by Brent Weeks
He cut her bonds. She didn’t stand, just lay there, rubbing life back into her limbs, the wood grain beneath her face somehow reassuring.
“So think of that, if you ever are struck by a desire to confess to them. They cannot help but suspect you. All you do, in their eyes, is tainted by the fact that only a beast would hide from Orholam. They will never trust you. Think of what they have done before to drafters of paryl, a mere color invisible to them.”
They hunted them down. More than once. Because they feared them. Because seven colors sounded right to them.
He reached over and turned the knob of the lantern down, extinguishing it. The room was plunged into darkness, but even that wasn’t total. Bits of light leaked in around the shutters.
“Tell me, Adrasteia,” he said quietly. “It’s dark here. Have you disappeared because it’s dark?”
“No,” she said.
“Are you different because it’s dark? Taller? Thinner? Smarter?”
“No,” she answered, uncertain.
“Tell me, have you ever been, say, trapped in a bathtub and a visitor comes, and your clothes are on the opposite side of the room?”
She still didn’t know what he wanted to hear, and she only wanted to give him what he wanted. She sat up. “Uh, I was trapped changing after Blackguard training last year. Someone took my clothes as a prank. Is that what you mean?”
He didn’t answer. “Tell me, were you doing anything wrong?”
“No,” she ventured. Unless you counted letting yourself be vulnerable to having a prank played on you in the first place as wrong.
“No. And yet you would have been ashamed to walk out into the eyes of passersby, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“But if it had been dark, you wouldn’t have been embarrassed, would you?”
“No.” She was starting to see it now.
“You probably hid, didn’t you? But it wasn’t because you were bad, on the contrary, it was because you were modest. Because you were good, as they would call good. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“So not all shame comes from wrongdoing, and not all hiding is evidence of moral failure, is it?”
“No,” she said.
“And so we stumble together onto the truth: Darkness is freedom. And that is why they hate it. That is why they fear it. Because some abuse freedom, they want none to have freedom. Because light is power, they wish to control light itself. But freedom need not be feared, and light cannot be chained. It is ever more than we see and more than we know, and when we hold it too tightly, it dazzles us and makes us blind. You and I, Adrasteia, we are called to serve in the dark. And look. You’re not blind now, are you?”
Indeed, her eyes had adjusted, even without her using her tricks. It was natural. Her eyes knew what to do in darkness.
“We are the friends of light, but not its chattel. We do not fear its lash. We are equanimous; we know we are both meat and breath, flesh and spirit, animal and angel, and neither more truly one than the other. We are the priests of light and darkness, the arbiters of dusk. Neither day nor night is our master. And do you know what happens when a woman walks without fear?”
Teia shook her head, but there was a sudden longing deep in her that swelled so strong it paralyzed her tongue. Tell me. Tell me.
“She becomes.”
Becomes what? Teia didn’t say the words aloud, but he knew what she was thinking, for he answered:
“She becomes whatever she wills. Minus only one thing.” In the dark, he held up a finger, almost like he was scolding her.
Teia was silent now. The question was obvious, and now she didn’t want to ask it.
Sharp said, “She has one thing she can never be, never again. You know what it is, don’t you?”
The words came unbidden to her lips, from a place so dark no light had ever touched it: “A slave.”
Chapter 70
After Karris made him look like a complete asshole, Kip went to the Prism’s exercise chamber. He hoped Teia would be there. He didn’t want to talk about it, but training with her was better than training alone. She made him feel better, just by being there.
She wasn’t there.
He tried this week’s layout of the obstacle course, sinking into the blessed distraction of taking apart problems—how could you transition from swinging across the ropes to leaping that pit to climbing that wall without stopping? It was a warrior’s meditation. Of course, the calm of it was punctuated when he figured out a perfect combination. He’d need to swing one-handed, left, then right, to build up momentum, and then swing his whole body up parallel: he’d clear pit and wall all in one move. He tried it twice, and had to accept that he wasn’t strong enough to lift his bulk the way he would need to.
Brain better than body. Again.
He ended on the heavy sawdust bag, as usual, trying to break it open. His fists were getting tougher all the time, and he’d been building up scar tissue and calluses on his knuckles slowly, but he still wrapped his hands in luxin in order to protect his wrists. As usual, after doing his drills, he finished up by working on that one loose stitch. It didn’t seem to have budged in six months.
Kip was just finishing pounding on that one side with all his fury when someone cleared his throat. Kip almost wet himself.
Commander Ironfist was setting down a stack of books on a side table. Books? Down here? But Kip was more worried about the dubious look on the commander’s face. Ironfist strode over and wordlessly examined the loose stitch.
“Won’t take but a few minutes to sew that up,” Ironfist said.
Kip moved to speak, then stopped, embarrassed.
“Oh, that’s how it is,” Ironfist said. “You want to destroy someone else’s property.”
“No sir!” Kip said. “I mean… I suppose so, sir.” He scowled. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Can you think of any good reason why I should let you do that?”
Reasons, yes. Good reasons? No. “Have you ever done it, sir?”
“Makes a hell of a mess. Better to stitch it or patch it.”
“So you have!”
Commander Ironfist grunted.
“How’d it feel?”
A twitch of a smile, quickly smothered. “I’m going to repair that bag, Guile.”
Kip’s face fell. “Yes, sir.”
“In six months.”
Why wait six—oh! “Thank you, sir!”
A grunt. The commander walked over to his side table.
“Sir? Should we talk about…?” He couldn’t quite say Lytos and Buskin’s names.
“Oathbreakers and traitors are worth only whatever it takes to kill them, and nothing more.”
He was taking it personally, Kip could tell. The betrayal stung Ironfist as a leader and as a friend. “Karris told you what Lytos said?” How he changed his mind?
“It changes nothing.” The commander picked up a book, signaling that there would be no more about this.
For some reason, though, Kip had found Lytos’s last words, incomplete as they were, to be comforting. He’d said ‘luxiat,’ of that at least Kip was sure. That suggested the attempt really hadn’t been at Andross’s direction. That some luxiat wanted to kill him was bad, but if Andross had wanted him dead at this point… Honestly, Kip would probably be dead.
The commander was reading. Again. With how busy Kip knew he was. It was strange.
Kip sidled over to see if he could see the book better.
A flat stare met him. Commander Ironfist raised a hand and extended three long fingers.
“I’ll, uh, be going,” Kip said.
He got to the door and turned. “Good day, sir.”
The flat stare didn’t alter a whit. The commander lowered one finger. Two.
Kip fumbled with the door, the luxin gloves making him clumsy. He chuckled awkwardly. “Gloves,” he said, dissolving them.
The flat stare of Your Colossal Pettiness bored through him. One.
“Right. Sir.” Kip grinned weakly and got out.
He made his way to the public baths. Before he’d got into the Blackguard, he’d never wanted to come down here. He’d thought that joining the Blackguard would be the end of that problem. The Blackguards had their own private baths.
As if bathing with the perfect-bodied athletes would be better than bathing with average strangers. One or two good-natured jibes about being chubby, and Kip was gone. He knew in his head that the nunks and Blackguards didn’t mean harm, that a rough sense of humor was necessary for survival in what they did. But like Andross said, even an obvious, well-defended target might still be vulnerable. Kip laughed off the jabs and shot back his own and smiled… and never went to the Blackguard baths again.
The main public baths were separated by gender—not that some sneaking each way didn’t happen with some regularity—and though many people opted for thin bathing robes, more went nude. Even the robes were too much sharing for Kip. Once they were wet, they barely covered anything; they clung to every inglorious curve, and were thin enough that you could soap your limbs through them. Kip had opted instead for sponge baths and washing his head in his basin.
There were, however, extensive private baths. Some were reserved for nobility, but others were open to anyone who paid the small fee. Lords got in free, got free soap, got free towels, got access to any temperature bath they wanted, and were given a share of the services of a bath slave, who would bring refreshments or towels. Kip had heard that at other baths in the city and through the satrapies, the bath slave was often a prostitute, but that wasn’t tolerated at the Chromeria. The bath slaves here were the same genders as the bathers and definitely not picked for their looks.
“Any of the hot baths unattended today?” Kip asked the head slave of the men’s side, signing in as a noble. It was one privilege he was not shy about claiming.
An older slave took him to a bath down a long hallway so humid that water beaded on the walls and steam obscured vision. Privacy wasn’t guaranteed: even the small baths could hold half a dozen people at busy times before religious festivals or the Luxlords’ Ball. But most days, Kip would either be alone or have to share with only one other person.
The man left Kip after making sure he had all he needed, putting Kip’s clothing and effects in a basket and leaving him alone with a robe and soap and a summons bell. It was an odd time of day to bathe—late morning—so Kip hung the robe on one of the pegs provided so it would be dry when he got out. Most of the students would be in classes now.
Classes, there was a thought. How long had it been since Kip had gone to every one of his classes?
He got into the water quickly, despite its heat and the solitude. He reclined against the side.
The heat slowly worked its magic on the stiffness in his muscles, and was beginning to unknot his mind, too. What was his problem? Clinging to Karris like that? He needed to grow up. He was basically an orphan, and it was time to deal with that. Someone offers you friendship, and you ask them to be family. For Orholam’s sake, Kip, you smother people. You’re so needy. It’s disgusting.
And this self-pity is sooo helpful. Maybe it’s time to break that habit, eh, Breaker?
Kip scrubbed his hands over his face. He sighed, eyes closed against all the world, letting the steam melt him. When he opened his eyes, there was someone in the bath with him.
“Aren’t you the bold one?” Tisis Malargos said. “What are you doing in the ladies’ baths?”
A bolt went through Kip. He jerked upright and almost fled. Then he looked down. He was stark naked. He was chubby and stark naked and utterly trapped. He swallowed. He looked around for identifying marks to show that he was in the men’s baths, but the private baths didn’t have any. Had the old slave been senile and brought him here by accident? “I’m not—I’m not—I’m not in the ladies’ baths… am I?”
“I’m afraid so.” She was definitely amused. Just letting him wallow in misery.
He looked toward the door, and thought about making a break for it.
“Don’t forget,” she said, “the baths are at the mesh point.”
“The what what?”
“The hallways and changing rooms are part of the island, while the baths are part of the interior of the Chromeria and rotate with all the structures above. This time of day, if you’re not careful, you could end up heading right out in the main ladies’ bath.”
Kip blinked. No wonder he’d gotten lost down here before! With the rotation of all of the Chromeria as it followed the sun, depending what time of day you came down here, a hallway might line up with a different room than it had last time you’d been here. He looked back down at the water. It was pretty soapy, right? Pretty much opaque, right? He sat down. “I suppose this is revenge?” he asked.
A quick, puzzled scowl, then a grin. “Actually, no. I had no idea you’d be modest. Especially not painfully so. Orholam knows the rest of the men in your family aren’t. I confess I meant to put you off balance. I thought you’d be amused. You said you were always seeing me naked.”
Kip cleared his throat, realized he had nothing to say. It was true. If she’d simply been trying to shame him, she wouldn’t have gotten into the bath herself. She simply would have stood or sat outside it, fully clothed.
His mind went back to his grandfather’s words about how if he played his cards right, Tisis would make love with him. And now she was naked, not two paces away. He licked lips that were miraculously dry, despite water and steam and humidity and sweat.
Oh. Oh my.
“You, uh, you paid the slave to divert me here?” he asked. She was in the water up to her collarbones, and the water was mostly opaque, but it was still inexplicably hard to look at her. And just as hard not to.
“I wanted to speak with you privately,” she said.
Speak. He could speak. Right?
Tisis scooted closer until she was seated right next to him. He swallowed. She was sitting so close that it was too intense to look straight into her hazel eyes, the color perfectly complemented by a thin halo-ring of green with tiny tips like wave caps into the hazel. He looked down—and realized that it probably looked like he was trying to stare through the water at her full breasts—and then he realized that it would look like that because it was true.
He snapped his head forward.
She faked a cough to hide a laugh.
It struck Kip like a note out of tune. It was a strange impulse of her, not to laugh at him outright when she could. Did she think he’d bolt if she pushed him just that extra little bit, or was it actual kindness? He looked at her quickly.
“I’m sorry, Kip,” she said. “I’ve been preparing myself to talk with you for weeks now, trying to work myself up to it, and all the time I was readying myself, I was readying myself to speak to a Guile, and I forgot that you’re a sixteen-year-old, too.”
That’s me: underwhelming.
He had a sudden memory of telling his grandfather he liked to be underestimated. And here was the opposite. “What do you want, Tisis?”
She raised her hands in mock surrender. The movement coincided with her sitting up straighter and rising perilously high in the water, her bare shoulders and chest confirming that she was not wearing a bathing robe. “Kip, we have good reason to hate each other,” she said. “Though I like to think my reasons are more substantial than yours are. I know you think there was some big conspiracy against you at your Threshing, but there wasn’t. We always try to scare people. And when you threw the rope out of the hole, I really thought you weren’t allowed to, so I gave it back. It was an innocent mistake. On the other hand, you killed my father.”
When you put it that way… “Whatever that thing was, it stopped being your father long ago,” Kip said.
“Something it would have been nice to judge for myself, rather than assured that by the man who killed him. Besides, your father and uncle destroyed half the world, I—”
“And your family
joined the wrong side to help do it!” Kip said. Man?
“An error we corrected,” Tisis said, her chin drifting up.
“You came out against Dazen? When? After he was killed at Sundered Rock? Brave.”
“I would think of all people, Kip, that you might not be the first to blame a person for what their family did when they were young. You weren’t born yet; I was two. Should I blame you for what your mother did? Because I’ve heard stories—from people who heard them from you. So maybe we should focus on where we are today, and not old fights that we had no part in.”
“That sounds… remarkably sensible,” Kip admitted. It was easier to focus when he was having to dissect her argument, but at the same time, she’d leaned forward and up as her temper got going. He cleared his throat. “Could you, um…” He took his hand and gestured down a smidge.
She looked down, and saw that her nipples were right at the waterline, and the water wasn’t that soapy. “Oh!” She blushed, and with her pale skin, he could tell immediately. She sat lower in the water. “Thanks,” she said. Something touched his naked thigh, and he nearly shot out of the water.
She burst out laughing. “Come on, Kip, as you so pointedly, uh, pointed out, you have seen me naked before. It shouldn’t be a surprise.”
I don’t think that’s how seeing a beautiful woman naked works. “The first time I saw you, I was about go into the Thresher and you looked into my eyes and lectured me about self-control. I thought you’d tear my head off if I dared—and the second time! My grandfather?!”
Her lip twisted. “Believe me, I know I actually owe you for stopping that before it went any further.”
He looked at her and they both burst out laughing.
Her laughter wasn’t seductive; it was hilarious. Full-throated, distinctive, it was the kind of laugh you could pick out of a crowd of thousands, the kind of laugh that snuck out of its cage infrequently and burned the town down when it did, ’cause, hell, it was just going back in the cage again anyway, right? And then she snorted.
They laughed harder, and she blushed and laughed and snorted so hard she ended up trailing off in tears.