The Providence of Fire (40 page)

“How long?” Kaden asked, voice rusted.

“Long enough,” Tan replied. “I could not come sooner.”

“What is happening?”

The monk shook his head. “Idiocy. Idiocy and fanaticism.”

Kaden glanced at the closed door. “Are you here alone?”

“There are three guards in the corridor beyond. I persuaded them to stay behind. I said you would be more tractable if I came in alone.”

“Tractable,” Kaden said, the word bitter in his mouth.

“Matol wants to use you against Triste,” he said. “He wants you to go to her alone. To see what she will reveal to you.”

“Where is she now? Is she all right?”

“She is alive,” Tan replied, as though that were the same thing. “After the last interrogation, the Ishien moved her here, to give her time to recuperate before they start again. That was five days ago.”

Kaden shook his head helplessly. “She won't tell me anything more than she's told them.”

The monk nodded tersely. “I agree. I am not here to do Matol's work.”

“So,” Kaden replied, studying the monk carefully, “why are you here?”

Tan glanced over his shoulder, then beckoned Kaden farther into the small cell. When his spoke, his voice was low as the scuff of leather over stone.

“It was a mistake to come to the Heart. The Ishien know nothing about the plot against your family. They have learned nothing from Triste. They follow a pointless path while the empire reels.”

Kaden stared. “You've had word of the empire? Of my brother?”

“Nothing of Valyn, but Ishien returning through the
kenta
say that your sister has disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Kaden asked, suddenly sick.

“She may be dead. She may be imprisoned. The Ishien do not know, nor do they appear to care.”

“And you do?” Kaden asked. After so long locked in the seamless darkness, the sudden wash of light and words threatened to overwhelm him. “I thought you were indifferent to politics.”

“I am,” Tan replied. “This goes beyond politics. The Csestriim have struck at the heart of Annur. I cannot fathom their reasons, but one thing is clear: they will use the chaos, they will exploit the disorder, and I will not give them that advantage. You need to return to Annur. You need to take your place on the Unhewn Throne.”

Hope bloomed inside Kaden, flowered a moment before he crushed it out. He gestured to the slick stone walls, the weight of rock above their heads, to the massive iron door. “The Ishien seem to have other ideas.”

“I am finished,” Tan said, “with the ideas of the Ishien. They are not the order I left more than a decade ago.”

“So … what? We just walk out?”

Tan shook his head. “You listen poorly. Three men wait beyond this door. They trust me little more than they do you. You will leave when they aren't watching you.”

“How?”

The monk reached inside his jerkin, sliding free first an old, rusted key, then a short knife, the blade no longer than Kaden's finger. It wasn't a weapon—he could imagine someone using it to cut the heads off fish—but it looked sharp.

“Where did you get the key?”

“Perhaps you forget,” Tan replied, “that I lived here a long time before I left for the mountains.”

“All right,” Kaden said, measuring his breathing, stilling the sudden excitement moving inside. “You leave, then I take the key—”

“Listen,” Tan said, cutting him off, “before you talk.” He waited, silent and unmoving, until Kaden nodded. Then he extended his arm. “Find my pulse.”

Confused, Kaden reached out, taking the older monk's wrist in his hand. After a few moments he found the vein, then the steady beat of the blood pent up inside. The pulse was slower than his own, regular as the drip in the back of his cell, as though it had beaten out the same silent rhythm for months, for years.

“Match it,” Tan said.

Kaden nodded once more, closed his eyes, then slowed his own heart, parsing each beat until it mapped perfectly onto the low, slow tidal thrum of his
umial
's heart.

“Done,” he said finally.

“You can hold it there?” Tan asked, pinning him with a stare.

Kaden hesitated. Shin training was filled with exercises of pulse and breathing. Once, when he had barely turned eleven, he counted every heartbeat for two days. Still, there were limits. “Not if I have to run.”

“There will be no running, not if all goes as I plan.”

“And what, exactly, is the plan?”

“At eighty-six thousand beats, use the key to leave your cell.”

“Eighty-six thousand?”

“A day. You will leave the cell and walk to a small alcove just outside. Wait there until the guard comes, then step from the alcove and kill him.”

Kaden's heart jumped for two beats, and with an effort he slowed it to the same steady pulse.

“How?” he asked.

“Just as you would kill a goat,” Tan replied. “A single cut across the neck.”

Kaden shook his head, fear and confusion clawing at his calm.

“The Ishien are warriors,” he protested.

“The Ishien will expect you to be in your cell, unarmed and helpless. They know that I am dangerous, and so they have sent extra guards. You…” He shook his head, a single curt gesture. “They do not fear you.”

“Then what?” Kaden asked, putting from his mind for the moment the vision of the knife clasped tight in his grip, of warm flesh folding back beneath the blade.

“The guard who brings your food is also the one who watches the door to this branch of the prison. When he is dead, the way will be clear. You will wait for another four thousand heartbeats, then go.”

“Go
where
?”

Tan slid the knife along the inside of his own arm, raising a slender trail of blood. It was black in the lamplight, like pitch or shadow. He dipped a finger into the blood, then turned to the wall, sketching a map over the rough stone. As Kaden watched, the monk inked a tree of corridors and stairwells, the branches ramifying across the wall.

“Here,” he said finally, pointing to a small room off a long, straight hall, “is your cell. And here”—another, much larger room—“the harbor.”

“The harbor?” Kaden asked, shaking his head.

“The Ishien need supplies, and not everything can be transported through the
kenta
. There is an underground harbor carved by the sea. You will go there.”

“Won't it be guarded?”

“At the mouth, yes,” Tan replied. “But they will not expect anyone to be leaving. You will climb aboard the vessel tied up to the stone wharf, hide among the barrels, and wait. I will join you. When the tide turns, the ship will sail, and we will be gone.”

“What about the body?” Kaden asked, sweat dampening his palms. “The guard I'm supposed to kill?”

“The guards' shifts do not match the tides,” Tan replied. “By the time his relief arrives, we will have sailed. At the moment, there are no other boats moored in which they might follow.”

Kaden frowned. It seemed a tenuous plan—sneaking through the halls of the Dead Heart, finding the hidden harbor, climbing aboard a ship and staying out of sight until they were well beyond reach of the fortress.

“What about the
kenta
?” Kaden asked. “Why don't we use that?”

“Do not be a fool. The Ishien guard the
kenta
chamber more carefully than any other place in the Heart.” He gestured to the bloody map. “Do you have it?”

Kaden considered the lines and curves for a moment, the boxes and branches, then nodded. Tan scrubbed at the lines with the heel of his hand until nothing remained on the stone but a ruddy stain. When he was finished, he handed the knife and key to Kaden.

“What about the pause?” Kaden asked. “Why do I have to wait between killing the guard and moving to the harbor?”

“To allow the men changing shifts above to reach their posts. The Ishien follow predictable patterns. Waiting four thousand heartbeats will give you the best chance of finding the halls above empty.”

Kaden digested this. “Doesn't sound like a sure thing.”

“It is not. If you encounter anyone, keep your head down and your eyes hidden.”

“What about Triste? Where is she? How do we get her out?”

“We do not.”

Kaden took a long, slow breath. “They will kill her.”

“Most likely.”

“We can bring her with us. If the ship can hold two, it can hold three.”

Tan shook his head. “No. The risk is too great. The girl is not what she seems, you witnessed enough to understand that, and you have not witnessed the tenth part of it. She is dangerous and she is unpredictable.”

“What about trying to learn something from her?” Kaden demanded. “Something about the Csestriim? About the conspiracy?”

“Slow your heart,” Tan growled. “The timing is crucial.”

Kaden checked his pulse, slowed it a fraction, then continued, his voice little more than a hiss. “She has answers.”

“She does,” Tan replied, “but none she will reveal to us. Matol has pushed her hard, even harder than I would have.” He shook his head. “She cannot help us.”

Kaden started to protest, but Tan raised a hand.

“The corridors above should be empty if you keep to the timing, but as you have observed,
should be
is not
will be
. Alone, dressed in the Ishien garb, you have every chance of passing unremarked. With Triste in tow, you would be noticed instantly. The risk is too great and it offers scant reward.”

He turned before Kaden could object further, opened the door and stepped through.

“You have the count?” he asked, without looking back over his shoulder.

Kaden listened to the slow tattoo inside his chest. “I have it,” he replied.

“Do not make a mistake. There will not be another chance.”

*   *   *

It wasn't a mistake. Mistakes were errors of ignorance or neglect, ineptitude or poor planning. Mistakes were miscalculations or errors in judgment. This was something else altogether, something worse.

More like a fully flowered act of madness,
Kaden thought as he felt his way down the long corridor, knife held before him as though it could keep back the limitless dark.

He had counted off ten thousand heartbeats, forcing himself to silence and stillness in the center of his cell, before moving. As Tan had promised, the key turned in the lock, though the steel protested with a scream that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. By the vague light in his eyes, he could make out the outlines of the wall, the shallow standing pools. He moved slowly, carefully, but the quieter he forced himself to be, the more the halls around him seemed to stir. Air lisped uneasily through the passages, drafts rasping over the uneven stone. The plinking of water seemed to come from everywhere at once. Behind it, or below it, a sound that might have been the wash of waves and tides thrummed through the rock, so low it was impossible to be sure if the sound was real or only in his mind.

The doors lining the hall were heavy wood banded with iron, some locked, some hanging open, all of them identical—wood and iron, wood and iron.

Take him below,
Matol had snarled.
Lock him up with the Csestriim.

Which meant Kiel was locked up somewhere along the endless corridor. Kiel, who knew a way out. Perhaps it was folly, stupidity, to insist on trying to see Triste freed, but of all Annur's uncounted millions, she was the only one in the Dead Heart, the only one he could help. As Tan claimed, she was dangerous—that much was clear—but she had helped Kaden, and he would be ill-fit to govern an empire if his first act was to abandon her to the unending torture of the Ishien. If Kiel was here, if he knew another way out, maybe he could free Triste, too.

After a hundred paces or so, Kaden came to a different sort of door. The original framing had been chiseled away, the banded wood replaced with a great slab of steel hung on hinges as thick as Kaden's wrists. Five wide steel bars set into metal brackets held the thing shut—enough weight to pen an enraged bull. Dripping salt water had left long, weeping stains on the metal, gnawing the surface to pits and long flakes of rust, and though the door itself looked ready to crumble, when Kaden pushed a tentative hand against it, he might have pressed on the stone wall itself. There was no telling how thick the metal was, but clearly the rust had done nothing to compromise its strength.

He took a long, slow breath, turning his focus from the hallway to his own mind. Fear clung there, spiked and recalcitrant as a mountain burr lodged in the cloth of a new robe, though whether that fear was for Matol and Ishien, who could come looking for him at any moment, or for the man beyond the door, Kaden couldn't say. He worked at the emotion, prying it looser and looser with each breath. He needed clarity when he heard what the prisoner had to say. He needed calm.

Here is the floor,
he told himself, feeling the rough stone, cold and slick beneath his bare soles.

Here is the light from my eyes.

The future held perils, but he did not live in the future.

Here is the latch,
he said, moving the metal catch to open the small, barred window set into the steel door.
Here is the window into the darkness.

Through the narrow open slot, he heard the rustle of cloth against cloth, then a wet, unhealthy cough, the noise growing closer as the prisoner approached.

“Another visit?”

Kaden heard the voice first, the same spare articulation he remembered from his encounter with Kiel days earlier. Then the man's begrimed face appeared in the narrow slot, squinting as his eyes moved from utter darkness to the meager light of Kaden's own eyes. Kiel glanced at him, then past, into the hallway beyond.