“To experiment,” the monk replied grimly. “To prod and to test. They want to know how we work, how we are put together, why we differ from them. They nearly destroyed us thousands of years ago, and while we have almost forgotten, those Csestriim that survive have never given up the fight, not for a single day.” He turned from Triste to Kaden, stare hard as a hammer. “Consider the patience, to wait decades, centuries for the upheaval necessary to lead away so many children. Consider the planning, to have the coin stockpiled, the ships waiting at anchor, the caves and the cells prepared. The Csestriim do not think in days and weeks. They work in centuries, eons. Those who survived did so because they are brilliant, and hard, and patient, and yet they look like you or me.” He nodded toward Triste. “Or her.”

“No,” Triste said, shaking her head once more. “I would never do something like that. I’m not one of them.”

The monk ignored her, fixing his attention on Kaden.

“This is not something separate, some idle vendetta of my own that will distract you from the answers you hunt. If she is Csestriim, she is a part of the plot against your family and your empire. Erase Adiv and Ut from your mind. This creature is the one carrying the truth.”

Kaden stared, first at the monk, then at Triste, trying to make sense of it. She didn’t look like an immortal, inhuman monster, but then, according to Tan, neither had the Ghannans who stole the children. Parents had entrusted their families to the Csestriim. . . . Destroy what you believe. It all came back to that.

“You can’t kill her,” he said finally.

“Of course not,” the monk replied. “We need to know more. But this changes things.”

“What things?”

“The Ishien,” Tan replied. “I was wary of this course of action to begin. I am doubly so now.”

Kaden considered the response. In all the time he had known the older monk, Tan had never seemed really wary of anything: not Scial Nin, not Micijah Ut or Tarik Adiv, not even the ak’hanath.

“You’re concerned,” he said slowly, “about what the Ishien will think of Triste. About the fact that she passed through the kenta.”

“We don’t need to go,” she protested. “We can walk back through the gate.”

“When I want you to talk,” Tan said, pressing the blade against her neck firmly, “I will tell you.”

Triste opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it, sagging back onto the grass, exhausted and defeated. Kaden wanted to comfort her somehow, to assure her that everything would be all right, but, when he searched for the words, found he had no comfort to offer. If she was what Tan claimed, his comfort would mean less than nothing.

“What will the Ishien do if they decide she is Csestriim?” Kaden asked.