For a moment he just snarled wordlessly, lost in his rage. “You hear about the Atmani all the time—Roshin, Dirik, Rishinira, the other three. . . . Everyone tells stories about the fucking leach-lords, about how they killed people and shattered the fucking world, but let me tell you this . . . the Atmani were nothing next to the Csestriim. They were leaches, sure. Somehow they were immortal, at least till someone put a knife in them. But at least they were human. Everyone talks about the Atmani and no one’s warning anyone about the Csestriim. It’s like everyone just forgot.

“With the Csestriim it wasn’t just killing, it was slaughter. You know, murder. Kids. Thousands of kids.”

He leaned across the table, eyes bulging from their sockets. “They. Tried. To. End. Us.

“So when you talk to me about decency, you know, about treating that bitch you brought with decency, what I say is fuck decency.”

“Triste might not be Csestriim,” Kaden said, trying to keep his compass in the maelstrom of emotion. “She has feelings. Fears and hopes.”

“No,” Trant said, body suddenly still, voice quiet. “That’s what she wants you to think. They know how all this works.” Grinding a finger into his temple. “They know how to use it against us. You understand? You understand what I’m telling you?”

Kaden started to protest, then stopped himself. Worry about Triste nagged at him like a cracked rib, but for the moment there was nothing he could do. He didn’t know where she was, didn’t even really know where he was, and, though the Dead Heart appeared surprisingly empty, there were still enough men with bows and blades to keep him neatly penned wherever they wished.

Learn first, he told himself, then act.

“Scial Nin told me about the Ishien,” he said, trying to change the subject. “You were the first monks, the predecessors of the Shin.”

Trant snorted. “Not monks.” He frowned, turning back to his fish. “Not ever monks.”

“Then what?”

“Prisoners. Slaves. Beasts to be prodded, and poisoned, and gutted.” He punctuated each word by stabbing the fish with his knife. Abruptly, he pulled the blade from the bones and waved it around him. “This place, this fucking place, was our pen.”

Once more Kaden considered the heavy stone walls. “The Csestriim built this.”

Trant nodded. “Builders. Oh, the bastards were builders, all right.”

Kaden frowned. “Why? I thought they just wanted to destroy us. Why build prisons?”