by Brent Weeks
I was mother’s favorite? Of course I was. Maybe first she’d lavished more attention on me because she saw how much father’s abandonment hurt me, how much I needed a parent. But we were kindred souls. She’d probably felt guilty that she loved me more. She’d certainly felt relieved when she learned Gavin was actually Dazen. He’d seen that in her face, sixteen years ago, and tried to deny it since.
I’m like the dog with a bone who crossed a low bridge in the fable. I see another dog passing beneath me carrying a bone, and I snap to take his bone—and drop my own into the water, into my reflection.
He looked at the prisoner, who was glancing at one wall of his cell repeatedly, as if in conversation. It might well have been Gavin’s fault that his brother was mad. After all, he was the one who’d kept the man caged, alone, for sixteen years. But it wasn’t the kind of transgression he could fix.
Gavin leaned against his own side of the window, hands pressing the immaculate, unbreakable yellow luxin opposite his big brother’s hands. “I’m sorry, brother. I’m sorry if I drove you mad, and I’m sorry if you were always like this and I never knew it. But I don’t think I can let you out. Not like you are. My world is falling apart. I won’t lie to you about that. I murdered a girl. I’m losing my colors. I’ve lost the woman I love. I… I’m losing everything. But I haven’t lost my mind, and in that, I’m up on you.”
He felt a sudden wave of peace roll through him like a tsunami, obliterating everything in its path, burying his objections, smashing his protests. His brother deserved to be here. Maybe they didn’t get to simply switch places—maybe Gavin didn’t get to be the good brother in his own mind now that he’d determined that the prisoner was the bad brother. But his brother was a bad brother. A bad man. A danger.
If the seed of megalomania had already been sprouting when he was nineteen years old, what would boundless power have done to him if Gavin had let him walk free all those years ago?
Maybe he’d even done the right thing, not just the least bad thing. Maybe locking his brother up had been just.
Maybe not. It didn’t matter. He took a deep breath.
“You started the war on purpose to rally allies around you, didn’t you? You wiped out that village where I’d been hiding and then men flocked to me. Just to oppose you. You could have gotten me to surrender. I would have. And after that first clash where my men won, you killed our messenger. Why’d you do that? All you had to do was grant clemency to my men, and you could have had me. Was that father’s idea, or yours?”
Dazen shot a quick sneer over at the wall. “Look, brother, as nice as this little scam that Lucidonius pulled together is, it doesn’t work for some kinds of threats. Take Ilyta. Which satrapies are going to vote to go to war to bring Ilyta back into the fold? None. But a promachos could do it. The Aborneans have been cheating their tributes for decades. The Parians barely pay attention to the Chromeria. The Ruthgari openly manipulate and dominate with their wealth and their lies. The Tyreans—well, I suppose I’m not in much of a place to say what’s happened to Tyrea since the war changed everything. Am I right?”
“Yes,” Gavin said. His stomach was churning. His joints felt weak.
“You think the Everdark Gates are going to stay closed forever?”
“Ah, the amorphous threat from beyond the Everdark Gates,” Gavin said. “You’re a student of history, at least. Wasn’t it Prism Sayid Talim who nearly got himself named promachos to face the ‘armada’ that waited beyond the gates? That was forty-seven years ago. Long time for an armada to wait around.”
“You look around, Gavin, and you tell me if what we have is working.”
Gavin couldn’t even get the Spectrum to declare war even after Tyrea had been lost and Atash invaded. How was that possible? His brother was right. Their system was broken, and it would take a man of will to make something new.
“War is the only way to be named promachos,” Dazen said. “You need a great crisis. You were our perfect opportunity. We could look reluctant going after you. You were my brother. You were Andross Guile’s son. No one would think it was a ploy. But you kept trying to end our war before it could really begin.”
Gavin felt sick. “And General Delmarta. Was he your man all along?” It had been the general’s slaughter of the Atashian royal family that not only mobilized the satrapies against Gavin but also got rid of one of the families that had opposed Andross Guile.
“It was fifty-seven people. You killed more than that in the skirmish at Tanner Creek.”
“It’s different when it’s in cold blood.”
“Is it?” the prisoner asked. “Do they end up less dead?” He blinked, looked over at the wall, as if someone was speaking to him.
Gavin didn’t answer.
“You tell me, brother,” the prisoner said. “Honest question, because I have no way of knowing the answer: how much trouble have you had from Atash since our war?”
It was a body blow. Before the war, the Atashian royals—last remnant of the orders that had existed before Lucidonius—had caused problems and small wars constantly. If the royal family had still been around with their money and influence, their safe havens and their smuggling ships, the Red Cliff Uprising would have been horrendous. As it was, the uprising had failed almost as soon as it began. The slaughter had worked.
“Let me out, brother,” Dazen said. “You’re finished, and you know it. Forgive me for what I said before. Threats and vileness. I didn’t mean it. I just fell into this cell hours ago. I’d thought I was out, and you beat me again. You’ve got an excellent mind, little brother. But your time is done. I can see it in your eyes, and not just in the colors that you’ve lost. You have the smarts, but I have the will, and now the world needs will. There is a threat out there, and it is growing, and only I can save the Seven Satrapies.”
“You were always willing to do what needed to be done,” Gavin said. “That was the difference between us, wasn’t it?” His breath escaped in a long sigh. “It’s all coming apart. There’s no way I can save it. Gavin,” he said, and it was a relief to call his older brother by his real name. “Gavin, I want assurances. Swear to me, swear before Orholam that you won’t take any vengeance on Karris. I don’t know how she’ll react, and I know you may have to exile her, but swear to me you’ll see she’s provided for. And Kip. Same terms.”
Gavin—the real Gavin—squinted, as if considering the terms and the implications they would have on his reign, moving seamlessly from the mad prisoner to the earnest emperor. “In the sight of Orholam, I so swear.”
Gavin the false reached his hand up to the node on the yellow window.
“Wait,” the prisoner said. “Before you let me out. We’ve unfinished business, brother. What do I do with you?” He glanced quickly over at the wall again, a quick crinkle of irritation, instantly smoothed away.
Gavin hesitated. His brother really was magnificent. “I figured you’d kill me. While I’m alive, I’m a threat, aren’t I?”
“You’ve only got a year or so left. Killing you isn’t necessary. Father owns a little island off Melos that would be perfect for an exile. Used to keep a mistress there.”
“That is… quite kind,” Gavin said. “I, I’ve missed you, big brother.” He raised his hand to the node and dissolved the window between them. Then he drew the dagger-pistols from his belt and pulled both triggers. The roar filled the little space as the lead balls blasted through the prisoner’s body. One punched a perfect hole in his sternum. The other smashed through his teeth and blew out the back of his head. The prisoner’s body dropped. Didn’t even twitch. The acrid, comforting aroma of gunpowder followed.
Both pistols had fired. Ilytian handiwork. Gavin could admire that. The Ilytians made fine pistols.
He looked over at the wall, where the prisoner had been glancing repeatedly, but he saw nothing but the reflection of a dead man.
Chapter 85
Waiting was part of life for a Blackguard. It was service as much as throwing y
ourself in front of a musket or magic. But like most of the Blackguards, Karris hated waiting. She’d come upstairs and heard nothing, then had been instructed to wait for the White, who’d been gone for hours.
Another Blackguard eventually came and told the White’s room guard that there had been an emergency session of the Spectrum called.
Now, after dawn, the White was finally being wheeled down the long hallway from the lift to her own room. Karris’s impatience was quickly replaced by concern for the old woman. She shouldn’t be made to stay up all night. The strain of it was evident on her face.
The White smiled at Karris as she was wheeled into her own room, but it was a perfunctory smile. The White had more Blackguards today than usual—two of the new inductees, and Jin Holvar, a woman who’d entered the same year Karris had, though she was a few years younger than Karris.
Karris and Jin helped the White relieve herself, having to support almost all of her weight. Karris had to help her clean herself.
“My apologies, child. The body fails,” the White murmured, embarrassed.
The two young Blackguards, Gill and Gavin Greyling, studiously avoided looking back. The time would come when the young men would have to help with this. There simply weren’t enough Archers in the Blackguard to have two women on every shift. But right now, they were no doubt simply having to adjust to the very fact that the White needed to relieve herself at all. Karris remembered being young and in awe.
Felt like a long time ago, now.
“You can go,” Karris told the young men. “I’ll meet you back in the barracks to talk. Jin and I will—”
“No, I want them to stay,” the White said wearily. “Jin, you can go.”
Jin left and Karris helped the White into her bedclothes. Karris helped the White totter toward bed, and then helped her sit up. It was, technically, not the Blackguard’s duty, but the White’s room slave was old and frail herself. The White didn’t want to buy another slave when she said she had so little time left anyway, and didn’t want to get rid of the one she had—little though the old woman did for her now.
The White sighed deeply. “Now,” she said. “Work.”
“You look exhausted, Mistress,” Karris said. “And I need to interview these men. They were on duty, earlier—”
“I know where they were. Why do you think I took them with me?” the White asked.
Karris furrowed her brow.
“The Spectrum,” the White said, “has declared war. Tonight we voted on the composition of forces.”
“Pardon me?” Karris said.
“Blood Forest and Ruthgar had already mobilized their armies, and they’re almost here. They’ve known this was coming as soon as Atash was invaded. But no one else will be able to get their armies into the fray before Ru’s fate is decided, I’m afraid. Andross Guile will be in charge of directing the Chromeria’s contribution and managing the Blood Forest and Ruthgari generals.”
“So there’s to be no promachos?” Karris asked. “And how is Lord Guile going to—”
“It is as it is,” the White said. “It was cleverly done when Gavin couldn’t be reached, so he and his new satrapy had no vote. The proposals were managed with Andross’s typical skill. He knows his parliamentary maneuvering. It was war on his terms or let Ru fall. He wanted to be named promachos, and we had to call it a victory to stop him from that. I suspect he didn’t expect to get it, but there you have it. Mobilization will begin this morning.”
Karris opened her mouth, but had nothing to say.
“Now,” the White said, turning to the Greyling brothers, “tell me what happened in the Prism’s chambers last night.”
Gill, the elder brother, cleared his throat and glanced at Karris.
“Don’t spare her,” the White ordered. “She might as well know the truth.”
“Yes, High Lady. Um, Gavin and I were selected for guard duty last night. We’ve been short-staffed, and even though we’re new, there were more experienced Blackguards down the hall guarding your room and down at the lifts, so it was allowed. The Prism arrived an hour before midnight. He greeted us and made some jokes with us—”
“Typical,” Karris said under her breath. “Charm the new blood.”
Gavin Greyling looked away. “I don’t know about that. Anyway, he said something about… um, having been on a long trip with a woman he wanted and couldn’t have.” He licked his lips and studiously didn’t look at Karris. “And he asked after his room slave. Gill and I talked about it this morning, and we couldn’t remember exactly what he said.”
“You interpreted that to mean what?” the White asked.
Gavin cleared his throat again and shifted from foot to foot. “That he, uh, wouldn’t be averse to some, erm, companionship. So when the girl Ana showed up, we figured he’d sent for her. She certainly acted like he had. The Blackguards at the lift said they got a story from her that you’d sent for her, Mistress.”
“So she lied. It’s not the first time she’s tried,” the White said. “Go on.”
“We let her in. We thought maybe it was a common—”
“Not interested in your thoughts on the point,” the White said. “What happened?”
Gavin Greyling shifted again, glancing at Karris. “She hadn’t been in there five minutes when Watch Captain White Oak came up. She said she had important business. We, uh, tried to dissuade her, but she seemed in a hurry, like she didn’t want to be seen in the hall…”
“Tell the whole truth, you bastards,” Karris said. Wooden, but even.
“She was wearing cosmetics, and perfume. Her hair was done, I don’t know, all beautiful. Like a woman coming for an, an, what’s the—” Gavin shot a look at his brother.
“Assignation,” Gill said.
Gavin Greyling shifted from foot to foot.
“Back to when you let her in,” the White said.
“When we opened the door, it was clear that the Prism had… uh, been woken enthusiastically by Ana. And that the watch captain was surprised by it. Watch Captain White Oak ran out, and the High Luxlord Prism called after her. He seemed shocked. He ran after the watch captain and went down the lift to follow her before we could join him. We didn’t know what to do, so we went back to our station, and he returned a few minutes later.”
Orholam. Karris had a sick feeling in her stomach.
“He was absolutely furious with the girl, Ana. We, um, saw her when he went back in, and it was like she thought that they’d pick up where they left off. But he was having none of it. He shouted at her—”
“What did he say?” the White asked.
Gavin Greyling didn’t look at Karris. “He said that Ana had cost him the woman he loved. That he’d thought she was Karris—er, the watch captain—and he wouldn’t have touched Ana if he’d known who she was. That she disgusted him. The girl said some, uh, vile things about Watch Captain White Oak, and the Prism threw her out onto his balcony.”
Oh, Orholam have mercy. Gavin had murdered that stupid girl because she’d insulted Karris? Karris felt like weeping, for Ana, for herself, for Gavin, for the whole stupid world and shipwrecked love.
“We saw…” Gavin swallowed and looked over at Gill, who nodded at him to go on.
“He was shouting and furious, and the girl was so frightened, she jumped off the balcony.”
It sent a bolt through Karris. “She jumped?!” she asked.
“Yes, Watch Captain,” the young man said. “He… he looked mortified immediately. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face. He said something like, ‘Orholam have mercy, I’ve killed her.’ And then he told us to go report it, and that he would be there when we got back. He looked so stunned that we believed him, Mistress. We didn’t know what to do. One of us should have stayed with him. I’m sorry.”
“Wait. He didn’t kill her?” Karris asked.
“No, sir. She jumped,” Gill said.
“And you are both completely certain of this?” the White asked.
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“Yes, High Lady,” they said at the same time.
“Certain enough to tell this tale to the Spectrum itself?”
Gavin paled, but Gill looked confused. If he was a liar, he was the better one. “Yes, Mistress. Why would we lie?”
The White said, “You would not be the first Blackguards to believe that their duty to protect the Prism extended beyond the duty to protect his life.”
Gill blinked. “I understand, Mistress. But we barely know Lord Guile. We just started.”
“And anyone who searches your belongings will not find any large gifts among them?”
His face hardened. “We’re new to the job, Mistress, not to honor.”
“Very well,” the White said. “You’re dismissed. Go get some sleep. You’ll likely be wakened rudely for more questions from others, but you deserve what rest you can find.”
She dismissed them and they left, grateful.
Karris turned to the White. “You seemed like you expected that.”
“Of course I did. I already interviewed them earlier. I wanted to see if they’d changed their story. And… I wanted you to hear that the man you love was somewhat innocent of both crimes.”
Karris blinked. The man I love? Both crimes? “What? What?!”
“He’s rebuffed that girl at least twice before. And apparently he had good reason to believe you were coming to his bed last night, seeing as you did.”
Karris squirmed, but had nothing to say.
“You know that Blackguards are forbidden to make love with their charges, don’t you, Karris?”
“Yes, Mistress.” She swallowed. She’d been stupider last night than she could believe. She was normally so rational!
“Have you spoken with Commander Ironfist about this matter?” the White asked. “Help me scoot down here, will you?”
Karris helped the White shift from sitting up in bed to lying down. “Um, no, Mistress. I—I’m afraid I acted impulsively last night, and before that I never thought it would be a, um, temptation.” She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.