“I thought he wanted to kill me,” she said. “It’s the only way to set his goddess free, right?”
“She is your goddess,” Kaden said again.
“Not anymore, she’s not. She stopped being my goddess when she forced her way into my head.”
“She chose you,” Kaden countered, “because of your devotion.”
“That can’t be true. There are scores of leinas in the temple, all of them more adept in Ciena’s arts than I’ll ever be, all of them utterly committed to the service of their goddess.” She grimaced. “I was … a mischance. Some minister’s by-blow.”
“Tarik Adiv had the burning eyes,” Kaden pointed out. “Your father was related, however distantly, to my own. Which means that you, too, are descended from Intarra.”
The notion still surprised him. For hundreds of years the Malkeenians had staked their imperial claim on that lineage, on those eyes, on the claim that there was only one divine family. Forking branches of the tree could lead to civil war, to the ruin of Annur.
Triste shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Kaden replied. “It is the only thing that makes sense. According to the legend, Intarra bore the first Malkeenian millennia ago. The family would have ramified. My branch cannot be the only one.”
“I don’t have the eyes,” she countered.
“Neither does Valyn.”
Triste bared her teeth. “Even if it’s true, what does it mean? What is it worth? What does it have to do with this bitch lodged inside my skull?”
Kaden could only shake his head. Even Kiel’s insights extended only so far. Even the Csestriim, it seemed, could not peer into the minds of the gods.
“We don’t know everything,” he said quietly. “I don’t know everything.”
“But you still want to kill me.”
The words weren’t angry, not anymore. Something had snuffed her anger, quick and sure as a fist clamped over a candle’s flame. She sounded exhausted. Kaden himself felt exhausted, exhausted from the long climb and from the fear that someone had broken into the dungeon, found Triste, hurt her.
“No,” he said quietly, searching for another word, some phrase adequate to convey his worry. The Shin had taught him nothing, unfortunately, of human consolation. If he could have, he would have put a silent hand on her shoulder, but he could not reach through the bars. There was only that single syllable, and so he said it again, helplessly, “No.”
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “I misspoke. You want me to kill myself.”
“The obviate isn’t suicide. There is a ceremony to be observed. A ritual. Without it, the goddess can’t escape. She cannot ascend.” He paused. “And this is not something I want.”
“Cannot ascend,” Triste said, ignoring his last comment. “Cannot ascend.” Her laugh was sudden and bright as a bell. Then gone.
“Why is that funny?”
Triste shook her head, then gestured to the bars of her cage. “It’s a good problem to have. That’s all. Forget about ascending-I’d be happy to get out of this cage for the night.”
For a while they were both silent.
“Has she … spoken to you?” Kaden asked finally.
“How would I know? I never remember the times when she’s in control.” She fixed him with that bright, undeniable gaze. “For all I know, you’re making the whole thing up, everything about the goddess. Maybe I’m just insane.”
“You saw what happened in the Jasmine Court,” Kaden said gravely. “What you did. What Ciena did through you.”
Triste drew a long, shuddering breath, opened her mouth to respond, then shut it and turned away. The memory of the slaughter sat between them-the ravaged bodies, shattered skulls-invisible, immovable.
“I won’t do it,” she said finally. “Your ritual.”
“It isn’t my ritual, and I didn’t come here to ask you to take part in it.”
“But you want me to.” She still didn’t look at him. “You’re hoping-or whatever monks do that’s like hoping-that I’ll accept it, that I’ll embrace it. Well, I won’t. You’ll have to carve her out of me.”
Kaden shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that, as I’ve explained before. The obviate, were we to attempt it, seems to require your consent, your active participation.”
“Well, you can’t have it,” she snarled, turning on him in a sudden fury. “You can’t fucking have it! My mother gave me up to my father, my father gave me up to you. This ’Shael-spawned goddess is inside my skull, she forced her way in without ever even asking me, and now you want to sacrifice me. And you can. Obviously. All of you can give me up, can trade me from one person to the next, pass me along as long as you want.
“You can hit me, and you have. You can hurt me, and you have. You can lock me in one prison or the next”-she waved a hand around her-“and you have. You can give me to Rampuri fucking Tan or to the Ishien or to your council.” She glared at him, the late sun’s light reflected in her eyes. “I’m used to being given up by now. I expect it. But I’ll tell you what I won’t do-I won’t accept it. I won’t play along. For a while, a tiny little while, I thought you were different, Kaden. I thought we might actually…” She broke off, tears in her eyes, shaking her head angrily. When she spoke again, her voice was low, furious. “Everyone trades me away like a stone on the board, but I will not trade away myself.”
Kaden nodded. “I know.”
She stared at him, teeth slightly bared, breath rasping in her throat. “Then why are you here?”
He hesitated, but could think of no reason to skirt the truth. “To check on you. There was an attack.”
She stared. “Here? In the Dawn Palace?”
“In Intarra’s Spear.” He pointed down through the dizzying emptiness toward the human floors thousands of feet below.
“And you needed to tell me?”
“I needed,” Kaden replied carefully, “to see that you were all right.”
Triste looked moved for half a heartbeat, then the expression melted off her face. “To be sure she is all right,” she said again. “You think it was il Tornja, trying to get at the goddess.”
Kaden nodded. “I think it is a possibility.”
She glared at him. “Well, since you asked, I am not all right, Kaden. I haven’t been all right in a very long time.” Her eyes had gone wide, vacant. She wasn’t focusing on him anymore. “I don’t even know what all right would be anymore. We’re all going to die, right? Probably horribly, most of us. Maybe all you can do is die where you want to die, end things on your own terms.”
“Few of us have the luxury to act only on our own terms.” Kaden shook his head. “I do not.”
“But you’re not in here, are you?” Triste said, raising her hands to seize the bars for the first time. “You’re free.”
Kaden watched her silently for a moment. “And what would you do, Triste, if you were free?”
She held his eyes, then seemed to slump, as though collapsing beneath the weight of the very notion of freedom. When she responded, her voice was thin, far away: “I’d go somewhere. Somewhere as far from your ’Kent-kissing palace as possible. There’s a place my mother used to talk about, a little village by an oasis in the shadow of the Ancaz Mountains, just at the edge of the Dead Salts. As far from the rest of the world as you can get, she used to say. I’d go there. That village. That’s where I’d go.…”
It was hard to know how seriously to take the words. Triste’s eyes were unfocused, her speech slightly slurred with the adamanth. She had fixed her gaze over Kaden’s shoulder, as though on something unseen in the distance.
“If I could get you out,” he began slowly, “if I could get you clear of the prison and the palace for a while, somewhere else, would you be willing to consider-”