Kaden’s stomach clenched, his shoulders tensed. With an effort he smoothed away the worry. It wouldn’t happen right away. Even after the noon gongs, some sort of pause was to be expected. He scanned the square below, searching for any sign, a hint of steel, the clank of armor. Nothing. What would be the consequence, he wondered, if he were wrong? So much hinged on his ability to inhabit the minds of men about whom he knew so little. The beshra’an had allowed him to track goats through the mountains, but Adiv was no goat. Matol was no goat. What if one or the other had seen through his trap? What if, even as he watched, they were deploying some elaborate scheme of their own?

Gabril took a step closer to him, face worried, hands on the pommels of his knives. Tevis was still standing, and even Kegellen was starting to look impatient. Kaden glanced back out into the courtyard, studying the front of the Shin chapterhouse. Nothing. Just blank brick and black smoke rising silently into the sky. Nothing. Nothing. And then, from across the small square, a column of fifty men burst into the light, a steel-shod ram at the fore. Kaden breathed out a low, unsteady breath, then held up a finger.

“There,” he said.

The armed men crossed the square at a full run, shattering the door to the chapterhouse with the first blow. As the first six hauled the ram aside, others shoved forward into the breach, blades drawn. Even through the closed windows, Kaden could make out the sound of steel against steel, bellows of fighting, and then, moments later, the first screams of the wounded, of the dying.

“What in ’Shael’s name . . .” Tevis demanded, eyes fixed on the attack.

“Those,” Kaden said calmly, “are Tarik Adiv’s men. The attackers.”

“And who are they fighting?” Kegellen asked carefully.

“You,” Kaden replied simply.

Tevis rounded on him, belt knife drawn. “Talk straight, Malkeenian, or you’re done talking.”

Kaden glanced down at the bright blade, forced himself to count ten heartbeats before answering. The whole thing could still collapse if it seemed as though he could be bullied by a large man with a knife.

“I gave Adiv your names, and told him we were meeting there,” he gestured, “in the chapterhouse. He expects to find you disguised as monks. He believes, right now, that he is slaughtering you.”

“Why?” Azurtazine cut in, shaking her head. “What’s the point?”

“To show you,” Kaden replied, “just how tenuous your position has become.” He paused, looking over the group. Some were watching him, others staring at the blank wall of the chapterhouse, the brick and gaping darkness of the door hiding the vicious fight beyond.