by Brent Weeks
Kip froze. Fear like lightning flashed through his entire body. He was in a cupboard, helpless, starving, parched. He shivered uncontrollably.
His motion disrupted the nasties and something bit him. He yelped, humiliated, furious. He twisted. More prickly bites, stinging bites, savage bites covered his arm, his legs, his groin, his back. Kip thrashed, throwing himself against one wall and then the other, trying to crush the beasts. Rats were climbing up his body on every side, and they refused to let go. He was weeping. He was so ashamed. There was something about the spider. The spider he'd bitten.
It was too much. He couldn't take it anymore. He was finished. Kip couldn't stop himself. He reached for the rope. He was a failure, a shame, a fat, blubbering coward. A nothing.
He felt the rope pressed back into his hand. "Here you go, Tubby," a satisfied voice whispered. The taste, Kip. The taste was wrong, a kind voice said.
What the woman had said didn't quite register. They were all over him.
Kip pulled the rope. Failure.
A distant clang, high overhead. At once, the stinging ceased. Every slithering, crawling, clinging, stinging thing evaporated, disappeared. They weren't real. They hadn't been real rats. Kip should have known from the spider he'd bitten. Would have known, if he hadn't been such a coward. That goo inside hadn't been guts, it had been luxin. It was all illusions, fake fears. He'd been tricked.
He'd failed. As the platform rose, Kip's brain-no longer fogged with terror-realized what the woman had called him: "Tubby." It was what Ram used to call him. Kip died a little. He'd proved Ram right. Again.
As he emerged, though, the men and women were now dressed in festive robes of their own colors, dazzling sapphire blues, emerald greens, diamond yellows, ruby reds. They appeared jubilant.
"Congratulations, supplicant!" Mistress Varidos said, coming to join the circle.
Kip stared at her, dumbfounded.
"Four minutes and twelve seconds. You should be very proud. I'm sure your father will be."
She was speaking some language Kip didn't understand. Proud? He'd failed. He'd shamed himself, shamed his father. He'd given up. The rage and frustration that had been building up suddenly had nowhere to go, leaving him feeling stupid.
"I failed," Kip said.
"Everybody fails!" the incredibly muscular superviolet said. "You did great! Four minutes twelve! I only lasted a minute six."
"I don't understand," Kip said.
The nymphish yellow laughed. "That's how the test is designed. We all failed."
They surrounded him, men pounding him on the back, women touching his arms or shoulder, all congratulating him. It was a bit intoxicating to be so wholeheartedly welcomed by people who were so beautiful. Now that his brain was working again, he noticed that they hadn't necessarily chosen men to represent the old gods and women for the goddesses. Was that because they'd come so far that it simply didn't matter anymore, or was it deliberate disrespect?
"Is it true?" Kip asked Mistress Varidos, who had stood back some lest the jostling crowd knock her over. "Everyone fails?"
She smiled. "Almost everyone. It's not to see if you can make it through the test, it's to see what kind of a person you are. And fear widens your eyes. Those colors you saw flashing past were the real test. Those will tell us what you can draft. Are you ready to see your results?"
"Wait. 'Almost everyone'? Who doesn't fail?" Kip asked.
The jubilant men and women quieted.
The old woman said, "The only person in my lifetime who didn't take the rope was…"
Gavin. Kip knew it. Of course. His father had been the one man who did what no one else could do, what no one else had ever done. Kip had failed him.
"Your uncle," the mistress said.
My "uncle" Gavin, or my uncle Dazen?
Apparently registering his confusion, she said, "Your uncle Dazen Guile, who nearly destroyed our world. Good footsteps not to follow, hm?"
She was speaking that other language again. After all Kip had seen Gavin do, it was Gavin's brother who'd passed?
"Four minutes is wonderful, Kip, but that's just bragging rights. Are you ready to see your colors?"
Chapter 44
Liv dropped into a curtsey, glad for the excuse to break eye contact with the Prism. When she straightened, Gavin Guile was looking at her critically. Obviously she'd been right, not many women answered his summonses in their work clothes and no cosmetics.
"It's been a long time since I've seen a proper Tyrean curtsey," the Prism said.
After your armies left, there weren't many women left to curtsey. "How may I serve you, High Luxlord Prism?" Liv asked instead.
"Lord Prism is sufficient," Gavin said.
"Thank you, Lord Prism."
He was obviously weighing her, thinking. But thinking what? Whatever else that wretched woman Aglaia Crassos had done, she'd made Liv think of the Prism as Gavin Guile-a man, and a good-looking one at that. His eyes were-quite literally-the most entrancing eyes in the entire world.
Magister, Liv. Tutor. Lord. Luxlord. Noble. General. Twice as old as you. Way too old for you. Not a broad-shouldered, muscular man-just another magister. You can go to hell, Aglaia Crassos.
"Have you chosen who you want to be your magister in yellow?" he asked.
Thank you!
See, I'm a disciple. Purely academic. A child in comparison to him. Hopelessly young and ignorant. She pursed her lips. "Honestly, I'd like to study under Mistress Tawenza Goldeneyes." She could barely believe she'd dared say it out loud. The woman only took three disciples a year-and she already had three. The three best yellow disciples in the Chromeria.
Gavin laughed. "That prickly she-bear? A bold choice. She's the best, and she probably won't hate you as much as you think she does for the first year. I'd have you send my compliments to her when I assign her a fourth student, but she'd doubtless take it out on you. Consider it done. How are your apartments?"
She paused. It was almost a personal question. No, he's simply worried-no, not worried, he's checking that his orders have been carried out. Generals do that sort of thing. "They're better than anything I thought I'd ever have, Lord Prism. And the clothes? I used to have three dresses. Now I've got more than fifty and my worst is nicer than my old Sun Day best." Wait, maybe clothes weren't the best topic.
"And yet you decided to come in this," Gavin said, noticing. Oops. His voice didn't intone disapproval. If anything, there was a thin thread of amusement. But his face didn't give her any expression to know if he was irritated. She should have listened to that slave, Marissia. It wouldn't have killed her to freshen up a little. He glanced past her, and she followed his gaze, but the room was empty except for the two of them, and there were no unusual decorations on the walls, just the normal testing crystal.
"You said to come at my earliest convenience." She couldn't keep a defensive tone out of her voice. "I thought you'd not want to be kept waiting." That was better. Nicely assertive, Liv.
"I think you'll do perfectly."
"Lord Prism?"
"You're perfect because you refuse to be impressed, Aliviana. I like that. It-"
"I wouldn't exactly say I'm not impressed!"
He grinned. "You say, interrupting me."
And proving his point.
Liv decided to shut up. Maybe differentiating herself from all the other women who came here-and were unsuccessful in their attempts to seduce Gavin-had not been a good plan.
"It seems every time I summon a woman between the ages of thirteen and sixty, she comes dressed like a Ruthgari courtesan, either overly eager or completely terrified. Like I run a brothel up here."
Oh, Orholam strike me, what if I've done the one thing that makes me more attractive to him? "You're Gavin Guile," Liv said, like that explained everything. It did. Not only would snaring the Prism totally change a woman's own life, but it would change her entire family's life. Immediately and for generations to come, and for the better. Add gorgeous and viri
le to "Prism," which already meant powerful, respected, and rich, and Liv had no doubt that hemlines soared and necklines swooped. It was a wonder that women didn't come to the Prism naked. How much would Ana have worn if the Prism had summoned her?
On second thought, Liv didn't want to think about that.
"Yes, I am," Gavin said, smirking as if at some private joke. "And I need your help, Aliviana."
Liv swallowed. The truth was, he could ask anything, and there was no way she could say no. "Liv, please."
"Right." Gavin cleared his throat. Why is he clearing his throat? He feels awkward? Does he feel awkward starting an affair with a girl half his age?
Gavin glanced over Liv's shoulder again. "A number of years ago-it feels like quite a number of years ago… I have a… nephew. His mother was Tyrean. I want you to tutor him. It might make him feel more comfortable to learn from another Tyrean. I know you Tyreans don't have it easy here. What do you say?"
Liv spluttered. A "nephew"? A tutor? Kip! Of course! Orholam, she'd gone completely the wrong direction! Idiot! The Prism hadn't even been thinking anything remotely…"W-well, of course, Lord Prism. Is there… why do…" What was she saying? She'd already been impertinent enough. Asking the wrong question about a man's bastard might be a good way to ruin everything. "What color is he gifted with?" She only remembered at the last second to say "he" and not "Kip." She wasn't supposed to know Kip was the Prism's bastard at all.
I would make a lousy spy.
"Green. Possibly blue. He's being initiated right now."
"Right now?" Liv asked. The year's initiations had been completed long ago. Liv had never heard of someone being initiated at any other time of year. "How long has your-how long has he been here?"
"He arrived yesterday."
"And he's being initiated already?!" Liv asked. Poor Kip.
Gavin glanced behind her again. This time, she knew what he was looking at. Throughout the tower, for reasons Liv had never comprehended, there were plain crystals set into the walls. For the whole year, they simply sat and sparkled, dully refracting whatever light they caught from their surroundings, but during initiations at the beginning of each year, they glowed brilliantly. As the supplicants passed through the Thresher, invariably there was the wash of one color after another as each test progressed, the same wash each supplicant saw. As soon as they drafted, the crystal turned a brilliant hue in whatever color they drafted. For Liv it had been superviolet first, then yellow weakly.
The whole time Liv had been here, the Prism had been watching to see how his bastard son was doing.
Come to think of it, if the test had been going on since the first time Gavin Guile had glanced behind Liv, it was taking a really long time. Usually it took less than a minute.
They both turned to look at the crystal. "What did the tester say when they lowered you into the Thresher?" Gavin asked.
"He said something about the only good rebel being a dead rebel, and how he still owed my father blood," Liv said. The point had been, as it always was, to scare the person being tested. Fear made the eyes dilate. Fear made a supplicant draft to the utmost of her abilities. It also helped even the most arrogant young lady or lordling begin their studies with a bit of humility.
"How about you?" Liv asked. Neither of them turned from the crystal.
"Something about my brother," Gavin said. "Turned out to be more right than they knew."
"I'm sorry," Liv said. She wasn't sure if she was apologizing for asking, for the tester, or for the real-life nightmare Gavin had gone through later in having to kill his own brother.
"I never liked that part, scaring them. The chamber is terrifying enough, and the thought of failing is scary enough. They don't have to make supplicants think they're really going to die. It breaks people. It breaks children."
Liv had never thought about it that way. The Thresher just was. Everyone went through it. It was inextricable from drafting, from the Chromeria. If nothing else, every drafter had the Thresher in common.
"The noble girls all knew what was coming," Liv said. "Unlike the rest of us. They knew the test itself wouldn't hurt them, so that bit of talking outside the test was the only thing that made them afraid. Because even if they'd been warned, hearing a tester who claims to belong to your enemy's family say that accidents happen is terrifying."
"Hadn't thought of that," Gavin said. "All my friends were nobles. I thought everyone knew what was coming."
Of course you did. It's just another way the Chromeria's stacked to favor your kind.
Gavin cleared his throat. "Liv, my son might be special, really gifted. We'll find out presently, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's a polychrome. He's Tyrean, his mother just died, he's going to face false friends and unearned enemies just for being my son; he won't fit in anywhere and yet people are going to be watching him all the time. If he's truly powerful on top of that… he could turn into a monster. He wouldn't be the first in my family to handle great power poorly. The gift isn't a pure gift, you know."
"What do you want me to do?" Liv asked. Was she really going to be tutoring the Prism's son? Bastard son, but still. She felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of her. The Prism was just the Prism-well, maybe there was no such thing as being just the most powerful man in the world-but he was a lord to whom she owed service. Normal service. Something not terribly hard, given how completely he'd changed her life.
"Maybe he'll be a monochrome. Probably will be. I'm getting ahead of myself," Gavin said.
"But if he's not?" You've got to let me know what your expectations are or I'm going to fail-and then you'll be mad at me for that. Typical nobleman. Liv felt good that she was able to be irritated. She was regaining her bearings.
"Pretend he's normal. In all ways. I know he'd figure it out pretty quickly if we stay, but I'm going to take him away from here as soon as I possibly can. Until then, give him some normalcy. If he makes you mad, yell at him. Smack his knuckles with a stick if he misbehaves, you understand? But if he masters something difficult, pretend it's good but nothing out of the norm. I want him to know that those who matter aren't going to be impressed by who his father is or how much he can draft."
"And who are these people?" Liv asked sarcastically. She hadn't really meant to say it out loud, but Gavin was being ridiculously idealistic. Of course who he was and how much he could draft mattered. Maybe when you were born on the top of the mountain you could pretend the mountain didn't matter, but those who climbed it and those born at its base who could never climb at all knew differently.
"Me and Orholam," Gavin said, ignoring her tone. "If we're the only ones whose approval he cares about, he's got a chance."
Liv didn't know if that was the most arrogant or the most profound thing she'd ever heard. Maybe both. Whatever else it did, though, it reminded her who and what Gavin was. By Orholam's scowling brow, she'd been glibly sarcastic to the Prism, the man closest in all the world to Orholam himself. And thank Orholam that Liv had turned down that awful woman. Even if it was going to cost her dearly. Spying on the Prism himself? It was practically sacrilegious. As bad as Liv's stupidity and awkwardness and horrifying sliver of infatuation was, how awful would it have been to be a traitor too? She swallowed. "I'm sorry, Lord Prism, I was out of-"
Gavin raised a hand and stood abruptly.
Liv glanced at the crystal but saw nothing. The crystal hadn't changed. She looked over at Gavin in time to see the Prism blanch-then his face was lit up like the sun had just come out from behind the blackest clouds.
A wash of colors flashed through his skin and he threw out a hand toward the crystal. A crackling, shimmering tube of luxin shot from his hand and stuck to the crystal on the opposite wall like an iridescent spiderweb on fire. More and more gushed out of the man, pushing deep into the crystal.
And then, as abruptly as he started, Gavin stopped. A moment later, the crystal glowed a brilliant jade green, and then a less intense blue.
Gavin sighed with relie
f.
"What was that?" Liv asked.
"A secret!" Gavin barked. He gestured, and Liv felt a gust of cold wind and heard the windows drop heavily into their slots.
"Come here," the Prism ordered. His body filled with every color in the rainbow and beyond. A rope of green luxin wrapped around a chain of yellow-infused blue ran from his hand. "Now, girl! I have to be there first to contain this, and he's going to need you."
In a daze, Liv hurried over to the Prism. She didn't even know what he was talking about.
"Get on my back," he said.
"What?"
"On my back, now! Hold on tight."
She jumped on his back. His body was unnaturally hot from the sub-reds he was holding along with every other color. What was he doing? She looked at the chain he was holding again. Then he turned and faced the void outside his window. She squeaked and held on with a death grip.
"Nna tha igh!" the Prism said.
"What?" Liv asked, loosening her grip around his neck.
"Not that tight," he growled.
Even as she apologized, bands of luxin whipped around her body, holding her tight against him. Gavin took a run toward the window and leapt.
Liv's view, at first, was only of the luxin spooling out of Gavin's hand like spider's silk, perfectly matching the rate at which they were falling. She realized she had no idea how far exactly they would have to fall to get to the level of the Threshing Chamber, or how Gavin would know when to stop them. For that matter, how did he mean to get back into the tower from the outside? Hope someone left a window open?
Oh, dear Orholam!
They were falling an awfully long time. Liv's eyes disobeyed her and jumped from the luxin above to the ground below. It was rushing up at them with incredible speed.
Then she was crushed into Gavin's back as he solidified the rope. The pressure threatened to sweep her off of him and straight into the courtyard. They whipped around backward and she saw the rope-chain spooled out to the distant top of the Prism's Tower, and the tower itself was looming bigger and bigger as as they swung back toward its sheer, unbroken face.