The councillor cursed, snarled something, and suddenly Kaden felt himself losing the fight, as though a great invisible hand had lent its strength to Adiv’s struggle. He was losing. He had no idea how to fight back against a kenning. Then, abruptly, the man went limp. Kaden stared, then shoved the leach aside to find Kiel standing over them, naczal buried in the councillor’s back. A momentary surge of exultation flared up in him, but Kiel’s expression doused it.

“Quickly,” he said, reaching down to help Kaden to his feet. “It’s Triste.”

Kaden shook his head. “What?”

“She’s killing them.”

“Killing who?”

“Everyone.”

By the time Kaden reached the doorway, it was all over. People were still sobbing, screaming, flames still lapped the sky, but Triste had dropped her arms. She stood like a marionette, as though her whole body were suspended by a single, impossibly thin string.

“Triste?” he said carefully, setting a hand gently on her shoulder.

She turned to him, eyes blank as cloud, but didn’t respond.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” The words were dark, leaden. “I don’t know.”

There was no fear in her tone, no worry, just a deep, unplumbed helplessness. Kaden took her face in his hands, looked into her eyes. There was nothing to see, and when he let his hands fall, she crumpled to the floor, folding in on herself. Kaden started to kneel, but Kiel waved him forward, toward the arch.

“You had best look,” he said.

Kaden hesitated, then limped from shadow into sunlight. For a long time he had no idea what he was looking at. Kiel claimed the kenta let out inside the Dawn Palace, and the guardsmen below certainly seemed to confirm the idea, but Kaden didn’t recognize the blackened, blasted courtyard before him. There were a few twisted trees, all on fire, scores of corpses, dozens more wounded and dying. The walls enclosing the small space were scorched, and at least one building was fully ablaze. It was only when he turned that he saw the twin towers, Yvonne’s and the Crane, flanking him, while above and behind them, like a bright point lodged in the belly of the sky, stood Intarra’s Spear.

He turned back to the courtyard. There was nothing to see but horror. Nothing to hear but the keening of the wounded and the clattering boots of more guardsmen drawing near. Kaden watched them burst into the small square, level their spears, then pause. He raised his eyes slowly, straightened his back. He had returned to his palace, to the home of his father, of his family. If he were going to die here, he would die with his eyes open. He would die on his feet.