Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(160)

“It’s hard to say,” Nin said. For once, he almost looked his age, his eyes weary beneath his weathered brow. “I believe what I can observe, and I have not observed everything. Perhaps your umial is mistaken. Perhaps he is correct, but even so, a Csestriim creature does not mean that the Csestriim themselves still walk the earth. Certainty is hard to come by.”

“Certainty is impossible,” Tan added, a flat, hard light in his eyes. “The world is a shifting, dangerous place. Those who wait for certitude before they act almost always wait too long.”

“But what is it?” Kaden asked, returning his gaze to the painting with horrified fascination.

“The Csestriim made them,” Tan replied. “No one is quite sure how. Bedisa weaves the souls of all living things, spinning them into existence at their birth, but the ak’hanath were not born. They were made.” He paused. “It should not have been possible.”

“Made?” Kaden asked. “Made for what?”

“To sniff out,” Tan said, his eyes hardening, “to track. To harry, and to hunt.”





39





Kaden almost hadn’t recognized the refectory when he entered. Adiv described the meal as “a small, informal dinner,” and the Mizran Councillor had brought only a half dozen slaves up the mountain, but they must have been run off their feet all afternoon. Long ivory banners hung from the rafters, stitched in gold thread with the rising sun of the Malkeenian line. Someone had lugged in a huge Si’ite carpet, all swirls and patterns, spreading it over the uneven flagstone floor. The rough sconces on the wall were replaced with silver lanterns, and ornate silver candlesticks graced a lacy tablecloth ringed by six settings of Basc porcelain.

Kaden glanced warily at the empty chair to his left, wondering who would occupy it. A day ago the question would have filled him with excitement, but the odd string of visitors to the monastery had not proved auspicious, and he was reluctant to meet another unfamiliar face. The world beyond Ashk’lan, which only a few days before had beckoned so brightly, now seemed a dark place, filled with treachery and confusion, death and disappointment.

Tarik Adiv sat just around the corner of the table to his right, leaning forward slightly in his straight-backed wooden chair. The Mizran Councillor still wore the bloodred blindfold around his eyes, although at the moment he seemed to be staring directly at Kaden, as though he could see right through the cloth. Micijah Ut occupied one of the two seats across the table, his back straight as his broadblade, which leaned against the wooden chair within easy reach. As far as Kaden knew, Nin and Tan had told no one about the ak’hanath, but then, it was the Aedolian’s job to be vigilant, regardless of the situation.

Scial Nin joined them, of course; Adiv could scarcely leave the abbot out of his invitation, although the old monk in his old robe looked small and poor beside the massive Aedolian at his side. Kaden had insisted on Rampuri Tan’s presence as well, an insistence to which Adiv had acquiesced with far greater grace than Tan himself. “You should be studying,” the monk had said, “not feasting.”

The rest of the Shin had been politely asked to spend the evening fasting, a request that Kaden was sure would mean some kind of retribution from Akiil. Kaden hadn’t seen his friend so prickly for years; clearly the arrival of the imperial delegation had dragged to the surface all the old animosity that their time at Ashk’lan had done so much to bury. It was hard to know how to talk to Akiil about this sudden elevation, and Kaden worried about it almost as much as he worried about leaving the monastery and returning to Annur.

Now, however, he had to concentrate on playing the Emperor without making an ass of himself, a task he was not at all sure he was ready for. He looked over at the empty seat again.

“Will someone else be joining us?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Adiv smiled a sly smile beneath his blindfold. “As I said, Your Radiance, we come bearing gifts.”

Kaden had to remind himself that, while news of his father’s death was fresh as an open wound for him, Adiv and Ut, everyone from Annur, in fact, had had months to accustom themselves to the fact. Doubtless they had done their mourning long ago, and yet still, it was hard to sit down to a festive dinner with others while his own grief—or what meager grief his years of training had not effaced—was still so fresh.

One servant stood behind each seat, and the man behind Kaden’s chair had kept his eyes downcast as he pulled it back. Kaden had taken his place somewhat uncomfortably. After eight years sitting on hard benches and fetching his own stew and bread from the kitchen, he found the habits of the imperial court alien and unnecessary. He was Emperor now, though, and certain things were expected of the Emperor.