The Black Prism
Page 9

Hoofbeats clopped loudly on the bridge above them. Kip’s mind churned.
“Sir, the men are ready,” a man said above them. “But… sir, this is our own town.” Kip looked up. The green luxin of the bridge overhead was translucent, and he could see the shadows of the men—which meant that if he or Sanson moved, the soldiers might see them too.
Silence, then, coldly, the same officer who had demanded Isa die said, “So we should let subjects choose when to obey their king? Perhaps obeying my orders should be optional, too?”
“No, sir. It’s just…”
“Are you finished?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then burn it down. Kill them all.”
Chapter 7
“You’re not even going to pretend that you don’t read my mail?” Gavin asked.
The White barked a laugh. “Why insult your intelligence?”
“I could think of half a dozen reasons, which means you could probably think of a hundred,” Gavin said.
“You’re avoiding the question. Do you have a son?” Despite her dogged determination to get the answer—and Gavin knew she wouldn’t let him dodge this, artfully or not—she kept her voice down. She understood, better than anyone, the gravity of the situation. Even the Blackguards wouldn’t hear this. But if she had read his unsealed mail, anyone else could have too.
“To the best of my knowledge, it’s not true. I don’t see how it could be.”
“Because you’ve been careful, or because it’s actually impossible?”
“You don’t really expect me to answer that,” Gavin said.
“I understand that a Prism faces substantial temptations, and I appreciate your temperance or discretion over the years, whichever it’s been. I haven’t had to deal with pregnant young drafters or irate fathers demanding that you be forced to marry their daughters. I thank you for that. In return, I haven’t joined your father in pressing you to marry, though that would doubtless simplify your life and mine. You’re a smart man, Gavin. Smart enough, I hope, that you know you can ask me for a new room slave, or more room slaves, or whatever you require. Otherwise, I hope that you are… very careful.”
Gavin coughed. “None more so.”
“I don’t pretend to be able to track all your comings and goings, but to the best of my knowledge, you haven’t been to Tyrea since the war.”
“Sixteen years,” Gavin said quietly. Sixteen years? Has he really been down there for sixteen years? What would the White do if she found out my brother is alive? That I’ve been keeping him in a special hell beneath this very tower?
Her eyebrows lifted, reading something else in his troubled expression. “Ah. A great many things may be done during war by men and women who think they may die. Those were wilder days for you. So perhaps this revelation is a particular problem.”
Gavin’s heart stopped cold. For all of a thousand things that had happened sixteen years ago, the one that was most important now was that during the time the child must have been sired, Gavin had been betrothed to Karris.
“If you’re absolutely certain that this isn’t true,” the White said, “I’ll send a man to take the note from Karris. I was trying to do you a favor. You know her temper. I figured it would be best for both of you if she learned about this while she is away. After her head cools, I imagine she’ll forgive you. But if you swear it isn’t true, then there’s no need for her to know at all, is there?”
For a moment, Gavin wondered at the old crone. The White was being kind, no doubt, but she had also orchestrated this situation to happen right in front of her—and the only reason for her to do that was so she could see Gavin’s most honest reaction. It was kind and cruel and cunning all at once, and by no means accidental. Gavin reminded himself for the hundredth time not to get on the wrong side of Orea Pullawr.
“I have no recollection of this woman. None. But it was a terrible time. I, I cannot swear it.” He knew how the White would take that. She thought he was admitting to cheating on Karris during their betrothal, but that he believed he’d always been careful. But young men make mistakes.
“I should go,” he said. “I’ll get to the bottom of it. This is my mess.”
“No,” she said flatly. “Now it’s Karris’s. I’m not sending you to Tyrea, Gavin. You’re the Prism. It’s bad enough that I have to send you after color wights—”
“You don’t send me. You just don’t stop me.”
It had been their first titanic clash of wills. She refused to let a Prism endanger himself, called it madness. Gavin hadn’t made any arguments at all, just refused to be stopped. She’d confined him to his apartments. He’d blown the doors off.
Eventually, she gave in, and he paid for it in other ways.
A moment passed, and she said very quietly, gently, “After all this time, Gavin, after all the wights you’ve killed and all the people you’ve saved, does it hurt any less?”
“I hear there’s some talk of heresy,” Gavin said brusquely. “Someone preaching the old gods again. I could go find out.”
“You’re not the promachos anymore, Gavin.”
“It’s not like any fifty of their half-trained drafters could stop—”
“What you are is the best Prism we’ve had in fifty, maybe a hundred years. And they might have fifty-one drafters, or five hundred at their little heretical Chromeria, so I won’t hear of it. Karris will check on this woman and her son and see what she can learn as she investigates this ‘King’ Garadul. You can expect her return within two months. And speaking of color wights, an unusually powerful blue wight was just seen on the outskirts of the Blood Forest, heading toward Ru.”
A blue wight heading toward the reddest lands in the world. Odd. And blues were usually so logical. It was a distraction, but it was a good one, and it left him almost no time to reach Karris. “By your leave, then, High Lady,” he said, his good manners always partly ironical. He didn’t wait for her approval before he gathered his magic and jogged toward the edge of the tower.
“Oh no you don’t!” she said.
He stopped. Sighed. “What?”
“Gavin!” she scolded. “Surely you didn’t forget you promised to teach today. It’s a high honor for each class to meet with you. They wait months for this.”
“Which class?” he asked suspiciously.
“Superviolets. There’s only six of them.”
“Isn’t that the class with the girl always spilling out of her top? Lana? Ana?” It was one thing when women pursued Gavin, but that girl had been throwing herself at him since she was fourteen.
The White looked pained. “We have spoken with that one a few times.”
“Look,” Gavin said, “the tide is going out, I have to catch Karris. I’ll teach that class next time you see me. No excuses, no fight.”
“You give me your word?”
“I give you my word.”
The White smiled like a sated cat. “You enjoy teaching more than you admit, don’t you, Gavin?”
“Gah!” Gavin said. “Goodbye!”