Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

When the slaves had set cool water and Si’ite wine in iced decanters on the table, Adiv sent them away with a negligent flick of his hand, shutting the door behind them.

“So,” Adare said, tongue dry in her mouth, palms slick, “what in ’Shael’s name is going on?”

Adiv hesitated, then gestured to Nira and Oshi, to Fulton where he stood by the doors. “What I have to say is known only to a small circle. Do you really wish to enlarge it?”

“Yes,” Adare said stiffly, glancing at Oshi, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake.

“As you wish, my lady,” the councillor replied, spreading his hands. “Wine?”

Adare shook her head curtly. “Answers.”

Adiv bowed his acquiescence. “As you say, my lady.”

“Where is Kaden?”

“Your brother is dead.” He shook his head slowly. “We arrived too late. The monks were slaughtered-”

“Horseshit,” Adare snapped, cutting through his words. “You expect me to believe that he just happened to die at the very same time as my father, that you crossed half of Vash with a contingent of soldiers and had nothing to do with his death? You expect me to believe that?”

Adiv pursed his lips. “No,” he said slowly. “In fact, I do not, nor do I blame you for your distrust. Nonetheless, it is the truth.”

“Who would kill a batch a’ monks?” Nira demanded.

“The Urghul,” Adiv replied. “As you may know, Ashk’lan sits in the mountains overlooking the steppe. It is a remote place, and one vulnerable to the depredations of those blood-hungry savages.”

Adare shook her head. “You’ve ignored your history, Councillor. Ashk’lan has stood for at least five hundred years. Perhaps much, much longer. Not once, in all that time, have the Urghul attacked.”

“And not once,” he replied evenly, “in all that time, have the Urghul united under a single leader. Not once have they ridden, all together, against the empire itself.”

“Unified?” Fulton asked, brow furrowed. “Doesn’t sound like the Urghul.”

“It is not.”

“Under whom?” Adare demanded.

“A chieftain named Long Fist. Or a shaman. It’s not entirely clear. Our scouts rarely return, and though il Tornja has dispatched several Kettral Wings against the man, they have failed to find him, let alone eliminate him.”

“But why would they attack a group of monks?”

“Presumably,” Adiv replied, “they were not after the monks. I would suspect this is all a part of Long Fist’s plan. He aims to destabilize the empire by killing Sanlitun’s heir, then to strike in the ensuing confusion.” He hesitated, clasped his hands before him.

“What?” Adare demanded.

“There is more.”

“I got that. What is it?”

“Your brother,” Adiv replied after a pause. “Valyn. It looks as though he may have been involved.”

Adare stared. Valyn. He would be a man grown by now, a Kettral in his own right, but all she remembered was the wiry, dark child who had raced about the Dawn Palace brandishing wooden swords. He’d been loud and reckless, irritating when there was work to be done, but never cruel.

“Say more,” she growled quietly.

Adiv spread his hands. “We can’t be certain, but he disappeared from the Islands in direct violation of orders. Ashk’lan was burned by the time we got there-clearly Urghul work, as I said. But … there were signs of Kettral presence as well. A smoke steel blade lost in the rubble.” He shook his head. “We can’t be certain, of course. No one actually saw your brother, but he is still missing. It would not be the first time siblings killed over the Unhewn Throne.”

“No,” Adare said abruptly, the blood mounting to her face, fingers curling into claws. “ No. The kenarang murdered my father. Murdered him and then made me his tool to cover the murder. I know, you fucking bastard. I know all of it .”

Nira put a withered hand on her arm, but Adare shrugged it off. She was shouting, she realized, and though a faint voice in her mind told her she should keep her voice down, that no one was served by her strident accusations, the return to the palace had torn open the memory of her father’s death, of his body laid in the tomb, and she wanted nothing more than to find il Tornja and everyone else responsible, to slit their throats and tumble them, graveless, into some stagnant canal.

If Adiv was taken aback by her rage, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded and reached forward, plucking a small scroll from the neck of a slender green vase at the center of the table.

“The kenarang told me that you would say as much. He instructed me to give you this.”

Adare took the scroll-fine vellum stamped with the rising sun of Annur-and turned it over warily in her hands.

“What new lie is here?” she asked, running a finger over the wax impression.

Adiv shook his head. “I am ignorant of its contents. It is for your eyes alone.”

Frowning, Adare flicked open the wax seal with her nail, then scanned the contents, blood ablaze in her veins.

Adare,

You fled the palace believing I killed your father, and I can’t blame you. I did.

The blunt admission was like a cold claw gripping her heart, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even see. Her father’s note was one thing, but this, the brutal, ineluctable truth of it … Breath burning in her lungs, she forced herself to read on.

Please believe me when I tell you I didn’t want to do it. In almost every way, Sanlitun was an ideal emperor: pragmatic, honest, clever. His only real flaw was his relationship with the Urghul. For reasons I still cannot fathom, he trusted Long Fist, believed there could be an accord with the man. I fought the Urghul chief for years. I know him far better than your father ever did, and I assure you, Long Fist intends to see Annur destroyed.

Again and again I tried to explain this to Sanlitun, but something blinded him to the urgency. In the end, my choice was between your family and the empire itself. Believe me when I say it was not a choice I wanted.

You will distrust this note, as you should, but I ask only one thing. March north, in the tracks of my own army. When you catch us on the frontier, you can judge for yourself whether I have lied to you about the Urghul threat. If I have, better to have our battle there, where no citizens will die. If you decide that I have told the truth, however, you can join your army to mine. I promise you, when the contest comes, every spear will matter, every sword, every ’Kent-kissing fist.

I am sorry for your father’s death. I liked the Emperor and I respected him, but he was only one man. Annur is millions.

If, as my people tell me, you have Intarra’s favor, pray for us all. The darkness rides.

Your Kenarang,

Ran il Tornja

When she’d finished reading, it was all she could do to keep her feet. She stared at the vellum, the lines and angles of the words shifting before her eyes. Only when the first tear hit the ink, blurring it, did she realize she was crying.

“My lady?” Fulton asked, taking a step from his post by the door. “What does it say?”

Adare took a deep, shuddering breath. “It says we march north.”

Nira stared. “For what?”

“To fight,” Adare replied.

“Fight who?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Adare said grimly.

Adiv nodded his support. “The kenarang said you would understand the urgency, that you would make the wise decision. He has instructed me to aid you in any way I can, to support you in every particular.” He spread his hands. “You need only speak.”