Valyn glanced toward the door of the tent. He had no idea how much time Adare habitually spent in the privy, but sooner or later the Aedolians outside would start to wonder. Probably sooner.

“We don’t have time,” he said. “I escaped the Islands to go after Kaden.”

“To kill him.”

“To protect him. Micijah Ut and Tarik Adiv were already there. They’d murdered the monks and were hours away from doing the same to Kaden.”

“And you saved him.”

He nodded.

Adare spread her hands. “So where is he?”

“Elsewhere,” Valyn replied. “Trying to figure out the same thing I am: who killed our father.” He watched her reaction, trying to read her face as she licked her lips, glanced toward the door, then locked eyes with him once more. He could smell her raw nerves, but also something else, something deeper. Defiance? Resolve?

“Ran il Tornja,” she said finally. “The kenarang killed Father.”

His heart lunged in his chest like a dumb beast. Fury ached in his veins. In the days since Balendin first named il Tornja a murderer, Valyn had felt the rage growing like a sick plant inside him, but his doubt had checked that rage, stunted it. It was impossible to trust the leach. Balendin was a liar. Valyn had repeated the words over and over to himself as they crossed the steppe, then the river, then the deep forests around the Thousand Lakes. Balendin lies. Wait until you know the full truth. Balendin lies.

And now, like a blade to the face, here was the truth. For a moment he stood motionless, awash in the full flood of his anger, ready, almost, to burst from the tent, cut down the Aedolians, and go hunting for the kenarang in the midst of the army itself. Slowly, slowly, he brought himself under control. He would kill Ran il Tornja, but he needed more information to do it right, to be sure.

“So,” he said slowly, voice ragged, “Long Fist and Balendin weren’t lying after all.” He shook his head. “What are you doing here, with him? What is the whole ’Shael-spawned Army of the North doing here? Why are people calling you Emperor?”

She ignored the questions. “You were with Long Fist?”

“He’s the one that warned me about il Tornja. I had to hear it from the fucking Urghul.”

“No,” Adare said, shaking her head. “No, you’ve got it wrong. The situation is more complicated than you realize.”

“What’s to get wrong?” Valyn demanded. “The kenarang murdered our father. A military coup. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“Ran killed him,” Adare snapped, “because Sanlitun was killing the empire, or letting it die, at any rate. Your friend Long Fist has been plotting an invasion and now he’s invading. That’s why the army is here.” She glared at him. “Or didn’t he tell you that part when you were chatting over a cup of ta?”