The Last Mortal Bond by Brian Staveley

Author:Brian Staveley
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781466828452
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

32

Returning through the kenta to the island hub, and from there to the quiet, musty basement in the Shin chapterhouse, was easy. Convincing Long Fist to remain behind proved far more difficult. The shaman seemed to think he could stride straight into the Hall of a Thousand Trees, demand answers, and start picking people apart at the seams when he didn’t get them. For all Kaden knew, maybe he could. He wasn’t about to second-guess the raw power of the Lord of Pain.

On the other hand, there were some problems that couldn’t be solved by any amount of power, and this appeared to be one of them. There was no telling where Adare had hidden Triste, no telling who was guarding her or what they would do if an Urghul chieftain suddenly appeared in the throne room, sword in hand, scarred flesh flexing beneath his leather vest. Long Fist might be a god, but the price of his power seemed to be a kind of blindness about the limits of his chosen flesh.

“Adare won’t talk to you,” Kaden had insisted. “She loathes you. She’s been fighting against you for a year.”

Long Fist had smiled grimly. “Her warriors have been fighting my warriors. It is not the same thing.”

“You think she’s likely to be more cooperative in person?”

“Pain has a way of limbering the tongue.”

“And while her tongue is being limbered,” Kaden replied, “what will be happening with Triste? There is no quick way to bring you into the Dawn Palace without dozens of people seeing. There are guards outside the kenta chamber. They will speak to Adare before you reach her. She could have Triste smuggled out of the city before you make your first cut in her skin.”

In the end, the shaman loathed the logic, but he saw it.

“You have one day,” Long Fist had said, laying the words out before him as though they were knives. “One day to wrestle the truth from your sister and return. If you are not here, I will come myself.”

He didn’t need to speak the rest.

It had been night on the kenta island, the stars glistening like tiny points of ice. Back in Annur, however, the sun hung halfway down the sky, filling the pavilions of the Dawn Palace with a golden light, casting long shadows from the cypresses lining the paths. The timing was good. Adare had left the Hall of a Thousand Trees for the afternoon, and Kaden found her in her study, poring over a sheaf of documents.

“Kaden,” she said, glancing up from the papers on the table before her, then pushing back her chair. Dark hollows ringed her eyes, and though she would be expected on the Unhewn Throne within the hour, her hair hung loose around her face. In a way, it wasn’t surprising—the strain of ruling a crumbling empire could wear on anyone—but Adare was hardly a stranger to strain. She’d been fleeing or fighting someone for more than a year, had faced at least as much danger as Kaden himself.

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