“They didn’t follow,” Kaden said. “They anticipated. There are only a few places in Annur I could go, only a few places to which I have any connection. They’ve probably got men watching all of them.”

“You did not tell me this,” Gabril said, jaw tight.

“I didn’t know they would pursue me so quickly.”

“We can discuss it further,” Kiel said, “when we’re inside the temple.”

Getting inside the temple proved easier said than done. Gabril led them to three more entrances before they found one—a low stable outside a modest palace—that was unwatched. By the time they’d murmured Morjeta’s passphrase to the pair of guards, descended through the long tunnel underground, and emerged into one of the small garden pavilions, Kaden wanted nothing more than to sleep. Dawn would be soon enough to fully confront the implications of his failure, both with the council and the Ishien, soon enough to start searching for another path. His mind felt battered by the strange tides of emotion: the hope, fear, anger, and despair. How most people lived with such emotions every day, with feelings a hundred times stronger, he had no idea. Even the residual tug of longing and loss was enough to disorder all hope of rational thought.

Sleep, he reminded himself. Sleep first, then thought.

When they stepped through the wooden door into the pavilion, however, the strain on Morjeta’s face said immediately that there would be no sleep. He started to ask what was wrong, but she waved him silent, the motion quick and urgent. Behind Kaden, Kiel and Gabril went still. Over the slow wash of water, through the gentle ringing of the wind chimes, Kaden could make out a voice, a man’s voice, smooth and urbane, but sharp as oiled steel.

“I have nothing but respect for your temple and for your goddess, but I speak for the Unhewn Throne, and in this matter I will not be denied.”

Kaden felt the cold claws of fear prick through the skin of his neck. He had heard that voice only briefly. It had been more than a month since he last saw the man walking out of the Bone Mountains, clothing ripped, face bloody, but he knew the accent and idiom as though they were his own. The Shin had taken from him the luxury of forgetting. While the Ishien were hunting him outside, here, within the very walls of the temple, Tarik Adiv had come, searching for someone.

“It is not a matter of denial, Councillor,” said a woman’s voice, warm as liquid honey. “The young man you seek is not within our walls.”

“How disappointing,” Adiv said, voice slick with disbelief. “You won’t mind if my men just . . . check. There are so many people coming and going, and, in the aftermath of ecstasy, it’s easy to forget certain . . . details. . . .”