threat. “I like meeting a young woman with a decisive cast of mind,” she said. “I'd prefer not to offer you to the god just because you're feeling rash. And yes, we are, as you point out, on both sides, but only because to a worshipper of Ananshael, these
sides
don't matter. There are the living, and the dead. If a contract involves killing, and there is enough gold involved, we will take the contract, the keeping of which is an act of holy devotion. I am obliged to see Kaden to Annur, even if it means opening the throats of other priests and priestesses in the process.”

“In that case,” Kaden said, “my plan is the best for you, too. I get back to Annur faster, which means your work is over sooner.”

Pyrre waved an admonitory finger at him. “In theory.”

“The assassin is irrelevant,” Tan cut in.

“The assassin takes issue with that statement,” Pyrre shot back, “and she points out once again that if you don't want your precocious young leader to go through your secret gate, you could simply avoid showing him said gate.”

For a moment Tan actually seemed to consider the suggestion, then shook his head. “Though his mind moves like a beast's, he is not a beast. To pen him would only delay the inevitable. He must reach these decisions on his own.”

“I'm just waiting for you all to figure it out,” Valyn said firmly, “but let's be really clear on one point: Kaden is the Emperor of Annur. He rules here, and if there's too much more talk about ‘penning,' or ‘beasts,' then either you”—he pointed at the assassin—“or you”—at Tan—“are going to end up dead in the bottom of a ravine.”

“How spirited,” Pyrre said, flipping her knife again, “and fraternal.”

Tan ignored the warning altogether, and not for the first time Valyn found himself wondering about the monk's past. That Pyrre seemed indifferent to the presence of a Wing of Kettral made a certain sense—the Skullsworn supposedly left behind all fear of death in the process of their initiation. The monk, on the other hand, was an utter enigma. Evidently he'd destroyed a number of the freakish Csestriim creatures—
ak'hanath,
Kaden called them—in the fighting days earlier, but as Valyn never saw the things alive, he wasn't sure how difficult that would be. The monk carried his spear as though he understood how to use it, but there was no telling
where
he had learned. Perhaps among these Ishien that Kaden was so eager to visit.

“There's really only one question,” Kaden said. “Will the Ishien help me?”

Tan considered the question. “Possibly.”

“Then we go.”

“Or they might not.”

“Why? Their war is against the Csestriim, as is mine.”

“But their path is not yours.”

Kaden seemed about to respond, then took a deep breath, held it for a while before exhaling slowly as he gazed over the mountains. Partly, Valyn felt sorry for his brother. He himself had spent enough time trying to corral an unruly Wing that he understood the frustrations of thwarted command. Kaden had it even worse. At least Valyn's Wing, for all their difficulty, were as young and green as he was. Rampuri Tan had been Kaden's instructor, his teacher until the destruction of Ashk'lan, and wrangling the monk looked about as easy as hauling a boulder uphill. Tan appeared as indifferent to Kaden's imperial title as he did to Valyn's military rank and training. If the older monk was going to be convinced, it would be for reasons Valyn would never fathom.

“Then what do you suggest?” Kaden asked, showing impressive restraint.

“Fly me to the
kenta,
” Tan replied. “I will visit the Ishien, learn what they know, while you return to the capital with your brother. We will all meet in Annur.”

Kaden said nothing. He stared out over the western peaks so long that eventually even Pyrre propped up her head, squinting at him between slitted lids. Tan also remained motionless, also staring west. No one spoke, but Valyn could feel the tension between the two monks, a silent struggle of wills.

“No,” Kaden said at last.

Pyrre rolled her eyes and dropped her head back against the rock. Tan said nothing.

“I will not be shepherded from place to place, kept safe while others fight my battles,” Kaden said. “The Csestriim killed my father; they tried to kill me and Valyn. If I'm going to fight back, I need what the Ishien know. More, I need to meet them, to forge some sort of alliance. If they are to trust me, first they have to know me.”

Tan shook his head. “Trust does not come easily to the men of the order I once served.”

Kaden didn't flinch. “And to you?” he asked, raising his brows. “Do you trust me? Will you take me to the
kenta,
or do I need to leave you behind while Valyn flies me all over the Bones searching?”

The monk's jaw tightened. “I will take you,” he said finally.

“All right,” Valyn said, rolling to his feet. He didn't like the plan, but at least they were moving, at least they were finally doing something. All the sitting and talking was keeping them pinned down, making them easier to find, to attack. “Where are we going?”

“Assare,” Tan replied.

Valyn shook his head. “Which is what … a mountain? A river?”

“A city.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It is old,” Tan said. “For a long time it was dangerous.”

“And now?”

“Now it is dead.”

 

3

It was her eyes that would get her killed.

Adare understood that well enough as she studied herself in the full-length mirror, safe behind the locked doors of her chambers inside the Crane. She had exchanged her ministerial robes for a servant's dress of rough wool, traded her silk slippers for serviceable traveling boots, discarded her silver rings and ivory bracelets, scrubbed the faint traces of kohl from her eyelids and ocher from her cheeks, scoured away the delicate perfume she had favored since her thirteenth year, all in the effort to eliminate any trace of Adare, the Malkeenian princess, the Minister of Finance, all in the hope of becoming no one, nothing.

Like killing myself,
she brooded as she stared at her reflection.

And yet, there was no killing the flame in her eyes, a bright fire that shifted and burned even when she stood still. It seemed unfair that she should have to shoulder the burden of Intarra's gaze without any possibility of reaping the rewards, and yet, despite coming into the world three years prior to her brother, Adare would never sit the Unhewn Throne. It was Kaden's seat now. It didn't matter that Kaden was missing, that Kaden was ignorant of imperial politics, that Kaden knew none of the players nor any of the games; it was upon Kaden that the entire empire attended. The fire in his eyes would put him on that massive seat of stone while the flame in hers might see her murdered before the week was out.

You're being unreasonable,
Adare chided herself silently. Kaden hadn't asked for his eyes any more than she had. For all she knew, the conspiracy that ended her father's life hadn't stopped there. Stranded among oblivious monks at the end of the earth, Kaden would make a pitifully easy target. By now, he, too, could be dead.

A contingent of the Aedolian Guard had departed months earlier, led by Tarik Adiv and Micijah Ut. At the time, the decision had surprised her.

“Why not send the Kettral?” she had asked Ran il Tornja. As
kenarang,
il Tornja was Annur's highest-ranking general, nominally in charge of both the Kettral and the Aedolian Guard, and as interim regent, he was responsible for finding Kaden, for seeing him returned safely to the throne. Dispatching a group of men by ship seemed a strange choice, especially for a leader who commanded an entire eyrie of massive flying hawks. “A Kettral Wing could be there and back in what … a week and a half?” Adare had pressed. “Flying's a lot faster than walking.”

“It's also a lot more dangerous,” the
kenarang
had replied. “Especially for someone who's never been on a bird.”