The Broken Eye

by Brent Weeks

  “This isn’t how Prisms die,” Ironfist said, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “When I was named commander of the Blackguard, they told me what to look out for. Nothing about Gavin Guile has been normal.”

  “What is?” Karris asked.

  “I’m not supposed to say. Last thing we need is every Blackguard playing chirurgeon, wondering if she should obey her Prism, or if he’s going mad.” He looked away and said, “It’s not the first sign, but eventually, they get color in their irises, and eventually, they break the halo. Just like the rest of us.”

  “But…” Karris said. Obviously, that wasn’t what was happening here, not at all.

  “That’s not all. There’s a ceremony, every seven years. I don’t know what happens, but the first time I had the distinct feeling that Gavin hadn’t made enough friends, and he wasn’t going to be Prism afterward. But an odd thing happened: they never had the ceremony, and Gavin kept being Prism. After that, everything changed. If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have seen it, but the composition of the Spectrum changed drastically. Marid Black killed himself, but he’d long struggled with melancholy, and we found a note. The Blue left immediately after Sun Day and was killed in a shipwreck, possibly while fleeing pirates. The Green retired and since has died. The Yellow was called home to Abornea and died months later after being thrown from a horse. The Sub-red withdrew to his estate on Big Jasper and didn’t leave until his death two years later, supposedly of drink and lotus eating. Delara Orange’s mother somehow emerged from what had been called ruinous debts; she’d been gone for much of the previous few years, missing meetings while she tried to beg, borrow, or steal money to keep her house together, but was suddenly present for every meeting. Only the Superviolet and Red seemed unchanged. It was spread out over so much time, and the news of some of these didn’t come for six or eight months later, that everyone was already engaged in maneuvering over who would take those seats. And Gavin and the White and the Red and the High Luxiats and the satraps and everyone else who was anyone jumped into those fights. No one party emerged as a total victor. I’m certain of that. I’ve kept tally of the close votes, especially the close votes Andross has won. He didn’t buy or suborn all the new Colors. It’s been nine and ten years or more now. It would have been clear by now if he had them all under his thumb. Which is probably the other reason everyone wrote off the changes as coincidence. Who would overturn a Color if they didn’t have a plan to put in a friendlier face?

  “But I watched again, three years ago now, at the fourteen-year mark. No one was nervous. No one moved their families around, arranged visits, or wills, or escapes. There were no contenders to be the next Prism. And the day passed in peace. I don’t know what happened. I’ve searched the libraries and every history I can find, but there are no mentions of how a Prism is named. None. Not even speculation. Which tells me the lack is deliberate. This is not the work of one man expunging some records, like I thought at first. It must be the work of generations of men doing that. Think even of the oral histories, which can’t be stopped: even they speak only of parties and gathering of the Spectrum and satraps and luxiats, with a whiff of the usual politicking, and at the end, always, always, total unity and agreement, with ‘Orholam having spoken.’ I know these men, and Orholam could show up in a pillar of fire in the middle of the room and turn half the councilors into goats, and the other half would still not be in total agreement and unity afterward. And I can tell when Gavin is ready for a challenge or a fight or even a game. He doesn’t contain his excitement. He doesn’t even try.

  “And he’s not been excited. Because he doesn’t know. I’ve never been sure whether I should be glad the Prism isn’t part of this conspiracy, or terrified because of that. But this, his eyes, they prove to me that we’re facing something unprecedented.”

  But Karris was thinking about something altogether different. Gavin had appeared to be oblivious to all the angling going on under his nose because he was Dazen, and he was petrified. He hadn’t known what secret alliances Gavin might have made, and he hadn’t known or probably had any way to find out about the ceremony without exposing his real identity. And perhaps no one had bothered trying to enlist his aid for their schemes because they thought he would be dead when they carried them out.

  Gavin had been absent half the time, hunting down wights with Karris and others in every arc of the Seven Satrapies. When he was home, he was pressed into rituals of all sorts, appearances for new discipulae, and even teaching lectures. He sometimes thought his high position meant he could simply ignore the political currents swirling around his ankles like a giant crossing a stream. There were layers upon layers of secrets, and at the bottom of any you might happen to excavate, you might find that it had all been a plot to marry this daughter to that son of a higher class, or to displace another family that had valuable shipping contracts, or a bastard son, or a gambling habit.

  On the other hand, feeling in good health, Gavin might have never even realized that others were plotting what to do when he suddenly died. And then he hadn’t suddenly died. Who would tell him that they had been planning how to take advantage of his sudden death?

  Of course, if he hadn’t thought it all beneath him, if he’d turned his mind fully to controlling the Spectrum, he would have noticed. But Gavin was no Andross. And Gavin had always his own secret to protect. How much had that hobbled him? If someone made a veiled comment that they expected the real Gavin to understand, would Gavin have demanded they explain, or would he have shied away instead?

  Shied away. Every time. He’d hated talking about the war, though he must have practiced those lies to perfection. Hated talking about the past, period. And he’d done everything he could to make none of it matter: disrupting old alliances, forging new ones, destroying powers and dispensing justice where he could, regardless of where those receiving it had stood in the war. It had made him a great Prism, but it had also made him blind to the knives at his back.

  Which was fine, as long as he was so powerful that no one dared use those knives.

  There was more there. Something she was missing. A piece she’d been handed. But Karris was tired from rowing half the night, and worrying, and yesterday’s fighting had left her bruised and battered. And they weren’t home yet.

  “You’ve got a secret,” Ironfist said. “Something I said made you realize something.”

  “Yes,” Karris said. She wanted to explain it all to her commander, her old friend who’d saved her life on a number of occasions, whom she trusted perhaps more than Gavin himself. But she said nothing but, “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “She said you’d say that.”

  “Huh?”

  “The White. She said at some point, you’d cut me off. Exclude me from your counsels. She said you’d apologize for it. She said that would be the moment when you were finally a Blackguard no more. And that it wasn’t a bad thing, but it would hurt. And that it was her fault, not yours.”

  Karris shook her head. “You ever think what a pain it is to work with people who are smarter than you?”

  “No, never,” Ironfist said. Simple statement of fact. Because he didn’t?

  But when she shot him a look, he was smirking.

  She couldn’t help but grin back. For an instant.

  “Dammit,” she said. “Hezik, that asshole.” That dead asshole, their colleague.

  “He was intolerable,” Ironfist agreed.

  “Heard he tried to claim that miracle shot you made at Ru,” Karris said.

  “Asshole,” Ironfist said.

  And they chuckled. They knew when you had to laugh, as warriors know.

  “So what do we do?” she asked.

  “The White said once you cut the strings that you’d be ready to start giving orders. Your command, Lady Guile.”

  It was true. She knew what needed to be done. Karris woke the others, excepting only Gavin, who needed the sleep to heal. She gestured to the lightening sky. “The comm
ander and I need to get back to the Chromeria. We’re already going to be too late for the dawn rituals. Essel, you and Ben-hadad are going to take the Lord Prism to Amalu and Adini’s. You know it?” Essel nodded. “If you have to refer to him by name, you call him Hezik, you understand? It won’t bear scrutiny, but perhaps Hezik will protect the Prism in death as he did in life. We’ll send any backup we can. Don’t hand him over to the Lightguard no matter what.”

  With Gavin’s hair dyed dark, and his beard grown in, and so much of his skin wrapped in bandages and with all the weight he’d lost, he certainly didn’t look like the Prism of old.

  She saw by the end of her orders that Gavin was awake.

  He stood and took Ironfist’s cloak, swaddling himself in the big garment and throwing the hood on. Soon it would be too warm for such, and cause more questions than it staved off, but for the moment it was the right move. He looked up at her, and the movement must have broken a scab because she saw him wince and wince again and a dribble of fresh blood escaped from under his bandage and coursed down his cheek. He steadied himself on Essel’s shoulder.

  “Just when I think I have your measure, dear Karris,” he said, his voice low but steady in spite of the pain. “You exceed my expectations all over again. I am blessed and honored above all deserving to have you as my bride. But you’re right. You must go. My father will have planned mischief and worse for this day. You can’t help them heal me, and you can’t stop him from here. Go, my love, go.”

  Chapter 89

  Teia didn’t wait at the door. Instead, she threw herself at Kip and gave him a fierce hug.

  Oh no. As she froze in his arms, Kip wished for the first time that he was still as fat as he used to be. With his belly protruding, he might have had a chance. As it was, the difference in their heights meant their first point of contact was below Kip’s belt… and right in the middle of Teia’s stomach. There was no way to ignore it. She’d hugged Kip, and there was no way she couldn’t notice.

  She stepped back and looked down, to confirm what didn’t need confirmation. Kip folded his hands in front of himself, which was pretty much closing the barn door after the cows were already out.

  “Kip, what the hell?” she said. “Is that for—”

  For you? Hey, they come on fast, but not that fast.

  The words were out before Kip realized he’d said them aloud. Oh shit.

  “Oh, you were—I’m so sorry!”

  “No! I was—sometimes they just happen. You know, just out of nowhere. You know, to young men.”

  Teia cocked her head, her lips pursed and one eyebrow lifted. She folded her arms, nonplussed. Not Kip’s best evasion ever.

  Without turning her head, Teia swung the door shut behind her with a foot, exposing Tisis.

  Teia’s expression went carefully blank. It did that when she was furious. “Constant as an oak, aren’t you, Kip?”

  “I, I—this isn’t, this isn’t… this is probably exactly what it looks like.” Kip looked plaintively. “Teia—”

  “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this. I need you. Right now.”

  “Pardon?” Tisis said, coming out of the corner as if she’d simply been inspecting the drapes, haughty and put-upon, chin lifting.

  Oh hells.

  “Shut it, bauble, or eat fist,” Teia said. She didn’t turn her head, but her pupils flared as she looked at Kip—flared, in an instant, so wide that the irises were reduced to the tiniest rings, and then those pushed back so far that the whites of her eyes disappeared altogether. Her eyes became perfect black orbs. Kip knew she was gathering paryl, but with her set jaw and sneer, Teia’s suddenly inhuman eyes made Kip want to wet himself.

  Tisis shut it. Teia ignored her, going straight to Kip’s bureau and rifling through it.

  “Kip, you’re a great gushing shit sphincter, but I’ve got more important things to worry about. There’s—” She glanced distrustfully at Tisis, and stopped. She went back to digging and quickly pulled out Kip’s lens belt and tossed it to him. She looked at Kip. “You have any other weapons here? This may get ugly. The White’s in danger. I may be the only one who can save her.”

  Tisis said, “I’m sure a color-blind drafter is exactly what the Blackguards need to do their—”

  Teia pointed a finger at Tisis’s nose, getting right in the older girl’s face. “One more word, poppet. Give me the excuse. Breaker, now!”

  The other thing? Oh, she meant the cards. Kip wedged his fingers behind his bureau and pulled it away from the wall. In the space underneath, he grabbed the card box.

  Teia looked unimpressed. “I really need to show you better hiding places.”

  Kip strapped on the lens holster. “Tisis,” he said, “go to the docks. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

  Teia turned and pointed. “Tisis, there are coin sticks on that rafter.”

  “What?” Tisis said.

  “Use green, moron! Knock them down with luxin and take them with you as you go. We can’t carry anything extra. Orholam’s balls you’re dumb.”

  They left her standing there, fuming, and ran to the lift.

  As they got in, Teia pulled out the gray cloak and fingered the twin black-and-white disks stitched on the back. “Kip, where’d you get this cloak?” she asked.

  “I stole it from a god or a demon or something. Something bad.”

  Teia looked at him, exasperated. “Asshole.”

  “Teia, listen to me. I’m going to marry Tisis—”

  “I don’t care. We need to talk about our strategy upstairs.”

  “Teia! My grandfather has commanded—”

  “So you are working for him. What was all this, part of a ruse?”

  “What was all what? Ruse? What are you talking about? Teia, you of all people should understand!”

  “Of all people? And why’s that?”

  “You were a slave!”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten about that. Perhaps you—”

  “You should understand what it is to have to obey orders you—”

  “—have forgotten that you’re free. Don’t you dare tell me you know what it’s like!”

  “I’m doing it for the squad, Teia.”

  “I could tell. Had your horn up for us, did you? Funny how the things you do for others end up benefiting you most of all. You’re a Guile, Kip. Through and through, and all Guiles are the same.”

  Kip dropped his hands. She was past reason. And the lift was here.

  They got on. Kip shifted the counterweights. He remembered it requiring more weight the last time he and Teia had taken the lift with just the two of them. Teia said, “An assassin of the Broken Eye took a contract from your grandfather to kill the White. He put a paryl trap around the White’s heart. She may already be dead. If she’s not, I’ll need to work on it. If we’re discovered, I need you and the squad to hold the door while I work. Oh, and we have to get past the Lightguards. Not a problem for me alone, but like I said, I may need you once we get in the room.”

  Kip absorbed it in silence. “The squad?” he asked finally.

  “Should be meeting us up there. At least some of them. I sent Marissia to find them.”

  All Guiles are the same, huh? “Fine, I got a plan.”

  “Which is?” Teia asked, as they started ascending.

  Kip said nothing.

  “Breaker, I’m serious. What’s the plan?”

  Kip turned a contemptuous look on her, then looked away, dismissing her. He could practically feel the air chill. It wasn’t fair of him. Dammit. He should open that Lip and apologize immediately.

  But he didn’t. And just as he was reconsidering, the lift stopped at an earlier level. Caelia Green stepped on with her distinctive swinging gait, followed by her Blackguards, men Kip didn’t know well. She looked up at Kip, then at Teia.

  “I think it’s past time we get to know each other, Kip Guile,” she said. “I am Tyrea’s Color after all, and truth is, I don’t know my people all that well, a
nd there are far too few Tyreans here at the Chromeria. You do consider yourself a Tyrean?”

  “Of course,” Kip said. This? Now?

  “Ah. Just didn’t know if you thought you’d outgrown that somehow,” she said. “We should talk.”

  And then she got off at one of the upper levels. Kip and Teia continued on, but there was no way to apologize before they arrived at the top level of the Prism’s Tower.

  The rest of the squad was standing there waiting for them in the reception area. All of them were wearing their grays. All of them were armed, but there was no tension in the air. They were curious why they’d been summoned.

  “Hey, Breaker!” Ferkudi said. “What’s happening? What’s the game? Where’s Teia?”

  Cruxer, though, saw the look on Kip’s face immediately. He stepped close. “The Guile room slave sent us here. Told us to be armed. Said that you and Teia would meet us. What’s—”

  Kip glanced around. Teia was gone.

  Oh, not gone. Just not visible. Keeping her presence secret. Fair enough.

  “No time,” he said, walking past Cruxer.

  Three Lightguards stood at the usual Blackguard post. They were standing side by side, fully blocking the hall. Ten paces behind them, the Blackguards waited, looking peeved about having been evicted, but clearly under orders not to do anything about it.

  Kip stood up on tiptoe briefly as he walked toward the checkpoint to see which Blackguards were on duty. He squinted and drew his green spectacles smoothly from his hip case. “Gav Greyling? Is that you?”

  Big Leo whispered behind him, “Boom.”

  “Ayup!” Gavin Greyling said.

  “What’s your orders?” Kip said, again bobbing up on tiptoe like a little kid to look past the Lightguards.

  “Son, you’re going to have to hold up,” one of the Lightguards said.

  “Not to interfere with the Lightguards. Not in any way,” Gav announced.

  “Boom?” Ferkudi asked, confused.

  “Son, I mean—”

  “Oh,” Kip said to Gavin Greyling, “that’s—” He was close enough. Amateurs.