Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(155)

“Valyn hui’Malkeenian,” she began, transfixing him with her gaze, “your Wing is hereby suspended from all training and combat missions. You will retain your freedom of movement on Qarsh itself, but you are forbidden to leave the island, forbidden to bear arms, and forbidden to have any substantive contact with other Wings, commanders, or cadets until the completion of our inquest.”

Valyn had never heard the words before, but they carried the ring of legal formula.

“What inquest?” he demanded, angry despite Fane’s blade in his face. “What are you talking about?”

“As you and your Wing are all aware,” Shaleel continued, “Kettral code forbids unauthorized assault on civilians, imperial or otherwise. It has come to my attention in the past hour that a member of your Wing may be implicated in just such an assault.”

“What?” Valyn asked, trying desperately to follow the conversation, to gain his footing. “Who? And how did this ‘come to your attention’?”

“Sami Yurl,” Shaleel replied. “According to him, a young woman over on Hook was murdered several weeks ago—a whore named Amie, no surname. Yurl presented us with compelling evidence that suggests your sniper—” She indicated Annick with a nod of her head. “—was involved.”

“Sami Yurl? That vat of pickled pig’s shit?” Gwenna burst out, rising from her chair. “Why would you listen to him about anything?”

“Take your people in hand, Commander,” Shaleel said, never shifting her eyes from Valyn’s face, “or they may get themselves hurt.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” Gwenna said, taking a step forward. “I’m right here.”

“Gwenna,” Valyn snapped, surprised at the edge of command in his own voice. “Not now.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to defy him, but Talal put a hand on her shoulder and, after a final spasm of anger, Gwenna cursed and threw herself back into her chair.

A hole opened in Valyn’s stomach. He wanted to scream that it was impossible, that Yurl had played him, played Shaleel, played the whole ’Kent-kissing lot of them. He wanted to bellow that Annick was innocent, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, Yurl was right.

“Where is he?” Valyn managed. “I want to talk to him, personally.”

Shaleel shook her head. “I sent Yurl’s Wing out this morning—their first mission. Besides, the code forbids such contact until the inquest is finished.”

“Why all of us?” Laith demanded. At least he had remained in his seat, but he was leaning forward hungrily, his hand on his belt knife. “If Annick’s the one you’re worried about, why don’t you just lock her up and leave us out of it?”

“I will chalk up the impertinence of your question to your shock, soldier,” Shaleel replied evenly. “The Eyrie has found it … prudent, to detain an entire Wing in the event of an inquiry into the conduct of one of its members. We don’t want any ill-conceived ‘rescues’ or ‘last stands.’ Wing loyalty is a powerful thing.” She eyed the lot of them up and down, “Although in your case, it doesn’t appear to be a problem.”

“Blades and bows,” Fane said. “We’ll take them all.”

“Possession of any weapon aside from a belt knife between now and the end of the inquest,” Shaleel added, “will be construed as treason. Until we sort this out, the five of you should consider yourselves civilians.”





37





As they entered the quad, Micijah Ut fixed him with dark eyes, eyes that seemed somehow colder and darker than Kaden remembered. The man didn’t smile or even nod. He simply turned to the abbot and said, “It is lucky for you the boy is unharmed.” Whatever they had been arguing about, Kaden was impressed that Nin had managed to stand his ground. He knew the old monk was not weak, but Ut’s gaze made ice seem warm and steel soft.

The abbot opened his mouth to reply, but Ut had already turned back to Kaden, dropping to one knee, mailed hand to his forehead. His companion mirrored the gesture and the two spoke together, their voices merging as though through long practice.

“All hail the scion of light, the long mind of the world, holder of the scales, and keeper of the gates.” The words echoed down to Kaden from the formal halls of his childhood. They were old words, as old as the empire, hard and unchanging as the stones of the Dawn Palace. He had heard the formula a thousand times when his father took his seat on the Unhewn Throne, when his father left the palace to walk along the Godsway, when his father appeared for state dinners. As a child, he had been comforted by the litany but now, as he listened, the words dragged a cold, iron nail up his spine. He knew what was coming, knew how it had to end, and though he wanted to beg the two men to stop, they spoke on, relentlessly: “All hail he who holds back the darkness. All hail the Emperor.”