Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

Sleep, he reminded himself. Sleep first, then thought .

When they stepped through the wooden door into the pavilion, however, the strain on Morjeta’s face said immediately that there would be no sleep. He started to ask what was wrong, but she waved him silent, the motion quick and urgent. Behind Kaden, Kiel and Gabril went still. Over the slow wash of water, through the gentle ringing of the wind chimes, Kaden could make out a voice, a man’s voice, smooth and urbane, but sharp as oiled steel.

“I have nothing but respect for your temple and for your goddess, but I speak for the Unhewn Throne, and in this matter I will not be denied.”

Kaden felt the cold claws of fear prick through the skin of his neck. He had heard that voice only briefly. It had been more than a month since he last saw the man walking out of the Bone Mountains, clothing ripped, face bloody, but he knew the accent and idiom as though they were his own. The Shin had taken from him the luxury of forgetting. While the Ishien were hunting him outside, here, within the very walls of the temple, Tarik Adiv had come, searching for someone.

“It is not a matter of denial, Councillor,” said a woman’s voice, warm as liquid honey. “The young man you seek is not within our walls.”

“How disappointing,” Adiv said, voice slick with disbelief. “You won’t mind if my men just … check. There are so many people coming and going, and, in the aftermath of ecstasy, it’s easy to forget certain … details.…”

Kaden crossed silently to the wooden screen separating his pavilion from the lush garden beyond. Adiv stood in the soft red light of the hanging paper lanterns. The Mizran Councillor appeared fully recovered from his ordeal in the mountains, his dark robes immaculate, dark hair combed carefully back, held in place with a dark blindfold. He was the image of imperial authority. And a leach. And a murderer. Kaden could feel Gabril tensing at his side, and he turned to fix the First Speaker with his gaze, then shook his head slowly. Adiv was flanked by half a dozen soldiers, and whatever Gabril’s skills with those blades, he wasn’t prepared to face a leach.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Councillor,” the woman said. “As you know, we hold the identities of those inside Ciena’s walls inviolate.”

Kaden shifted his attention to the leina confronting Adiv, a tall, voluptuous woman with skin dark and lustrous as wet coal, her hair hanging in hundreds of delicate braids. She looked desperately vulnerable, standing before the armored soldiers in nothing more than a dress of diaphanous silk, but her face betrayed no fear.

She smiled, spreading her hands. “I’m sure you understand.”

Adiv’s jaw tightened. “I’m sure I do.” He glanced around the garden, seeming to look through that blindfold of his from one pavilion to the next. Kaden kept still as the non-gaze passed over him, wondering for the first time whether Tan had killed all the ak’hanath back in the Bone Mountains. He realized he had no idea where the creatures had originally come from, whether Adiv had more, whether they were stalking him even now, scratching at the high walls of the temple, searching for a way in, a way over.

Finally Adiv turned back to the leina . “You know, Demivalle, that I have more men than these six.”

He left the rest of the threat unvoiced, but the leina ’s lips tightened a fraction.

“And you know, Councillor, that the citizens of Annur love my goddess. Many worship inside these walls, and the worshippers would be displeased with any disturbance.”

“The citizens of Annur love Intarra, as well,” Adiv replied. “And look what happened to Uinian.”

Demivalle met his smile with one of her own. “Of course, Uinian was a traitor. I am not. I live to serve Annur and all her citizens, after serving my goddess, of course.”

“You’ve always been clever with that tongue of yours, Valle, but you know as well as any that serving Annur is not the same as serving the Unhewn Throne.”

“I wish all peace and pleasure upon the lords of our land.” She cocked her head delicately to the side. “This is a … precarious time for the Dawn Palace. I would hate to see the current instability extended as a result of…” She paused longer this time, as though searching for the words. “… rash and unnecessary decisions.”

Maybe it was her light, apologetic laugh, or the simple fact of seeing his will so clearly thwarted, but Adiv’s face twisted into a snarl beneath his blindfold, and he leaned in close, seizing the leina by the arm, his fingers driving into her flesh.

“So we understand each other,” he hissed, “I would remind you that what you have here is nothing more than a collection of pretty, perfumed whores. You hide behind the lust of Annur’s powerful and rich as though that lust were loyalty. It is not. I will leave you for the moment, but if I discover you have lied to me, you may find that all this soft, decadent flesh you have so assiduously collected, all your beautiful boys and girls, will burn as briskly as your high walls.”

If Demivalle was frightened by the threat, she didn’t show it. Instead of drawing back from Adiv’s grip, she pulled him closer in a mockery of true embrace.

“And in the interest of understanding,” she whispered sweetly in his ear, the words soft, yet intended to carry to anyone else listening, “I would remind you that while you serve a man, I serve a goddess. It is a pity your eyes went bad so early, or you might see more clearly the power you confront.”

* * *

“I could kill him,” Gabril said, frowning at the flame flickering inside the porcelain lamp.

Morjeta shook her head vigorously. “No. You couldn’t. Tarik Adiv is a cruel, vicious man, but he is not foolish. The six soldiers you saw tonight were the barest fraction of his strength.”

“And he’s a leach,” Triste spat. “He can … do things.”

Gabril shook his head in disgust. “Filthy scum.”

Kaden took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. After Adiv’s departure, Morjeta had hurried them up the stairs to her chambers and double-bolted the doors while Triste pulled the curtains and lit more lamps. The temple, which had seemed like such a sanctuary for the past several days, now felt dangerous, sinister, a trap sliding slowly shut. He glanced around Morjeta’s chamber, but there was little to see-delicately scented candles on the mantel; flowering jasmine in dark, elegant pots; a harp hung from a hook on one wall; and a scattering of parchment, quills, and ink jars scattered across a low table, the remnants of their long nights drafting the constitution. Nothing to suggest treachery. Nothing to hint that even here, in the heart of Ciena’s temple, they were being watched.

“How did Adiv know I was here?” Kaden asked.

Triste stabbed a finger at the garden beyond the curtains. “There are hundreds of leinas, ” she said, shaking her head with disgust. “Someone talked.”

“What about all that about ‘keeping identities inviolate’?” Kaden asked.

Morjeta pursed her lips. “Most of us serve the goddess above all.” She spread her hands. “But despite the training and the oaths, leinas are human, with human hopes and flaws. They can be threatened or bribed. They can be manipulated to think they have no choices.” She glanced at Triste, and a shadow of anguish passed across her face. “Demivalle is strict in her adherence to the oaths-this year already she has seen four leinas and a serving girl cut and put outside the walls for violating the trust of the goddess-but this temple houses hundreds, and she cannot be everywhere.”