“I don’t know,” she panted. “I’d never seen a kenta.” There was something strange about the way she said the word, and Kaden filed it away for further consideration. “I’d never even heard of one before a couple of days ago. I just . . . I fell and I came out the other side.”

“You see,” Matol said, turning to the other two Ishien. “The girl is perfectly innocent. She simply fell.”

The one named Manderseen chuckled. “Maybe we should let her go.”

“Maybe,” Matol replied, pretending to consider the notion. Then he shook his head. “Nah. Let’s hurt her some more.”

What happened next took place too quickly to comprehend. Kaden was focused on the scene as Matol reached for her wrist, his mind sketching the saama’an. It wasn’t until later, however, when he had a chance to fully scrutinize the vision, that he really saw what had happened. Even then it didn’t make sense.

Triste, practically gibbering with terror a moment before, twisted as Matol reached for her. The manacle didn’t afford much freedom, but as his hand started to close, she lashed out and caught his wrist instead. The movement was precise, almost too quick to see, like a serpent darting from a bush. Matol didn’t have a chance to register surprise before she pulled, a savage tug somehow strong enough to yank the man off his balance, tumbling him half on top of her, forcing Manderseen to drop the lantern with a curse and fall backward. Triste leaned close to the Ishien commander, her lips by his ear.

“A time will come,” she hissed in a voice every bit as cold and dark as the surrounding stone, a voice utterly devoid of fear, “when the pain you visit on me here will seem a dream of pleasure, when blades and fire seem tender ministrations to you. I will, then, watch you beg, but stoppered to your cries will be my ears, and dried to dust the wide lake of my mercy.”

She was twisting, Kaden realized, her slender fingers twisting Matol’s broad hand with a savage strength until something snapped, the man’s face contorted, and, his balance regained at last, he lurched toward the wall, cradling the broken hand and cursing.

The whole thing lasted several breaths, but Rampuri Tan made no move to intervene, neither to stop Triste nor to help Manderseen or Matol. His eyes remained on the girl the entire time, measuring, parsing.

“Did you see?” he murmured when it was done.

Kaden nodded dumbly. He could only stare. For a moment Triste locked eyes with him, and her gaze was . . . what? He groped for the word. Feral? Regal? Language failed. Then, like water slipping through a sieve, the look drained away.

“Kaden?” she whispered, voice small and shattered, filled with fear once more. “Kaden, please. Please help me.”