It was hard for Kaden to articulate, even to himself, what he saw there. Kiel’s eyes were certainly less striking than his own blazing irises, less arresting than Valyn’s blackened gaze. They were ordinary eyes, and yet, Kaden realized as the man studied him, they did not match the body. That body had been rent and battered by years of unrelenting questioning, and when the prisoner moved, it was clear that things had been torn and shattered inside. The eyes, however, were unbroken.

Kiel glanced briefly at Matol, considered Kaden for half a heartbeat, then turned to Tan.

“Rampuri,” he said, his voice quiet and lean, like smoke in the air after the fire has been doused. Kaden had to resist the urge to lean forward. “I have not seen you in a very long time.”

Tan nodded, though the monk did not speak.

“I thought you had forgotten me down in my quiet cell. I almost came to miss the company afforded by torture.”

“We did not bring you up for further torture,” Tan said.

Kiel pursed his lips. “Is it time, finally, to die?”

“It’s time,” Matol cut in, shards of impatience edging his voice, “to do what you’re told.”

The prisoner glanced down at his bound hands, over his shoulder at the armed guard standing behind him.

“It would seem you’ve given me very little choice. Perhaps you could tell me how long I’ve been in my cell?”

“Not long enough,” Matol replied. “But you’ll have plenty more time to stare at the darkness once we’ve finished here.”

Kiel considered his interlocutor for a long moment, seemed about to say something more, then turned his attention unexpectedly to Kaden.

“Rampuri and Ekhard I know, but you and I have not met, though I knew your father well. . . .”

Matol’s fist took Kiel in the gut before he could finish speaking, doubling him over.

“Keep your mouth shut and your lies to yourself, or I’ll see you spend the next twenty years in a box instead of a cell.”

After a long fit of coughing, the prisoner straightened slowly, then caught Kaden’s eye for the barest fraction of a heartbeat.

I knew your father well.

Kaden struggled to make sense of the claim. It seemed unlikely, beyond unlikely, but then, what did Kaden really know about his father? Growing up, he had admired Sanlitun with a child’s mindless admiration, worshipped him absolutely but ignorantly. Only after he was sent away, years after, did he begin to realize how slenderly he had known the man, how little he understood what drove him, what he wanted or feared.