by Brent Weeks
Tisis, furious, dictated the resolution. Gavin made no objection. When the head scribe brought it to him for his inspection, he nodded and handed the document to Tisis first.
“And on whose behalf are you signing, Tisis?” Gavin asked.
“My own,” she said, as if it were a trap.
“Our service on the Spectrum is never on our own behalf, child,” the White said. She sounded tired.
Tisis sneered. Unwise. She was mad at Gavin, not the White, and it never paid to sneer at the White. “So be it. I sign on behalf of…” All the blood drained out of her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper. She was Ruthgari and her seat was used for Ruthgar’s benefit, but it was a seat held in protectorship. “I sign for Tyrea,” she whispered.
“There is no satrapy of Tyrea,” Gavin said. “Your position no longer exists. As this meeting is a closed meeting of the Spectrum, you’re excused.”
Dead silence fell on the room.
“You can’t do this,” Tisis said.
“Not alone. We did it together. You helped.”
Gavin’s Blackguards were at his side, somehow sensitive to the imminent threats.
Tisis looked around the table in disbelief.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be right back,” Klytos said. “We’ll have the vote immediately. It’ll be five minutes.”
Tisis sneered. “You idiot, you think he took it this far without a plan?” She stood sharply and strode out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
“As the satrap of Seers Island hasn’t yet appointed his Color, the Prism holds his vote in trust,” Gavin said. “And believe me, he wouldn’t want me to use his vote to disband his satrapy.”
Two votes then for him. He gave them a second to finish the arithmetic. Tisis was gone. They needed a supermajority of five, so Gavin only needed four to stop them. No tie was possible, so the White couldn’t vote. The Black could never vote. They knew Delara would vote with him because she needed his help on the war. Jia Tolver always voted with him. Four.
And that was if all the others broke Andross Guile’s way.
“Is there anyone who wishes to call the vote?” Gavin asked. Daring them. Supremely self-confident.
“I do,” Klytos said immediately, finding his courage somewhere.
“Is there a second?”
“Raka,” Andross Guile said to Klytos. It was a heavy insult. “You want to put a loss in the records and establish precedent?”
Klytos paled, then stared around the room, looking for allies. Even those who might have voted with him turned away.
“I—I—wish—”
Rather than let him withdraw the motion, Gavin said quickly, “The motion fails for lack of a second.”
“I move we adjourn,” Arys said. “I’ve a babe to nurse, and I think all of us have messengers to send.”
Gavin had expected as much. “One moment. I want to say one thing,” he said as the Colors were scooting their seats back, getting ready to leave. “You did this. It didn’t have to be this way. If you’d listened to me, Tyrea would still exist, and the Color Prince wouldn’t be rampaging across Atash. If you’d sent a bare thousand soldiers or a hundred drafters, we could have defeated King Garadul. But you, you sent a delegation to study the problem.”
“Peace should be maintained at almost any cost,” Klytos interrupted. “As the blessed Adraea Coran—”
“War is a horror, yes. I know. I know. And pacifism, which you claim to value so highly? Pacifism is a virtue indistinguishable from cowardice.” He sneered. “This war could have been ended before it began in half a dozen ways. If you’d taken your boot off the throat of Tyrea one second before it got strong enough to throw you off, this wouldn’t have happened. I tell you this, if you won’t do what’s right, I will. Things are going to change around here.”
Andross Guile yawned.
“Starting with this,” Gavin snapped. “Father, you’ve treated Kip like a bastard. He’s not. His mother was a free woman that I elevated to a ladyship during the war. As promachos, that was my right. We married in secret because I was young and I was afraid of what you would say. But we did marry. That’s why I’ve never married since. She’s dead now, but she deserves this of me: Kip is my son, not a bastard, a full son. That you’ve cast aspersions on this, that you’ve doubted my own word is, I’m afraid, further evidence of your advancing senility. You’ll join the Freeing this year, my son. If you don’t feel you can hold out for another eight months I will be at your disposal for a more private ceremony sooner.”
No one moved. No one even breathed. A small, detached part of Gavin marveled. He could dissolve an entire satrapy and unseat one of the Colors, and they were perturbed—but see him cross his father and they were flabbergasted.
“Senility?” Barely more than a whisper. Dangerously amused.
And now we find out how far gone to red he is.
But Andross Guile was as cold as an old red could be. He saw the trap. If he screamed, if he lost his temper, he’d be making Gavin’s case.
“If that is what my Lord Prism believes, I shall of course go to the Freeing at the time you appoint. As must surely we all. I only wonder what I have done to offend you? Why do you lash out at me, my son?”
A nice seed to plant, father. Well played. Yes, the Prism can send me to my grave. He can send any of us to our graves. Think about that. Turn it so that I look unreasonable instead.
“No,” Gavin said. “No. You endangered my son. On purpose. No more lies. Grinwoody, take him out.”
“Son,” Andross Guile said, and now his voice was tight. “You will show me the proper reverence.”
“Ignoring you when you act the fool and removing you from the public eye when you disgrace yourself is the proper reverence. Grinwoody!”
Andross Guile’s fingers trembled. His jowls quivered. But he controlled himself. After a long moment, he turned and left, led by Grinwoody.
No one said anything. No one met Gavin’s eyes.
“It would behoove us,” Gavin said, “to begin considering who may be the next Red. I will be amenable to suggestions.” I know I’ve pushed things; I know that I’ve frightened you, and to make up for it, I’ll let one of you have what you want. I’ll let one of you place your woman or man on the Red seat, and not try to place my own. Tit for tat.
You want to plant seeds, father? Let’s do.
“Now, before we adjourn this meeting,” Gavin said, “unless there are any other motions?”
No one said anything.
“Delara?” Gavin prompted.
Her eyes widened as she caught his implication. “I move we declare war,” she said.
“Seconded,” Arys said.
“Seers Island votes for war,” Gavin said. “The Prism votes for war.”
“Atash votes for war,” Delara Orange said.
“Blood Forest votes for war,” Arys Sub-red said.
“But the Red is—” Klytos Blue said.
“You wish to leave the room during a vote to fetch him?” Gavin said. “If you go, your vote won’t be recorded.”
“You can’t!” Klytos said.
Gavin spoke instantly, but slowly, enunciating each word, seizing control of even the speed of the conversation. “Those are very dangerous words to say to me.”
Pregnant silence. Cowards sometimes find their spines at inconvenient moments. But then Klytos withered.
“Your vote and his are entered as no votes,” Gavin said. Truth was, he couldn’t let this vote be challenged after the fact. That would tangle things up for weeks more.
“Abornea votes no, with great personal regret,” Jia Tolver said. Gavin expected as much. She was doubtless under strict orders.
Gavin needed either Sadah Superviolet or the White. He was certain the White would vote with him.
Apparently Sadah thought the same. She was looking at the White.
“Paria votes for war,” Sadah said. And that was the win.
Klytos blinked. “High
Lord Prism, Ruthgar wishes to stand in unity with her neighbors. Ruthgar votes yes.”
“Of course,” Gavin said. He sent the declaration around the room, and everyone signed it. They allowed Andross an abstention, and the White signed it.
The room slowly emptied. No one said a word.
Oddly enough, Jia Tolver stayed behind. Gavin would have expected the White. Jia’s single dark eyebrow was wrinkled. When the last person other than Gavin’s Blackguards had left the room, she leaned over. “My Lord Prism, so you know, if they’d called the vote on your own personal satrapy, I would’ve voted against you. They’d have had their supermajority. Your arrogance always treads the line. Today, you overstepped. You won. You won everything. But don’t count on me as a safe vote ever again.”
She left. Gavin scrubbed his hands through his hair. He needed a drink. He looked at his Blackguards. They looked impassive. He wondered how they did that. They were the crazy ones around here.
He stood and went to the door. They said nothing, but one of the Blackguards preceded him, not a precaution they always took.
The White was waiting for him in the hall.
He didn’t stop, and she motioned to her Blackguard to wheel her along at the same speed Gavin was walking.
“What have you done, Gavin?”
Gavin got onto the lift. “I’m going down,” he said, turning to face her, trying to forestall her from joining him.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. She held him by the force of her personality, let her question hang in the air, demanding an answer.
“I lied and cheated and manipulated, and I won. And I did it all for good reasons. For once.”
“All good reasons?” she asked.
He said nothing. Threw the brake open and dropped from sight.
Chapter 77
“I’ve got something to say. It’s not going to be easy,” Samite said.
Karris had barely finished washing up and getting dressed when Samite came into the Archers’ side of the barracks. Samite was one of Karris’s best friends in the Blackguard: squat, tough, smart, and unfailingly awkward when she tried to be tender. Karris paused, comb in hand. “What’s going on?”
Samite sat heavily on the edge of Karris’s bed. “K, you know how the lords and ladies of the great houses are always trying to get to us Blackguards and make us spies or deserters?”
“I—What does that have to do with anything?”
“One of them got to me. Years ago.”
“What?! Sami, stop! What are you doing?”
“What I should have done a long time ago.” Samite’s face was grim but stubborn. She sat with her elbows on her thighs, hands clasped across each other.
“Who?” Karris barely breathed the word.
“Lady Felia Guile.”
“Lady Guile subverted you?” Karris asked. She’d liked Lady Guile, a lot. Had thought for years that the woman would be her mother-in-law, and the closest thing to a mother Karris would ever know. “How’d she—No, never mind. I don’t need to know. Sami, she’s gone. You don’t need to do this.”
“It was nothing untoward. Two of my brothers were captured by Ilytian pirates and made galley slaves. My family didn’t even know where to start looking, much less how they’d afford a ransom. I went to her. She had people track them down, and ransomed them herself. She brought them here so I could see they were well. She nursed them back to full health, and paid for their passage home. I could never have paid her back; I mean, I used my big Blackguard payout to buy my family a store and a farm. I offered, and she refused. She knew it would ruin my family. She said nothing about it for months, and when she asked me for information later, there was no way I could refuse her.”
A velvet leash, held only by Samite’s sense of honor, of debt. Yes, that was Lady Guile’s style. She’d been a gentle Orange, but an Orange nonetheless.
Samite continued, her voice a dull monotone, as if marching to her own death. “She said she was merely trying to protect her son, and I believed her. He’s the Prism, so I figured we were sharing the same goal. It wasn’t really a betrayal, right? I knew better in my heart, which is why I’m telling you now. But I can’t bear to tell Commander Ironfist. I can’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. Regardless, the last duty she entrusted to me was this: she said that after she died, I was to give you this note.”
Samite handed Karris a small note on Lady Guile’s stationery.
“I don’t blame her, you know,” Samite said. “She might have destroyed me, but it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even about protecting her family. She did what she did for the Seven Satrapies. Sometimes, sacrifices must be made, and it’s usually us small folk who pay, and we don’t always get to know why. When I was young, I hated that, but I’ve made my peace. It’s the way of the world.” She cleared her throat again and stood. “I’ll, uh, I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Dammit, Sami, why couldn’t you have just left the note on my bed?”
“The secrets were eating me up inside. I can’t live like that, Karris. Not anymore.”
Karris rubbed her temples, trying to collect herself as Samite left. The Blackguard couldn’t afford to lose a woman as levelheaded as Samite, not even normally, and definitely not now, not after they’d lost so many at Garriston. She opened the letter.
In Lady Guile’s beautifully practiced hand, it read, “Dazen loves you, Karris. He’s always loved you. If you’ve confronted him with the truth already, please take the time to ask him what really happened at your family’s estate. I know you don’t want to hear this, but a comforting lie has been poisoning your whole life, and that lie is this: that your brothers were innocent in the tragedy that destroyed your family. They weren’t.”
Karris felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She was breathing fast and shallow, holding on to read it all. Lady Guile was not only admitting that Gavin wasn’t Gavin, she was going from that point to tell Karris things Karris didn’t know. And maybe didn’t want to know.
“Your maid Galaea betrayed your elopement to your brothers. They laid a trap at the estate, and tricked Dazen into coming inside. They had chained all the doors shut and only had red light sources, knowing him not to be a red drafter. He alone got out, Karris. And perhaps he set the fires, but he didn’t chain the doors. I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, Karris, but the blood spilled that night isn’t on my Dazen’s head.
“Of course, there was no easy way to let you know what really happened. I had several people over the years try to introduce the topic to you obliquely. You rebuffed any discussion. Please pardon my clumsy attempts to make peace.
“My dear child, Dazen thought you’d fallen in love with Gavin and that was why you’d become betrothed to him. He thought you could never forgive him for what you thought he’d done. After Sundered Rock, I urged him to marry you quickly before Andross could interfere. He refused, Karris. He said he could kill his own brother, and he could lie to all the world, but the one thing he would never do was take a woman to bed who loved his brother. He couldn’t lie to you. Silly fool, he broke his betrothal to you because he loved you.”
Karris wanted to be sick. She couldn’t stop reading.
“And he loves you still, Karris. Believe me, I eventually gave up hope and urged him to marry other women, but he could never get you out of his heart. Please forgive him, child, and please forgive me, too. By putting these truths in writing, I’ve delivered our family into your hands. You can destroy Dazen if you so desire, and this will be proof. I would trust no one else with such power over my son, but I see no other way. I wish only that I’d had the opportunity to say this all to you myself, and that I had done better at making peace between you, that I might see my grandchildren before I died. May Orholam’s light shine on you, Karris. Sincerely, Felia Guile.”
Karris felt numb. She read the letter again, and wondered at herself. How had she believed such preposterous lies in the first place? On the night they were to elop
e, Dazen had sneaked around her family’s estate and chained every door shut and then set the place afire? Or he’d arrived with a dozen men to do the same task—men who had never been found or mentioned again, after Gavin got the armies marching after his brother?
No, this made much more sense. Why else had her father insisted on getting Karris out of the city that very night? Because he knew about the trap his sons had planned, perhaps that he had helped them plan.
And then when it went bad, her father had gladly covered up his sons’ murderous guilt in the deaths of everyone at the estate, and had done so with Andross Guile’s complicity, because it rallied the other noble families around Andross’s favored son Gavin. It had been a conspiracy, just not the one Karris had always thought.
The drums of war had started pounding, and Karris, young and weak, had simply believed that her elders must know things she didn’t. Things that made the war inevitable, that made Dazen’s guilt indisputable.
Since then, Karris had always struggled to bring together the two Gavins she’d known: the one who’d been betrothed to her but then used her cruelly and cast her off like she was garbage, and the later one who broke their betrothal and her heart but then treated her kindly. The inexplicability was what had twisted her into knots: if she’d known Gavin was a cruel cad, she could have written off her infatuation as the stupidity of a young girl deluded by a man’s good looks and charm and power. It was the parts of his character that seemed totally contradictory that kept her in limbo.
And now, instead of the hard revelations prompting gales of tears at years lost and lies believed, Karris felt relieved. At peace.
She took each page of the letter and held it over a candle. Each burned in a flash.
Karris grinned at that. Fire paper. Lady Guile might have trusted her, but that didn’t mean she wanted the letter to be hard to destroy.
Dazen loved her. Dazen had always loved her. And he was holding terrible secrets. Alone. His respect for her, his love for her, had made him keep her nearby. It had made a thousand hard tasks harder for him. If he’d wanted, he could have had her cast out of the Blackguard easily. He could have had her imprisoned. He had never taken the easy way out, not where she was concerned.
