The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) by Melissa McPhail Page B

of his day. So Kjieran kept his nose to his duties and his eyes on his toes, and he never gave anyone a reason to doubt the veracity of his belief or his devotion to the Prophet—least of all the man himself.
    Shuddering as he recalled the icy touch of the Prophet’s hand holding his chin, Kjieran turned a corner and came face to face with Dore Madden. He drew up short with a muttered apology and waited for the man to motion him on, but Dore merely stared at Kjieran with his two dark eyes like bright coals burning in an emaciated skull.
    “Advisor Madden,” Kjieran finally greeted once it became clear that the man was neither willing to step aside nor let Kjieran move on. He shifted his assortment of items in his arms and asked, “Was there something you needed?”
    “You overheard my conversation with the Prophet this morning, did you not, Acolyte?”
    “I was there to attend the Prophet at his behest, Advisor,” Kjieran replied, appreciating Dore’s accusatory tone about as much as he liked the rest of the cadaverous man.
    Dore licked his lips—thin, spindly lips spider-webbed with lines. “I asked about you,” he said, and his gaze flicked over Kjieran aggressively. “You hailed from Dannym.”
    “I am Agasi, Advisor,” Kjieran corrected, “but I was assigned to the King’s court in Dannym for many years.”
    “Gydryn val Lorian is a known heretic who defames the Prophet’s name and seeks to deny his people the benefit of our true faith. How then did you come to escape the kingdom?”
    Kjieran gave him the line he’d practiced so many times with Raine it had become like as truth to him. He dropped his eyes in shame and confessed, “His majesty was…disappointed in my failure to identify the factions behind the deaths of his sons. I left his service in disgrace.”
    “And how did you find your way to the Light of Bethamin?”
    “An Ascendant found me in Tregarion where I was awaiting passage to Agasan. His words, his passion…enlightened me.” That much was true—Kjieran had only needed to wait a fortnight in Tregarion before he crossed paths with the Ascendant, who’d been eager to claim him in Bethamin’s name.
    Dore eyed him surreptitiously. “I am told you are a devoted servant.”
    “I am most honored to be in the Prophet’s service as acolyte,” Kjieran admitted, wishing the man would be about whatever business he had and be done with it. It was one thing to dissemble before the Prophet, who made it impossible not to cower at his feet, and another thing altogether to stand two paces from Dore Madden and hide the utter revulsion that throbbed in every fiber of his being.
    “No doubt you look forward to being elevated to the rank of Marquiin one day.” 
    “As much as you must surely desire it, Advisor,” Kjieran returned.
    Dore licked his lips. “Alas, I am no truthreader to gain such an exalted position.”
    And aren’t you endlessly thankful for it! “What did you need, Advisor?” Kjieran said, anxiously hurrying the man along. “I am about the Prophet’s business and should not delay.”
    Dore gave him a look of indignant annoyance. “You heard no doubt that the prince whose family you once served has done the unthinkable.”
    “I know little of what transpired, Advisor.”
    “I’ll tell you what transpired ,” Dore said vehemently. “Ean val Lorian broke the bond between the Prophet and one of his Marquiin—a profanation of both our doomed brother and our exalted Prophet!”
    “It is unbelievable,” Kjieran said, meaning it. He didn’t believe a word of Dore’s account. Kjieran hadn’t seen Ean since he was but a boy of thirteen, but had he any Adept talent, it would’ve presented by then.
    “I would know anything you might tell me of the prince,” Dore said, finally getting to the point. His eyes bored into Kjieran as he licked his lips again. “You knew him as a child. You knew his family. Where would he go?”
    Kjieran loathed giving Dore any information