by Brent Weeks
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.
Some invisibility.
She headed down the stairs carefully, putting as much of her weight as she could on the handrail, skipping the steps she’d noticed creaked. Here, at least, was one good thing about being small: she didn’t weigh much. She heard a bell ring from the room where Andross Guile had gone. She made it to the bottom of the stairs without any problem, and heard him speaking to one of the attractive slaves who’d been upstairs.
“There’s a damaged painting in my quarters. Have it repaired by whomever’s the best.”
The woman bobbed and came out of the room, stepping between the Lightguards standing watch at the door.
Teia flattened herself against the wall, but the woman ducked into a slave’s door off to one side. There was a brief opportunity to slip into the room, between the two Lightguards. But if one so much as shifted …
She hesitated, and Andross dismissed them.
The two Lightguards were both big men. Not the hard, professional warriors that made up the Blackguard, and part of Teia couldn’t help but sneer at them. But they did look like they knew what to do with a cudgel. Both had noses that had been broken multiple times and flab over big muscles. The one on the left had the red nose of a drunkard. The one on the right walked with a slight limp. The most salient detail about them, though, was that they took up the whole damned hallway as they walked side by side.
Teia retreated down the wall, walking backward carefully, only stealing glances at the men’s feet so they wouldn’t see he
r eyes. Stairs or doorway?
She pressed herself into the recessed doorway.
They turned toward her door, trapping her.
The one on the left, closest to the door, put his hand on the high latch, right next to Teia’s face. She held her breath. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he said to the other one. He turned his head to the other man as he pulled the latch down. The handle brushed Teia’s shoulder as it turned, but he didn’t notice. He didn’t push the door open, either. Still trapped.
“You touch the brandy cabinet one more time, you’re gonna get us both whipped,” the limper whispered. He looked around nervously. “He’ll smell it on your breath, Arrad!”
There was nowhere to go. If the man moved forward quickly, he’d run into her before she could retreat. She couldn’t open the door herself and slip away; his hand was still on the latch. There was no space to slip between them. They formed a perfect, closed crescent, with her between them and the door.
Before she realized quite what she was doing, Teia was drafting. She was already drafting paryl in order to keep the cloak functioning, and the instantaneous thought shot through her: Is this what other drafters talk about? Reds spoke of feeling their own passions twice as deeply, blues spoke of a cool logic, but Teia had never felt anything at all from paryl. This odd, unlikely creativity or awareness or …
She swept paryl through the second man’s leg. There was a mesh point with paryl between a gas and a solid where you could shoot a stream but still direct it. She’d tried this a hundred times and succeeded twice, both times when she didn’t think about it too much—which was maddening. But it worked again. She felt the knot in the limper’s bad knee, and seized it, solidifying the paryl and pulling until the paryl broke.