Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

“Adiv was thorough,” Kaden replied bleakly.

“Then we will need to send others to Ashk’lan to rebuild.”

There was no mention of mourning, but then, the Shin did not mourn. A part of Kaden felt as though he had abandoned the bodies of the monks at Ashk’lan, but the monks themselves did little more for their dead, carrying them up the trail to the high places where the wind, weather, and ravens could break apart the final illusion of the self. After just a few weeks with people who held their selves and their survival sacrosanct, Kaden had forgotten how lightly the monks who raised him regarded the powers of Ananshael.

“How have you returned here?” Iaapa asked.

“I don’t have time to explain. Men may be coming for me even now.” Kaden glanced around the small room. “My brother, Valyn. Has he come here? It would have been weeks ago, most likely.”

Iaapa shook his head slowly. “We have had no visitors for months.”

Kaden’s stomach dropped. It was the news he had feared. There were a few possible ways to read Valyn’s failure to return, but by far the most plausible was the bleakest: the Flea had killed him. Killed him or taken him prisoner. Kaden thought back to the madness inside the ancient orphanage of Assare, to the smoke and the screaming, the confusion and desperation. Kaden himself had barely escaped, and he’d had the kenta .…

Grief welled within him, but he quelled it, let it drain away with his breath. Whether Valyn was alive or dead, grief would not help him, and there was no time for it.

“What do you know of the Ishien?” Kaden asked.

Iaapa raised his brows. “A little.”

“They will come here,” Kaden said. Even if Tan had told them nothing, they would look for Kaden among the monks that had raised him. “You can’t tell them I’m in the city.”

The fat monk raised two hands, as though to hold the treachery and scheming at bay.

“As you know, brother, the Shin do not deal in politics or secrets.”

“But we deal in silences,” Kaden replied, “and I am begging for your silence. They are not like us, not really, and they are dangerous.”

Iaapa frowned. “I have heard … stories.”

“They’re probably true,” Kaden said, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. “In fact, it might be best for you, for all of you, to leave here for a month, several months. To go somewhere more remote. Somewhere safe.”

“Safety,” Iaapa replied quietly, poking at his head with a wide finger, “is here.”

Kaden sucked an irritated breath between his teeth. He didn’t have time to argue with the man, to explain just how thoroughy the Aedolians had gutted Ashk’lan, how the Shin had burned just like other men when their buildings blazed around them. Even if he had the time, there was no reason to believe his argument would sway the monk. Fleeing harm, for the Shin, was as foolish as hoarding pleasure; both were paths leading only to disappointment.

He hesitated, then rose to his feet, bowing his head in respect.

“I thank you for your time,” he said quietly.

Iaapa remained seated, but he nodded in return.

That seemed to conclude the audience, but just as Kaden reached the door, the monk spoke once again.

“Your father came here often,” Iaapa said, “through the gate. Sometimes for just an hour, sometimes for a night, when he wanted rest from the weight of his other duties.”

Kaden stared as the monk smiled. “You are welcome, too, whenever you have need of rest.”

* * *

Despite Iaapa’s offer, there was no possibility of remaining at the chapterhouse. The whole meeting had taken less time than the boiling of a pot of water, and even that felt like a risk. Matol would come looking, most likely sooner than later, and it would be safer for everyone if Kaden was nowhere near the monks when he did.

“Valyn hasn’t been here,” he said, looking from Kiel to Triste, careful to keep his voice down and his hood pulled forward. “And they haven’t seen Valyn.”

“They killed him,” Triste said quietly, staring at him. “The other Kettral killed him.”

“It’s just speculation,” Kaden said, then bowed his head. “But it’s likely. In either case, we’re on our own. We have no idea what’s going on in the city, no sense of who’s in charge, who killed my father, who sent Ut and Adiv after me. We need a place to stay while we ask the questions.”

Triste frowned. “A hostel,” she suggested finally. “Or an inn.”

“Better than sleeping in the streets,” Kiel agreed.

“But we don’t have any money,” Triste said.

The Csestriim shook his head. “Actually, I have a great deal of money.”

Kaden stared.

“Compounded interest is a powerful force for someone with my longevity.”

Kaden shook his head. “Compounded interest?”

“A bank,” Kiel explained. “They pay you for the use of your money. The longer they use it, the more they pay.”

Kaden glanced over at Triste, but her face was as blank as his own. Again he felt the jarring shock of his return, the futility of the task before him. He’d heard of banks as a child, of course. He’d imagined them to be great stone palaces piled with bricks of silver and gold. The Shin had taught him nothing of compounded interest.

“Which bank?” Triste asked. “The sooner we have the coin, the sooner we can get off the street.” She hadn’t stopped looking furtively toward the entrance to the alleyway, as though expecting Matol to step out of the sunlight any moment.

“No,” Kaden said, shaking his head slowly. “It’s too risky.”

Triste turned on him. “What’s the risk?”

“The Ishien. They captured Kiel fifteen years ago. They might know about the bank. Might look there.”

“It’s unlikely,” the Csestriim replied. “They don’t know the name I used.”

“Unlikely is not impossible. The Shin had an exercise, a technique, the beshra’an. …”

“The Thrown Mind,” Kiel said. “It was our skill before it became yours.”

“Then you know that Matol can use it. It’s possible they have used it. They may have found your bank. For all we know, the people in those rooms of yours are Ishien, living there, waiting, just on the off chance that another Csestriim shows up looking for you.”

Kiel looked out at the street a moment, face blank as a page, unreadable. Finally he nodded. “All right. We’ll avoid the rooms and the bank. But that leaves us with no coin and no safe place to lodge.”

“Do you know anyone in the city?” Kaden asked.

Kiel started to respond, but Triste spoke first. “I do.”

Her eyes were wide with something that might have been fear or hope or both, and she had clutched her hands together so tightly the knuckles had gone white.

“Your mother,” Kaden said, the realization settling into place like the last stone in a carefully built wall.

She nodded.

“Did you tell Matol who she was?”

She hesitated, then nodded once more.

“Then they’ll know to look there.”

“He won’t be able to,” Triste replied, seized with a sudden vehemence. “The temple is enormous, and it’s built for discretion. There are dozens of entrances, most of them hidden, so that the patrons can come and go without attracting notice. If we can get inside, my mother will hide us. I know she will.”

Kiel held his hands up, trying to slow the conversation. “What temple? Who is your mother?”

“She is a leina, ” Triste replied, her voice hard and defiant, inviting him to mock her.

He just raised his eyebrows. “A priestess of Ciena.”

She nodded. “It’s perfect: Annur’s richest, most powerful men and women patronize the leinas, and my mother used to tell me ‘Lust loosens the tongue.’ If there’s something worth knowing in Annur, we can learn it there.”