Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(200)

“I didn’t sell him out,” she hissed. “There’s a plan. This is all part of the plan.”

*

“Well,” Pyrre said, gazing across the narrow valley as the enormous silhouette of the bird floated noiselessly into the night sky, blotting the stars. “Normally I find elaborate plans just the slightest bit untenable, but I have to say, this one seems to be working out quite nicely. Of course, we’re not yet to the point where an entire Kettral Wing chases me through a maze of razor-sharp rock.”

“She did it,” Kaden said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure she could do it.”

“It looks like we can add ‘brains’ to your paramour’s list of impressive … assets,” the assassin agreed.

Tan was in no mood for celebration. “The girl has done her part,” he said, turning to Kaden. “Yours is considerably more difficult.”

Kaden nodded, stilling his excitement and his apprehension both. His umial was right. If he failed, all Triste had managed was to expedite their capture and execution.

“I don’t know how the ak’hanath communicates with its handlers,” the older monk admitted, “but it does. During the day, they might have relied on the bird to hunt us down, but at night that Csestriim thing will be their guide. If we fail to elude it, the entire ruse is pointless.”

“I’m still looking forward,” Pyrre interjected, “to hearing how you elude a creature that tracks your sense of self.”

“You destroy the self,” Tan responded.

A long silence followed. The stars burned like silent sparks on the vast sheet of darkness.

“I take back what I said about liking the plan,” Pyrre said finally.

“The vaniate,” Kaden breathed.

Tan nodded. “The vaniate.”

“It sounds very impressive,” the assassin interjected. “And I hope it’s equally fast, because that bird is half a mile off. If they’re following the Csestriim critter, they’ll be here before long.”

Kaden felt his heart quicken, then forced it down. He had never summoned the emotionless Shin trance before, had no idea if he could do so now, but Tan had said he was ready. Besides, there was little choice, if he was to elude the ak’hanath and the men following.

“Clear your mind,” the monk instructed. “Then bring up a saama’an of a bird, a heart thrush.”

Kaden closed his eyes, then did as he was told, the image of the creature leaping bright and sharp into his mind as it had in a thousand painting tests.

“See the coverts,” Tan continued, “the pinions, the flight feathers … see every detail … feel the rough scales of her leg, her smooth beak, the soft down of her breast.”

Somewhere to the south, the kettral let out an ear-piercing shriek. Worry surged through Kaden’s blood, and the image of the thrush wavered until he forced down the anxiety. See the bird, he told himself. Just the bird.

“Leave your hand on her breast,” Tan said. “Can you feel her heart beating?”

Kaden paused. This was new. The saama’an was a visual exercise. No one had ever asked him to file away tactile sensation. He took a deep breath.

“She is frightened,” Tan said, “trapped in your hand. You know her fear. Let yourself feel that fear.”

Kaden nodded. This was like the beshra’an, he realized, throwing himself into the mind of a creature, only this creature lived inside his brain. He let himself sink deeper into the vision, laid a hand on the bird’s heart and felt it beating.

“Can you hear her heart?” Tan asked.

Kaden waited. A mountain wind skirled in his ears. Something down the slope somewhere knocked free an avalanche of pebbles. Behind it, though, beneath it, the bird’s heart beat, quick and light, thumping, thumping, until it filled his ears, his mind. He held the creature in his hand—so fragile, he could crush her with a squeeze of his fingers. She was terrified, he realized. He was terrifying her.

“Now let her go,” Tan said. “Open your hand and let her fly away.”

Slowly, Kaden opened his fingers, reluctant to let the thrush escape his grasp. It seemed important that he hold her, for some reason, that he clutch her to him … but Tan had said to let her go and so, ever so lightly, he let her slip from his fingers.

“She’s flying now,” he whispered.

“Watch,” Tan replied.

Against closed lids, Kaden watched as the bird dwindled, smaller and smaller against the great blue of his mind’s vast sky, smaller and smaller until she was a smudge, a speck, a pinprick on the great open emptiness of the heavens. And then she was gone. Blankness filled his mind.