Kaden stared from one to the other. What had happened to the Micijah Ut that he knew, the captain of the Dark Guard, the man who had looked in on him and his brother countless midnights, careful to see that they were safe in their beds? Was his change the result of the Emperor’s demise? The Aedolians had sworn to protect Kaden’s father with their lives. If Ut considered himself somehow responsible for Sanlitun’s death … that could alter a man, even a strong man like the soldier Kaden remembered.
The thoughts tumbled through his mind, blending in a turgid swell with grief for his father and confusion—confusion about everything. Only after a few breaths did he realize that Ut’s blade was still at the merchant’s neck. Pyrre had gone utterly still, her eyes blank. She looked as though she wanted to lift a hand to the broadblade, but didn’t dare stir. Ten minutes earlier, Kaden had been an acolyte digging out a cellar, and now a woman’s life hung on his next syllable. He shook his head unsteadily.
“No,” he said. “No. Just let her go.”
The Aedolian’s sword slid back into its sheath with the hoarse whisper of steel on steel. Ut’s face betrayed neither relief nor disappointment, and Kaden realized with deep unease that the man considered himself no more than an agent of the Emperor’s will, of his will. If he gave the word, Pyrre’s head would roll in the gravel before him. As if coming to the same conclusion, the merchant rubbed gingerly at the line of blood on her throat, then lowered herself unsteadily to her knees. A few steps behind her, Jakin did the same.
“You are unaccustomed to both the prerogatives and the dignity of imperial power,” the minister put in smoothly, smiling thinly at Kaden from beneath his blindfold. “For that reason, I have been sent to you with this delegation. My name is Tarik Adiv. I served as your father’s Mizran Councillor these past five years, and if you wish it so, I will serve you as well.”
Kaden’s mind was still reeling. He tried to focus on the man’s words, on his face, but the whole world shimmered as though seen through rough water.
“This man,” Adiv continued, gesturing to the Aedolian, “I believe you already know. Two years ago, Micijah Ut was raised from Captain of the Dark Guard to First Shield after the sad but not altogether unexpected death of Crenchan Xaw.” Ut stood straight as a spear once more, eyes fixed forward, no visible hint of the violence suspended only moments before. Adiv might have been commenting on the price of beets, for all he seemed to care. “He commands your personal guard,” the minister continued, “and is here to ensure your safety on the voyage back to Annur.”
As Kaden stared dumbly, Adiv went on. “We are not alone, of course. Most of your retinue waits on the steppe below. It seemed … unwieldy to bring one hundred men and twice as many horses up this narrow path. A few more of your servants will be arriving shortly with gifts. We outstripped them in our haste.
“If I may, Your Radiance, I suggest we dine and rest here tonight. You can put your affairs in order and we can depart tomorrow morning. A ship swings at anchor for us back at the Bend, fully provisioned and ready to sail for Annur. The sooner we depart, the sooner we will be aboard. This is only a suggestion, Your Radiance, but prudence urges haste. The empire grows unruly when the Emperor is long away. Though it pains me to say it, there are those who would work you ill.”
“Fine,” Kaden said, not trusting himself to speak at more length. The silence stretched, and then he remembered Pyrre kneeling on the flagstones. “Please,” he said awkwardly. “Rise.” The woman got to her feet, favoring her good leg, but kept her eyes downcast. The casual swagger that had marked her attitude since her arrival at the monastery had vanished utterly.
“If I may, Your Radiance,” she began hesitantly. Her fingers kept reaching for the scratch on her neck, as though drawn to the blood.
Kaden waited, but when the woman did not continue, he said, “Go on.”
“Scial Nin has informed us of the danger here around the monastery—something killing your goats and even your brothers. If we might travel with your retinue as you head south, we would be forever grateful.”
Kaden thought back to the woman’s hesitation at the banquet, seeing it with new eyes. Pyrre claimed to be a merchant, and merchants trafficked in news as much as they did in goods. Word of a revolt in Ghan or an outbreak of diphtheria in Freeport affected their choice of goods as well as their direction of travel as surely as the fluctuating price of silver. She must have heard rumor of the Emperor’s death and decided to keep it hidden. Kaden suddenly felt overwhelmed by the small courtyard audience. The sun overhead beat down, and rivulets of sweat ran down his back beneath his robe.