“Only a gamble if the old ways have slipped.”

“Don’t speak to me of slipping,” the blond man shot back. “It was you who left your post.”

“And I have returned.” Tan gestured toward Triste with his naczal. “Perhaps with one of the Csestriim. She passed through the gates. Untrained. Unprepared.”

Confusion registered in Hellelen’s eyes, then shock. After a moment’s hesitation, he shifted his crossbow from Tan, pointing it instead at the young woman pinned against the wall. “She is too young to be Csestriim.”

Tan shook his head. “She is a woman grown, though the clothes obscure the fact.”

“And she passed the kenta.”

Tan nodded.

“We don’t know what it means,” Kaden added quietly, careful to keep his voice level, reasonable. “She might be Csestriim, or she might be . . . something else.”

Hellelen glanced in his direction, narrowed his eyes at the sight of Kaden’s own blazing irises, then snorted. “Ah. The princeling.”

“He is the Emperor now,” Tan observed.

“Not here, he’s not,” Hellelen spat. “This isn’t your palace,” he said, “and we’re not your monks. If I have a question for you, I will ask it. If I do not ask, keep your imperial mouth shut or, however short your sojourn in the Dead Heart might be, you will spend it inside a cell.”

Kaden glanced over at Triste where she stood trembling against the cold stone wall, arms trussed behind her, crossbow bolts leveled at her heart and head.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Triste has helped me, has helped us, at every step. We’d be dead without her. Even if she is Csestriim, I want her to be treated well.”

Hellelen sucked air between his teeth. “You think you know the Csestriim?” he demanded, voice like a file running over steel.

Kaden shook his head.

“You think you understand how they think? You want to walk in here and start lecturing us, lecturing me on what does and does not make sense?” He took a step toward Kaden, sudden fury scribbled across his eyes, the crossbow swinging around to point at Kaden’s heart. “I will show you—”

The words cut off as Tan slid the haft of his spear between them, blocking the Ishien’s approach.

“Hellelen,” he said quietly, “you would do better to focus on this creature,” indicating Triste, “rather than lecturing the Emperor of Annur. If she is Csestriim, she is involved in a plot to destroy the Malkeenian line.”

“The Malkeenian line,” Hellelen snorted, “long ago abandoned its post.” He stared at Kaden. “Do you even know what those gates are for?”

“I do,” Kaden replied. “They are a tool. One that can be used to hold together an empire and to fight the Csestriim both.”

“Let me guess which one you’re more concerned with.” Hellelen shook his head in disgust. “I heard how someone gutted your father. What happened? The same men come after you?”