Adiv’s men escorted them beneath the massive walls—thick as a house and banded with red iron—through the Jade Court and the Jasmine, passing along the Serpentine in the shadow of Yvonne’s and the Crane, then through the shattered refraction cast by Intarra’s Spear. They bypassed the Hall of a Thousand Trees, and the hanging staircase leading to the Floating Hall, ending, finally, in the Chamber of Scribes. It was an old name, and an inaccurate one. The scribes who once used the small complex of pavilions had been displaced centuries earlier by the upper echelon of an expanding bureaucracy, and the chamber itself was decorated like an atrep’s palace rather than an austere scriptorium. Delicate Liran ivories stood in the wall niches, Rabin carpets splayed across the floor, and carved cedars from the Ancaz stood sentry in the corners.

When the slaves had set cool water and Si’ite wine in iced decanters on the table, Adiv sent them away with a negligent flick of his hand, shutting the door behind them.

“So,” Adare said, tongue dry in her mouth, palms slick, “what in ’Shael’s name is going on?”

Adiv hesitated, then gestured to Nira and Oshi, to Fulton where he stood by the doors. “What I have to say is known only to a small circle. Do you really wish to enlarge it?”

“Yes,” Adare said stiffly, glancing at Oshi, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake.

“As you wish, my lady,” the councillor replied, spreading his hands. “Wine?”

Adare shook her head curtly. “Answers.”

Adiv bowed his acquiescence. “As you say, my lady.”

“Where is Kaden?”

“Your brother is dead.” He shook his head slowly. “We arrived too late. The monks were slaughtered—”

“Horseshit,” Adare snapped, cutting through his words. “You expect me to believe that he just happened to die at the very same time as my father, that you crossed half of Vash with a contingent of soldiers and had nothing to do with his death? You expect me to believe that?”

Adiv pursed his lips. “No,” he said slowly. “In fact, I do not, nor do I blame you for your distrust. Nonetheless, it is the truth.”

“Who would kill a batch a’ monks?” Nira demanded.

“The Urghul,” Adiv replied. “As you may know, Ashk’lan sits in the mountains overlooking the steppe. It is a remote place, and one vulnerable to the depredations of those blood-hungry savages.”

Adare shook her head. “You’ve ignored your history, Councillor. Ashk’lan has stood for at least five hundred years. Perhaps much, much longer. Not once, in all that time, have the Urghul attacked.”

“And not once,” he replied evenly, “in all that time, have the Urghul united under a single leader. Not once have they ridden, all together, against the empire itself.”

“Unified?” Fulton asked, brow furrowed. “Doesn’t sound like the Urghul.”

“It is not.”

“Under whom?” Adare demanded.