Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(115)

“The difference,” Akiil continued, leaning over the table, his stew forgotten, “is that I saw a dozen men torn to pieces every month back in the Quarter. The Tribes got some of them. Some of them wandered down the wrong alley on the wrong night. Some of them were whores, cut up and tossed out because that’s what some men like to do, and some of them were men, lured in by whores, then strangled or stabbed, flung on the midden without their sack of coin, naturally.”

“It doesn’t make it right,” Kaden said.

“It doesn’t make it anything,” Akill shot back. “It is what it is. People die. Everyone dies. Ananshael is always busy. You think the Shin taught me to scoff at death?” He scowled. “I learned that lesson on the streets of our beloved empire.”

He eyed Kaden squarely. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die. But I’m not going to start sobbing every time someone stumbles over a body.”

“All right,” Kaden said, “I understand. You watch my back, I’ll watch yours, and let the crows feast on the rest. Still, something is out there killing monks and, in case you haven’t been paying attention, we are monks.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“Knowing you, that seems unlikely. What does Scial Nin plan to do?” It was frustrating getting all his news secondhand from Akiil, but he was too weak to move around the monastery on his own.

“No idea,” his friend responded. “Nin’s locked up in his study with Altaf and Tan again—worse than a bunch of elderly whores, those three.”

Kaden ignored the aside. “What are the rest of the monks doing?” Despite the Shin reserve, he had noticed a vague disquiet hanging over the monastery.

“Nin’s still allowing us outside the monastery, but only in groups of four now.”

“Well that’s not sustainable. How will the goats graze? Who’s going to haul clay or water?”

“Look on the bright side,” Akiil responded with a grin. “No running up Venart’s, no carrying rocks down the mountainside for some umial, no hunting for squirrel tracks all over the ’Shael-spawned peaks. If we had a flagon of ale and a couple of girls to tickle, this would be almost as good as a week back in the Quarter.”

“Except something out there is trying to kill us,” Kaden pointed out, exasperated by his friend’s levity.

“Were you not listening just a minute ago?” Akiil demanded, his face turning serious once more. “Something’s always trying to kill you. And I’m not just talking about the Quarter. Ananshael is everywhere, even in that Dawn Palace of yours.”

Kaden fell silent. The palace in which he had been raised was a fortified paradise: gardens of ailanthus, cherry blossom, and spreading cedar surrounded by impregnable golden walls. Even there, however, he had never scampered around without his Aedolian guardsmen a few paces behind. The men had seemed like friends or kindly uncles, but they were not uncles. They were there because they were needed, and they were needed because Akiil was right: Death walked even in the halls of the Dawn Palace.

A fresh gust of wind blew in as a robed figure opened the door, then closed it crisply behind him. It was Rampuri Tan, Kaden realized, and a jagged nail of apprehension scraped over his flesh. Maybe he’s just here for the evening meal, he thought. Surely it was too early for another penance. Surely the man didn’t mean to return him to that live burial. Tan ignored the nods from the other seated monks, striding across the flags of the floor with his broad, silent steps until he loomed over Kaden’s table. He considered his pupil.

“How are you feeling?” he asked finally.

Kaden had heard that question enough times now not to fall into the trap. “This body is sore and weak, but it breathes and moves well enough.”

Tan grunted. “Good. Tomorrow at dawn we resume your training. Find me at the trail to the lower meadow.”

Kaden squinted, trying to make sense of the direction. “I thought the abbot was insisting on groups of four.”

“Akiil will come as well,” Tan replied flatly.

The fact that the man didn’t even bother to glance over at Akiil as he delivered the news seemed to rankle Kaden’s friend, and with an ostentatious show of deference Akiil rose from his seat and spread his hands in mock supplication.

“I would love to attend you, Brother Tan, but our abbot was quite clear that four was the number, and I’m sure I couldn’t possibly disobey—”