The Burning White: Book Five of Lightbringer

by Brent Weeks

  “Oh, I know you do,” Andross said. His voice was ice. “Rhoda works for me, you know. Has a lovely way of turning your neck just so, doesn’t she? Just shy of where you worry it’ll break. Hmm.”

  And now her fury stilled. The threat chilled her.

  It was pure Andross Guile to try to drive a wedge between Karris and anyone who brought her joy. But as she thought about it, she had a hard time believing Andross would tolerate Rhoda’s insouciant flamboyance, or Rhoda Andross’s icy disapproval. No, Andross was simply aware that the woman worked for Karris, and was trying to make her paranoid.

  Karris stopped the form and walked to a hook where her public-appropriate clothes hung, and patted herself with a towel. There were no servants here to fetch her things. Even Andross had come without a slave, leaving Grinwoody behind in an unusual display of respect: the promachos knew how the man’s presence infuriated the Blackguards.

  Karris pulled the loose tunic over her head, then called over to Samite, who was leading the exercise, “I’ll make it up tonight. Twice as hard.”

  Samite nodded sharply amid her own forms. Her own face was beaded with sweat, not from the exertion but from the concentration. Oddly, the loss of most of her hand sometimes threw off her balance, and she wouldn’t let herself falter.

  Karris loved these people. They’d risked so much for her, in the past and now, too. They were helping her reconnect with herself, find her purpose.

  And still Andross didn’t ask about what she thought they were missing that would cost them the war. Didn’t seem to care. Perhaps didn’t respect her enough to even remember, much less to ask.

  Fine. Be that as it may, regardless of who he is, I am called to be who I am.

  “I’m sorry, Promachos,” Karris said. “I was out of line. What may I do to make it up to you?”

  His eyebrows twitched up. He took off his lightly tinted spectacles that he wore in the darker hours, and squinted at her, pulling a darker pair from his pocket as the sunlight dawned over the wall and onto the topside yard—the lower areas having been yielded to the many hundreds of less experienced drafters needing training in the martial arts. But as Andross squinted at her, the light struck his face full, and Karris thought she glimpsed a cornucopia of colors in them. Red and the sparking of sub-red, of course, but also orange, and yellow, a hint of green? But Karris was certain that Andross’s arc of colors only went from sub-red to yellow.

  Odd, but maybe it was a reflection or natural coloration she’d never noticed. “It’s your son,” he said, putting on his dark spectacles. “You’re ignoring him. He’s come to me to complain about it.”

  “I’m too busy,” Karris said. Zymun. Ugh.

  “Yes, I see that.” He said it as if her work here was worthless play.

  “I’ve invited him to join me here. And at other occasions. Events. Duties.”

  “But never at dinners anymore,” Andross said. “Or to your solar. Or your study. Or anywhere alone. So he says.”

  No games, Karris.

  She took a deep breath. “He . . . touches me in ways he shouldn’t.”

  “Ways he shouldn’t?”

  “You wish me to be explicit?” Karris asked.

  “I wouldn’t ask for clarification if I didn’t want it.”

  “He touches me in ways that are sexual but that might be construed not to be. Kisses my lips, as a son might, maybe, but for too long, too softly. Wants to nuzzle my neck. Grazes my breasts. Wants to put his head in my lap. Trails his hands up and down my thigh, though I ask him to stop. Sniffs while he’s there, as if he expects me to be aroused by it.”

  “That’s enough.” The disgust on Andross’s face was stark. Apparently some things were out of bounds even for him. Marvel of marvels.

  “Then he begs me not to reject him. Tells me how much it hurts that his own mother would push him away. This, as he strokes the small of my back.”

  “Enough. Enough!” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then said quietly, “Shit.”

  “You knew he was like this,” Karris said, heat rising in her.

  “Lots of men bother the slave girls and pressure the servants. I’d hoped the endless stream of women happy to climb into his bed would sate his appetites.”

  “His is not an appetite for sex.”

  “Yes, thank you. I see that now.”

  “I won’t allow him to be alone with me again,” Karris said.

  “You’ll do what you damn well need to!” Andross said.

  “I won’t let him be alone with me again,” Karris repeated calmly. “Nor any of my people. And if anyone is found willing to testify against him, he will be brought up on charges.”

  “This is why you put out that missive to the servants?”

  “You know about that?” Karris asked.

  “I thought you were trying to find the rumors so that you could silence them before they cause us embarrassment.”

  “Then you thought exactly the opposite of the truth,” Karris said.

  “No one’s going to come forward,” Andross said. “They never do. You’re his mother. I’m his grandfather.”

  “Don’t underestimate a thirst for justice. Or the fear of the Guiles. It may lead someone to strike first. And even an allegation from a sufficient source would be enough to stop our Prism-elect from becoming Prism in truth.”

  “No,” Andross said.

  “I’m just telling you, it’s a card you ought to consider in your little games. There are other, better people who would make fine Prisms.”

  “I have plans for him, and you will not—you will not!—destroy him. I’ll find out about anyone who comes to you.”

  “You won’t harm them.” She said it with a whipcrack in her voice, and he looked at her, surprised.

  “No,” he said. “I’ll pay them off. But carefully, in such a way that it doesn’t encourage more accusations.”

  “Father,” Karris said, and there was no mockery in her voice at using the term, which made his brow knit. “Zymun cannot become Prism. He’s stupidly impulsive and rapacious already. If you put more power into his hands . . .”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Andross sneered. “Of course he’ll never be Prism. But it doesn’t mean he can’t be useful in the interim.”

  What?! “You’ve brought a fire into our house, and locked all the doors and chained all the gates. I hope you know what you’re doing better than my brothers did, or it’ll all be ashes again. This time for House Guile.”

  Andross pursed his lips. “You don’t have to meet with him. Ever. I’ll take care of it.”

  Surprised, she said, “Thank you.” And she meant it.

  It was an odd thing, to know what she knew now, from the folio. Andross surely knew all the worst parts of what she’d read. He’d surely participated in some of them, and then had hidden that knowledge from even most (or all?) of the Colors now serving. He had participated in and ordered and committed murders.

  But so had Orea Pullawr.

  Karris found herself unwilling to forgive her old mentor, but also unwilling to condemn her. Why was it so different with Andross? Only because he seemed to truly enjoy being hated?

  Then why did it trouble her so when he partially did the right thing?

  Reluctantly, Andross said, “Now, what’s this about something we’re missing that’s going to lose us the war? Zymun? You think he’s going to wreck the effort?”

  “No. I mean, I’m sure he’d tear apart the Seven Satrapies eventually—but no.”

  “What, then?” he asked irritably. He glanced to the edge of the yard, where Grinwoody had appeared, but waited respectfully. Andross had other business to attend to.

  “It’s my brother.”

  And then something fell into place, and her skin turned to goose-flesh that had little to do with the morning’s cool air. She’d thought it a hundred times: Why me, Orholam? Why would You want me as Your White? And this was the answer: he was her brother, and she was a warrior. She was the only one who co
uld stop him.

  “Your brother the Wight King, I presume, not one of the ones who are ash?”

  She took a breath and closed her eyes. Just when she wanted to see him as human. “Yes, the living brother.”

  “I’m waiting on tenterhooks,” Andross said.

  “He’s going to attack us,” Karris said. “Here. Soon.”

  “I looked into those rumors. Nothing to them.”

  “This is not from any rumor.”

  “You’ve had words from spies? Which ones? Where?”

  Karris chewed on her lip.

  “What is this . . . ?” Andross asked.

  “He’s my brother. I know him. I can just . . . feel it.”

  Andross’s face lit with incredulity. “No, dear. You knew him. You’ve seen him one time in almost twenty years. He is not who he was before two wars and the fire that took him.”

  “He’s my brother. And he’s going to strike first, just as he tried to strike first against Dazen.”

  “You think he hasn’t learned his lesson from how that turned out for him?” Andross asked. “He was a child then. A boy amid the temperamental gang of his brothers, who thought their sister was being taken in by Guile deceit. He’s had a lot of years since then, and everything he’s done has been smart and forward thinking. He’s got supplies pouring into his forces because he didn’t let his men burn the fields as they marched through; they didn’t destroy the mills and the orchards. They left lambs and calves behind. He means to rule, not just conquer.” Andross lowered his voice. “He can win through sheer patience, Karris. If he attacks us now? He could lose everything.”

  “But you’re counting on him waiting. Waiting gives you time to make something else happen that he can’t foresee.”

  “Time is on his side.”

  “Only if he wants to rule,” Karris said. And she thought of the look in his eyes when she’d met with him, a look of hatred implacable.

  Andross tilted his head. “Of course he wants to rule. I just told you what he’s done to prepare—”

  “To prepare for an assault on us. Koios doesn’t care how many of his own people die. What if he doesn’t want to rule? What if he just wants vengeance on all of us for what we’ve done? Regardless, it’s easier for him to build his new paradise on our graves.”

  Andross scowled, thinking it over, but then his scowl softened, and she already knew what he was going to say. “We’ve no reason to believe what you’re saying.”

  “I just gave you a reason,” Karris said.

  “Your intuition? That’s not reason. That’s exactly the opposite of reason; that’s a feeling. A worry. You want to base our war plan on your intuition now? Well! Let’s recall our spies. What a waste of time, trying to actually find things out! We can just feel what our enemies are going to do from now on! It’ll be so much more efficient!”

  “Has anyone told you recently how much of an asshole you are?”

  “No. But only because they’re afraid of me.”

  “Well, I’m not.” It was actually true at the moment she said it. And this, too, felt right. Her purpose was unfolding before her with every action that was in line with the Blackguard she was and every word she spoke that was true.

  “Good for you. Are you going to say it now? Will it make you feel better?”

  Karris didn’t take the bait, didn’t call him an asshole or any of the other words that so aptly applied. She said, “I’m taking over command of the drafters’ training myself. Today. I’ve been helping for a long time, but they’re all mine now. And I’m reclaiming a fair percentage of the incomes I’d allowed you to divert from Chromeria funding. I’ll be using them here to shore up the islands’ defenses.”

  “You will not. I’ll not allow it. Also, we need to have a conversation about those pet luxiats of yours. Not now, but—”

  “I’m fighting alongside you, father. You ask yourself, Is your time so worthless that you can throw it away in fighting against me instead? I require less money than you might lose if a single galley with supplies were plundered on its way here from Ruthgar.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, but if I let you do this, then—”

  “No! This is not a trade. It’s not a game. You do what you must to save the satrapies. That’s exactly what I’m doing, too.”

  “And when Ironfist arrives? You’ll do what you have to then, too?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, and she felt it to the core of her being: this, too, was true.

  Andross turned to go, but then stopped. “I’ve been intending to give you a gift, but I’m afraid it’s fallen through.”

  “A gift?”

  “Yes. Gavin’s old room slave, Marissia. I know you have . . . missed having her help. It turns out she didn’t run away after all. She was kidnapped. I traced her to an island off the Ruthgari coast where she was imprisoned. But it turns out she escaped with the help of mercenaries or pirates. One assumes she must have been desperate indeed to throw herself on the mercies of such people, but at least they didn’t murder or enslave the servants on the island, so there is some reason to hope. Unfortunately, the lord those servants believed they were serving doesn’t actually exist, so I’ve no more leads on who took her in the first place. Anyway, I thought you’d like to know you were right about her innocence, and that she is likely still alive. Who knows, maybe she’ll come back to take up her chains once more.” He smiled thinly.

  No, Marissia would fear she was labeled a runaway. She’d surely believe that if she returned they would sell her to some lesser house—if not to a brothel or the mines. It was unlikely she’d heard Gavin had manumitted her in his will. Even if she had, she’d still have good reasons to fear coming back.

  But all this was a smokescreen, Karris knew. Andross had been the one who’d ordered Marissia’s kidnapping. Not that she could tell him she knew that.

  So what did this mean? It was probably half true. He’d taken Marissia off the table himself, but had meant to keep her in reserve—thus, not murder but kidnapping and imprisonment, likely on one of his own islands. But then she’d escaped.

  Good for her.

  Oh, Marissia, how do I let you know that I mean you no ill? I would give you back your old position as spymaster in a second! But I couldn’t keep you safe.

  Go, Marissia, go and find yourself a good life.

  If there are any left to be found in these war-racked lands.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to muddle through as best I can without her,” Karris said. “Thank you for . . . making the effort.”

  He stared at her closely, first as if waiting for her to say something cutting, as if her thanks was mere setup, but then seemingly surprised it wasn’t. “Again,” he said, then momentarily looked as if he were waffling whether to go on. “Again I see what Gavin liked so much about you.”

  He’s gonna say ‘weakness.’ He’s gonna punch me in the gut with something next.

  But Karris forced her tense muscles to relax, and the insults to lie quiet on her tongue. Even if he hit her with something awful next, she was the White. She could do this.

  For just a moment, Andross’s eyes sparkled as if he knew exactly what she was feeling. A smile like none she’d ever seen on his face flashed, open and roguishly knowing, utterly beguiling. It dropped another twenty years from his aspect.

  Then it was gone, and he was the old Andross once more—and he turned and left without another word.

  And, remarkably, that was that. She took command of the drafters, and she took the money she needed, and his people did nothing to stop her.

  Well, holy shit. It worked.

  Chapter 48

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What order?” Halfcock said.

  But terror had splashed over his face, and it drained away too slowly for Teia to miss it.

  “Is that how we’re going to do this?” Teia asked. “Really?”

  “What are you doing, Teia? Where did you learn to
do all this?” Halfcock asked as if he weren’t paralyzed on the floor, utterly helpless.

  “It was a good fight,” Teia said. “You didn’t blink when faced with an invisible opponent. You’ve got balls of steel. Balls that I let you empty first, so you’re welcome for that.”

  Halfcock swallowed.

  “Seems like a nice lady,” Teia said.

  “Just a whore.”

  “Huh. Too bad, then. Just another innocent killed in this war. But one has to be certain.” Teia shrugged.

  Orholam have mercy, is this who I’ve become? Casually threatening the murder of innocents?

  “You’re not with them,” Halfcock said, stunned. “You’re hunting them!” Obviously, the only Shadows he knew of were the Order’s assassins. “That’s—that’ s—that’s wonderful! They were threatening me!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You have to believe me,” Halfcock said. “You have to believe me! I am not in the Order. I swear by Orholam! I swear to God!”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. “Who’s Eliazar? Husband?” Teia asked.

  “Son,” Halfcock said, defeated. “From her first marriage.”

  “First marriage?”

  “Shit,” Halfcock said. “Look, can you let me—”

  “Do I look like a fool to you?”

  “Aliyah’s my wife,” Halfcock said.

  “You’re not forbidden to marry,” Teia said. “Why the big secret?”

  “Not a secret from us, a secret from them.”

  “Us, Halfcock? It’s so hard to tell what a traitor means when he uses that word. Which ‘us’?”

  “Us, us! I’m not a traitor! I mean the Blackguard. Come on! I had to keep it secret from the Order.”

  “Now, why would you have to keep secrets from the Order?” Teia asked.

  “I never really followed them. I was waiting for the perfect moment to betray them. I could run away if it were just me. I don’t have family, but Aliyah does, and I knew the Order’s vengeance would be terrible. You have to believe me. I was going to redeem myself.”