Despite Iaapa’s offer, there was no possibility of remaining at the chapterhouse. The whole meeting had taken less time than the boiling of a pot of water, and even that felt like a risk. Matol would come looking, most likely sooner than later, and it would be safer for everyone if Kaden was nowhere near the monks when he did.

“Valyn hasn’t been here,” he said, looking from Kiel to Triste, careful to keep his voice down and his hood pulled forward. “And they haven’t seen Valyn.”

“They killed him,” Triste said quietly, staring at him. “The other Kettral killed him.”

“It’s just speculation,” Kaden said, then bowed his head. “But it’s likely. In either case, we’re on our own. We have no idea what’s going on in the city, no sense of who’s in charge, who killed my father, who sent Ut and Adiv after me. We need a place to stay while we ask the questions.”

Triste frowned. “A hostel,” she suggested finally. “Or an inn.”

“Better than sleeping in the streets,” Kiel agreed.

“But we don’t have any money,” Triste said.

The Csestriim shook his head. “Actually, I have a great deal of money.”

Kaden stared.

“Compounded interest is a powerful force for someone with my longevity.”

Kaden shook his head. “Compounded interest?”

“A bank,” Kiel explained. “They pay you for the use of your money. The longer they use it, the more they pay.”

Kaden glanced over at Triste, but her face was as blank as his own. Again he felt the jarring shock of his return, the futility of the task before him. He’d heard of banks as a child, of course. He’d imagined them to be great stone palaces piled with bricks of silver and gold. The Shin had taught him nothing of compounded interest.

“Which bank?” Triste asked. “The sooner we have the coin, the sooner we can get off the street.” She hadn’t stopped looking furtively toward the entrance to the alleyway, as though expecting Matol to step out of the sunlight any moment.

“No,” Kaden said, shaking his head slowly. “It’s too risky.”

Triste turned on him. “What’s the risk?”

“The Ishien. They captured Kiel fifteen years ago. They might know about the bank. Might look there.”

“It’s unlikely,” the Csestriim replied. “They don’t know the name I used.”

“Unlikely is not impossible. The Shin had an exercise, a technique, the beshra’an. . . .”

“The Thrown Mind,” Kiel said. “It was our skill before it became yours.”

“Then you know that Matol can use it. It’s possible they have used it. They may have found your bank. For all we know, the people in those rooms of yours are Ishien, living there, waiting, just on the off chance that another Csestriim shows up looking for you.”