The Broken Eye

by Brent Weeks

  Drafting even a thread of paryl was enough to activate the cloak. Teia threw the hood up and reached to lace it up over her face. But there were no laces. She fumbled, looking for some kind of fasteners, and when she drew the edges close, they snapped shut firmly, as if lodestones were sewn into them. Much faster than the other shimmercloaks. Even with this cloak, though, she couldn’t cover her eyes completely unless she wanted to be blind: no light, no sight. It might be worth covering them in certain situations, but it would also be terrifying. Instead, she would have to rely on taking quick sidelong glances or creeping around at low levels where enemies wouldn’t be looking for eyes.

  Being short helped the latter, of course, but she was going to have to take care that she not get overconfident.

  The approach of Andross and his guards presented an instant problem. How much did she trust the cloak, really?

  She took deep breaths as the three men approached and stood off to the side, sneaking only quick glances at them to keep her eyes hidden. They passed right by her.

  A thrill went through her body from head to toe. Invisible!

  Andross turned to his Blackguards as they waited for the lift and said, “I’ll be heading to my home. Immediately. Summon a squad of Lightguards to accompany us.”

  Of course, they were insulted by that, and of course, they said nothing, taking it like the professionals they were. But what Teia thought was odd was that she couldn’t remember Andross Guile ever going to his home on Big Jasper. Why would he be headed to his home now?

  The lift appeared before Teia heard any response, if there was any.

  Andross Guile was going to his home on Big Jasper on the very day that his lost grandson showed up at the docks? From how Samite told it, it sounded like the boy was announcing who he was to anyone who would listen. Teia couldn’t imagine Andross Guile going home if the boy was headed to the Chromeria. Andross Guile would go to where the center of action was—or have the action brought to him.

  Which meant Andross Guile was having the boy taken to his home, to meet him away from spying eyes.

  Well, other than Teia’s.

  She suddenly grinned. She leaned out into the lift shaft to see where it stopped. Ground floor.

  After waiting half a minute, she stepped onto another ring of the lift mechanism and set the weights. She descended slowly.

  At the ground floor, she had to dodge several old luxiats piling into the lift. But they moved slowly, and she made it out with little trouble before they could observe that the weight settings of the lift seemed off.

  She searched for Andross Guile then, and couldn’t see him anywhere. She went to the great, open door, soon to be shut for the evening, and spotted him through a swirl of white and black cloaks. He was heading out of the Chromeria. She followed.

  There was something totally empowering, even intoxicating, about walking unseen. Here were the drafters of the world, the cream of the Seven Satrapies, and they couldn’t even see her. No wonder the Order’s assassins loved these cloaks, even without using them to their full potential. This was amazing.

  It was also surprisingly challenging. Teia was used to ducking and dodging through a crowd, but it was one thing to brush past someone who barely saw you, and something altogether different to actually get run over by someone who didn’t see you at all. That, and the fact that the shimmercloak completely cut out her peripheral vision, made simply moving at a walk almost exhausting. She was constantly turning her head, sneaking glimpses of everything, adjusting the paryl bubble as the evening crowds head back across the bridge from Little Jasper to their homes on Big Jasper.

  She was lucky that Andross Guile hadn’t chosen to ride. As a Color, much less as promachos, it was his prerogative. He’d chosen instead to walk, which she hoped meant that he wasn’t going far. She should know where his home was, but the truth was, she’d spent all her time in the wrong neighborhoods. Still, it was an odd thing for a man who just a year ago had seemed practically an invalid. That he walked also meant that he’d picked up four more Blackguards, and an equal number of Lightguards. Six Blackguards might seem overkill, but it was a time of war, and Andross was the promachos. Teia barely counted the Lightguards, other than to note their presence. Pretenders.

  Once they were in the open streets, following was much easier. They didn’t go far, either, and soon Teia saw the Guile estate. Its dome was, of course, gold. The great doors were black oak, studded with garnets. The great crossbeams were black oak over forever-burning atasifusta wood, which had been set alight to announce the Lord Guile was in residence. The garnets picked up the red glow and reflected it beautifully in the fading sunlight.

  The Guile estate was so large it was home not only to one of the tallest of the Thousand Stars, it also had a small yard and garden—enormous luxuries on the overcrowded island.

  Sentry boxes stood on either side of a thick, tall gate sheathed in iron. Some estates had simple wrought iron gates, presumably, Teia thought, to let pedestrians see through them to show off their owners’ wealth. But open-iron gates were a terrible idea for a city full of drafters: stick your hands through the gaps and draft freely. The Guiles valued their privacy or their defense more.

  And here’s where it gets sticky.

  Suddenly, Teia had to ask herself just how much she wanted to follow Andross Guile. He might well simply go into his home and go to bed. All she had was wild guesses and intuitions. She could be risking her life for simple curiosity.

  The Guile guards opened the gate for them. Two of the Blackguards slipped inside, weapons drawn, while two kept an eye on the guards, despite that the men were older and must have served the Guiles for decades. The last two waited with Promachos Guile, carefully scanning the crowds who gave them wide berth.

  Teia took a deep breath and started moving. How good was she at using this cloak? If she did it wrong, this was going to be the shortest infiltration in history.

  Tucking her fears into a pocket, she strode confidently. She drafted her bubble of paryl mist around her. Maybe it would help.

  Someone jostled her, stepping into the seemingly empty space in the crowds where she was walking. Her paryl bubble broke apart silently, but she simply formed it again and kept moving. Andross went inside, one Blackguard in front of him, one right on his heels. The last two, Presser and Essel, nodded at each other, then Presser slipped inside while the Lightguards stood around, shifting, not even professional enough to stand still when at rest.

  Teia didn’t mind; it meant they took up more room, and gave her more space to move.

  The petite, curvy Essel would wait two seconds, scanning the crowd once more, then come in and shut the door immediately. Teia pressed herself against the closed side of the gate and slipped through the crack right in front of the woman.

  Andross Guile was supposed to wait for his security detail to reform, but he was halfway to the house.

  A young Blackguard with a shaven head, Asif, stood at the front door with the Guile guards. He perked up at the sight of his compatriots. Standing guard all day with house guards who don’t welcome your oversight of them was not a favorite posting for a Blackguard, especially when one had to do it alone.

  Then Teia got lucky. Andross Guile went inside and his slave Grinwoody stepped outside, blocking the door. “The High Lord bids you to head to the back barracks, there to await his pleasure.”

  “The back?” Asif said. “But from there we can’t even see who comes through the gates, much less who’s in the house.”

  “The Lightguards will cover the front. You will remain in the back barracks until you are called, or you will be dismissed,” Grinwoody said.

  “We might as well be dismissed if you aren’t going to let us do our job,” Essel said. “I can rest at home better than—”

  “Dismissed from the Blackguard,” Grinwoody said. “The promachos has spoken.” A smug smile lit his wizened features. No wonder people hated him.

  The Blackguards couldn’t believe
it, but in that moment of grumbling and curses under their breath, Teia saw a gap open, and she slipped behind Grinwoody and into the house.

  For some reason, it wasn’t until Teia was in Andross Guile’s very rooms, following the sound of his voice and the footsteps of his chamber slaves, that she realized just how frightening her new power was. She’d been scared by Murder Sharp—but for all sorts of reasons. Teia now, Teia herself, had infiltrated the home of the richest, most powerful man in the Seven Satrapies. She had walked into the house of the promachos himself without so much as an advance plan.

  She could now kill him, unseen, even if other people were in the very room, and without any more than a suspicion of foul play. A man his age, under the stresses of war, dying suddenly? It would elicit comment, but no more. There wouldn’t even be marks on his body.

  Which, she hadn’t realized until this moment, made her scary. It made her a predator.

  The thought more startled her than filled her with awe or even gratification. I’m scary. I’m scary? I am scary.

  Somehow, before, the notion of being invisible had meant to her that she could hide really well.

  It didn’t mean that. It meant that she could strike from shadows—no, not even the shadows—she could strike from anywhere, and simply disappear. She could kill, and be at almost no risk of being killed.

  Murder Sharp hadn’t precisely shown her how to kill with paryl yet, but she had seen him do it once, and she wasn’t stupid. He’d taught her how to pinch nerves, how to move paryl through solid flesh. All you had to do was make as many little crystals of paryl as you could and let them go to the brain or the heart or the lungs. It might take Teia five crystals or ten rather than a practiced assassin’s single try—but what did it matter if you were invisible and no one would notice your failures?

  Andross was being attended by three attractive female room slaves of about thirty years of age. They took his tunic and gave him a sponge bath, with quick, practiced motions, wasting no effort and not getting his trousers wet. He was flabby over a powerful frame, sweaty from a mere brisk walk: a fact he obviously noticed with displeasure. Teia guessed that was why he had walked tonight. He was trying to recapture the vigor of his younger years.

  And vigor it must have been, for he had the scars of a warrior-drafter on his torso and arms. With her eyes downcast, the edge of the hood just high enough to let her see the women’s legs—and to therefore guess when they would move—Teia slipped past them and took a place in a nook on the far side of his bed, well out of the way of any traffic she could imagine.

  In a couple minutes, the room slaves had him dressed again in a dinner jacket, his hair anointed with aromatic oils.

  “You have something to say, Deleah?” Andross said, bored.

  A pause, and then a rush of words. Clearly Andross wasn’t patient at drawing forth reports from his slaves. “It’s the young Lord Zymun, sir. He’s terrible free with his hands. One of the younger girls slipped away from him. He fell while chasing her. He shouted that he’d broke a rib and she’d pay with her life. She’s been weeping since. She almost tried to run away—”

  “Not interested.” He hesitated. “The girl’s name?”

  “Leelee.”

  “The blonde? Kitchen girl?”

  “The same, my lord.”

  “Seventeen years old now?”

  “Thereabouts. Slave girl, so no telling, my lord.”

  “The others he bothered. All blonde? All pretty? Short? What does he prefer?”

  The slave Deleah chewed her lip, thinking. “Pretty, yes, my lord. Though Overseer Grinwoody makes sure all the girls who serve upstairs are. Not much preference otherwise, far as I can see, my lord.”

  Grinwoody came in the room. Andross motioned for his room slaves, who’d been waiting silently, to leave. But as Deleah got to the door, he said, “Deleah. Right side, or left?”

  She turned, blinking, then understood. “The ribs on his right side, my lord. A bruise, not a break.” She clearly wished it had been worse.

  Andross said, “Tell Leelee and the others it won’t happen again.” For one moment, Teia thought perhaps this man wasn’t so bad. Surely the treatment of those in his care is a good test of a man. Then he said, “I’ll not have weeping slaves in this house.”

  The room slave bobbed and disappeared.

  Grinwoody extended a tray with a crystal glass full of amber liquid to Andross Guile. “The vile one awaits in the red parlor, my lord.”

  Andross grinned. “Never liked our toothy guest, have you, Grinwoody?” He sipped the liquor. His mouth twisted. “This is that Barrenmoor?”

  “My lord.”

  “You’re certain it’s coming into vogue?”

  “My lord,” Grinwoody said. It was, again, affirmation.

  “Hmm, that which is powerful and distasteful does have its place, doesn’t it?”

  Grinwoody said, “Let us hope that hiring Sharp does not come into similar vogue.”

  Andross laughed aloud, and Grinwoody grinned. It was more disconcerting than seeing Andross Guile half naked. These men were friends. There was no falsity in that laugh or that grin. They might have vastly different stations, but both liked and respected the other. Grinwoody had clearly been an instrumental part in Andross Guile’s rise. “Any new updates about Eirene Malargos?” Andross asked.

  “None.”

  “I still worry about that.”

  “Withholding reinforcements has always carried the risk of driving her to the enemy rather than making her need us more. But sending them too early would allow her to turn on us later. Your way, she’ll be allied to us forever. It’s worth the gamble, my lord. We’ll know by tomorrow, regardless.”

  “You’ve got all in order to send her the news immediately? Good. To matters closer at hand, then. Have that whore Mistress Aurellea make sure the girl she sends tonight is blonde. Sixteen, seventeen. Slender.”

  “You still wish to reward Zymun?” Grinwoody asked, a tiny quiver of doubt in his voice.

  “I don’t wish to, but time is short. And knowing what he likes in the bedchamber will be one more tool in hand. If he’s as charming as he thinks, once he settles in at the Chromeria such information will be more difficult to acquire. Might as well do it now. Actually, take Zymun up to my solar. Dinner can wait. Make sure he doesn’t see Sharp. And wait there with him. He can cool his heels. Take some of the Barrenmoor. For yourself. Don’t give him any. I want him off balance. You may lay hands on him if necessary.”

  “With pleasure.” Grinwoody bowed and left.

  Andross Guile paused at the door. In his brocade and Abornean goat’s wool and cloth-of-gold and murex purple, he looked a king of old. He put his hand on the doorframe, though, and bowed his head, taking a few deep breaths.

  Then he turned on his heel, sharply, and walked back into the room.

  He came around the bed and straight for the nook where Teia stood. Her heart jumped, and she almost bolted. Almost attacked. She looked to his left, but the wall was too close; she would brush against him.

  The only way open was up onto the bed. She jumped lightly onto the bedframe, one small foot on the side frame, one on the headboard, an arm stretched out to push off one of the bedposts to hold herself in place; if she stepped on the bed itself, she’d leave an unmistakable dent in the blankets and mattress. It was a brilliant bit of balance, especially given how disconcerting it was to not see your own limbs. The only problem was that stretching out so far like this exposed one boot entirely on one side, and her hand and forearm on the other.

  But Andross was already past her, bending down to pick up something that had been placed in Teia’s nook. It was a painting of his late wife, Lady Felia Guile. The frame had been broken, and there was a tear through the middle of the canvas itself. He stood, holding it delicately.

  If he turned counterclockwise, toward the room rather than the wall, Teia would be face-to-face with him. With how much of her was exposed, he couldn’t miss her. Teia
tried to scoot her foot along the frame and the cover of her short cloak, but all her weight was on that foot. It wouldn’t slide.

  Andross turned in toward the room—disaster! But he was holding the painting up. It passed between Andross and Teia, blocking his view, the frame nearly cracking Teia’s nose.

  He carried the painting back to his desk, and Teia, breathing once more, stepped silently back into the nook. Her heart was pounding so loud it was a marvel she wasn’t shaking the entire house.

  “Fee,” Andross said quietly. “Forgive me for this.” He fingered the tear where he’d obviously punched through the canvas. “I was wrong. Like so many other times we fought. You hurt me, leaving like that. It felt like betrayal, but I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have forbidden you the Freeing this year. Oh, but my dear, if you could only have stayed to see me now! One more year! You could have held on one more year, could you not? But I wasn’t myself, stuck in that room. I know. I thought my light would fade before I could do all I promised you so many years ago. I need you, my dear one. What I must do with a sword, you could do with a smile.” He traced the line of her cheek with a finger. “I shall never find your like again.”

  Then he cleared his throat, and composed himself. He hurried from the room as if he could leave tenderness behind.

  Teia didn’t know why, but that unexpected gentleness made her more frightened of the promachos than any coldness she’d seen from him. She knew that if he found out that someone had seen him during that moment, his vengeance would be terrible.

  As if breaking into his house and spying on him would result in only a firm talking to?

  They can only kill me once.

  The thought didn’t make her feel any better.

  Chapter 82

  After giving Promachos Guile some time to get ahead of her, Teia followed. He was at the bottom of the stairs by the time she reached the top of them, and she had to wait. Should have followed closer. Going down the steps would expose her feet, especially if someone were below her. If she had instead followed him closely, the angles would have made it much more difficult for him to see her.