“Speak,” the Aedolian said.
Valyn searched for the words. “Sami Yurl and his Wing have colluded against my life, and Kaden’s as well. Whatever they told you, they’re here to kill him.”
“That’s what they told me,” Ut replied. “I wasn’t sure whether to believe them, but now you’ve confirmed it.”
Valyn stared. “They told you?”
A rich, sardonic laughter filled the evening air as Yurl himself stepped from behind a low boulder.
“I guess I gave you too much credit, Malkeenian,” the Wing commander chuckled. “I never thought you were all that intelligent, of course, but I didn’t expect you to actually help me.”
Gwenna growled something deep in her throat. Without taking his eyes from Yurl, Valyn clamped down on her wrist. He had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t about to let her get herself killed over it. He turned his attention to Ut.
“If he told you he’s here to kill Kaden,” he ground out, “then what is he walking free for?”
He had to ask the question, although the sick feeling in his gut told him he already knew the answer.
“Because he’s going to help us,” Ut replied. “We came to kill your brother. I oversaw the destruction of the monastery. Most of my men are there now, cleaning up, hunting down the remaining monks. And tomorrow, at first light, we’re going to find the ‘Emperor’ and remove his head from his shoulders.”
46
The ground before the Temple of Light looked more like a muster field than a holy space. The bastard must have added another five hundred soldiers, Adare thought to herself, eyeing the Sons of Flame as they stood at their posts. None challenged her palanquin, none so much as glanced in her direction, and yet the message sent by all that glittering mail, those twelve-foot polearms, was clear: The Church of Intarra felt as though it had enemies inside the city of Annur, and it intended to defend itself.
Aside from the soldiers, a middling crowd had assembled before the temple, filing in for the noon service. As Adare stepped down, an angry stir passed through the group. Her role in Uinian’s trial had spread as quickly as his “miracle”—the jealous princess who had tried to see an innocent man, a holy man, condemned—and the Aedolians were forced to shoulder a path through the throng. A few of those closest dropped to one knee, knuckling their foreheads, but for many the gesture was slow, almost resentful, and a few rows back, people were mocking her or shouting open defiance.
There were many ways that her plan could fail, but the thought that she might not even make it to the door had not occurred to her. I should have taken Ran up on his offer to provide more troops.
The kenarang had been adamant.
“I don’t want to see you cut down by an angry mob,” he insisted, “especially now that I know how well you kiss.”
She had pushed him away, flattered and irritated at the same time.
“You can’t be part of this.”
“I’m the regent. You can’t stop me. Besides, against my better judgment, I find myself smitten.”
“Listen,” she said, “this can’t be about you. First of all, it can’t look like we’re forcing the issue or overwhelming the temple with an Annurian legion. That will just breed more resentment of the Dawn Palace and more support for Uinian. More importantly, though,” she pressed on, putting a finger to the kenarang’s lips to stifle the objection, “this is between Uinian and me. He’s made a personal attack on Malkeenian power, and if my family is going to hold on to the throne, I have to humble him personally, not through some overbearing show of force.”
The argument had made sense at the time, but as the grumbling mob pressed close around her knot of Aedolians, Adare found herself wishing for just a little more support. Sanlitun had once explained to her that men were most fickle in the grip of emotion, and that mobs magnified emotion. If the crowd were to turn ugly, the dozen Aedolians surrounding her would crumple before they could even draw their steel.
Just keep walking. Hide the fear. Hide the doubt.
She managed to keep her head high and her eyes level, but heaved a sigh of relief nonetheless when they passed, finally, beneath the gate.
* * *
Thankfully, the imperial family kept a small booth inside the temple, from which the Malkeenians could observe the ceremony without rubbing elbows with the common folk. The wooden walls of the box wouldn’t restrain an angry mob, but they gave her some breathing space, especially after the Aedolians had taken up their posts around the perimeter, and she sat on one of the plush chairs to hide the trembling in her legs. Some of the parishioners looked her way and pointed with angry mutters and scowls. She ignored them, keeping her eyes on the charred stone beneath the lens. The sun had risen almost to its noonday height, and a column of air beneath the lens had begun to shimmer already with that blistering heat.