The Blinding Knife
Page 162

The world didn’t stop. Even as the man was falling, Blackguards were bursting into the room, whistles were shrilling. A sword descended on the assassin’s convulsing wrist, separating his still-loaded gun and gun hand from his body.
The sudden press of bodies was almost a relief. The Blackguards had their priorities. Subdue the threat, secure the area, check the health of the guarded, check the health of the downed guards, notify the chain of command, and so forth. Gavin let it roll over him. He’d taken a good shot, and he’d be lucky if it turned out he hadn’t cracked a rib, but he was alive, and so was the White.
Oddly enough, it seemed that both of the Blackguards who’d been guarding Orea Pullawr were alive, too. One was still unconscious, and the other could only remember being grabbed from behind and having a foul-smelling rag pressed over his face. Apparently whoever had sent the assassin was trying to make some point about the vulnerability of the entire Chromeria by making the assassination as clean as possible. The guns and magic had only come out when the assassination was threatened with failure.
They found the White’s balcony door cracked open, and climbing ropes hanging past it. The ropes were hanging from the roof. The assassin must have tied the rope above and, finding the White’s balcony deadbolted, decided to go to the roof and enter through the door. It was a bold plan that would allow the assassin to escape after the murder by opening the balcony door from the inside and sliding down the rope without alerting anyone. It would have given the assassin valuable minutes to escape alive. This had been no suicide mission. The Blackguard immediately began going down the tower to check every room that had a window or balcony on the north side, looking for accomplices.
Gavin was shaken. A few months ago, he would have killed that assassin by himself. This time, his color-blindness had almost gotten both him and the White killed. He looked at the gray lights burning everywhere in the room. They weren’t gray; they were blue and green. The White had been a blue/green bichrome, so she’d obviously put in colored lux torches so that if something like this happened, she could immediately have light available to draft in a heartbeat. With a lesser assassin, the sudden flood of light itself might have bought her a few seconds. Not this one. But regardless, between Gavin and the Blackguards interrupting, it had worked.
He wondered if the White was well. She hadn’t drafted in years, and she wasn’t in particularly good health to begin with.
Gavin stood with the Blackguards’ help just in time for Karris to come in the door and crash into him. She grabbed him so fiercely, it almost knocked him off his feet. Then he recovered his senses and hugged her back.
“I heard there was an assassination attempt and you were involved and—and you scared me half to death, Gavin Guile!”
“You changed your hair,” he said stupidly. She’d bleached to blonde from its previous dark Tyrean hue. He liked it blonde.
“You like it blonde,” she said.
“He saved my life,” the White said. She walked over. Walked, instead of being wheeled over. Gavin couldn’t see the halo in her gray eyes, but he could see that her eyes were no longer washed out, desaturated. Now they looked like a drafter’s eyes again. And there was fine red color in her cheeks. She looked stronger, younger, and yet her halos were still intact. Mercifully. “They say he spoke before he died. He said, ‘Light cannot be chained.’ Do you know what that means, Gavin?”
“It means we have a problem,” Gavin said quietly.
“It means the Order of the Broken Eye exists and is choosing to reveal itself. And that means we have a problem. The Order has risen. They mean war. Now go, I know you’ve other things in mind for tonight, and I’ll be up until all hours telling my story and giving orders and taking questions. I’ll handle all this. You…” She waved him toward Karris. “You handle all that.” And then she winked.
“Thank you,” Gavin said. He might have blushed a little.
“No, Gavin, thank you,” the White said. “Thank you.”
Of course, it wasn’t as easy as simply going back to his room. The room had to be searched—and Gavin held his breath when they searched the closet—and then guards had to be posted. Marissia sat on her little slave’s stool by the door, looking like she was trying to be invisible to Karris, but didn’t want to leave without being dismissed in case Gavin needed anything. Gavin absolutely refused to have a Blackguard in the room with him. “Karris is here. She’s a Blackguard.” While he argued, he gave Marissia a glance and a tiny wave. She looked grateful, and slipped out the door silently.
“Mmm, we’re assuming she might be… preoccupied, Lord Prism,” Watch Captain Blademan said dryly. What, did Ironfist offer a class in that attitude? “Someone attacked the White by climbing up to her balcony; we’re not leaving you in danger.”
In the end, they posted two Blackguards out on the balcony and pulled a curtain. The men were both given heavy wool cloaks and hats and told not to come inside until Gavin rapped on the glass—if he rapped on the glass. Other guards were posted outside the definitely-not-soundproof doors.
Being worth killing was a real pain in the ass.
“How are you?” Karris asked as she closed the door.
He barely heard her. He was taking the chance to look at her, really look at her for the first time. It seemed he’d been gone forever. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but she still moved gingerly. The blackness and swelling had faded, though not completely. Karris healed fast. “Your eyes are healing well, how’s the rest of you?” he asked.
“My eyes? I look like a raccoon!” She scrunched her face up like a rodent and made little chirping sounds that Gavin supposed were supposed to be a raccoon.
“Do that again,” he said.
She laughed, embarrassed, and he laughed with her.
“You’re the prettiest damn raccoon I ever saw.”
“Oh, Gavin Goldentongue,” she teased. “With that kind of eloquence, you’re going to charm my—Oh, look at that.” By some feminine magic, without apparently using her hands, her undergarments slid down her legs. She kicked them aside with a hmm, and grinned a self-satisfied grin at him. She looked positively devilish.
Gavin’s mouth went dry. She opened her robe and let it slide down her shoulders and then pool on the floor and she walked toward him. Her chemise was a silk confection, clinging to her lean curves, barely coming down to her hips.
“Are you well enough for me to have my way with you, my lord?” she asked.
“A bit bruised and broken,” he said. He suddenly smiled. Damn Seers. “And a lot pungent. I’ve crossed the seas entire today. And I see that—” No, no don’t mention Marissia. “I see that there’s a bath drawn. I could—”
“You come back and find me half-naked and you want to take a bath?” she asked. But she was teasing.
Instead of matching wit for wit, Gavin looked straight into her eyes and said, “I want this to be perfect for you.”
“I don’t want perfection. I want you, Dazen Guile.”
There was a right answer to that. Gavin cupped her cheek with a hand and pulled her lips to his. She was all that was warm and soft and safe in all the world. He pulled her into his arms and she pulled into him, glorying in the muscles of his shoulders and arms, his sheer size in comparison to hers. He obliged her by enfolding her completely in his arms. Then she squeaked.