The Broken Eye
Page 202

Was he that good? Yes, he thought, of course he was.
He laced up his trousers, readjusted the gold crown on his head, and walked back into the audience hall with a big, big smile on his face.
Chapter 92
“How long do we have?” Ironfist asked Kip.
“An hour.” Kip had told Ironfist only that there was a deal with Andross—and that relieving Ironfist of his position hadn’t been part of it.
Ironfist nodded, not wasting words on the obvious. They had to move fast.
They walked quickly into the Blackguard barracks. Teia met them at the door, playing it off to the squad like she’d just arrived from downstairs. Almost all the Blackguards were on shift today. There was so much work to do on a Sun Day that even the nunks had been pressed into crowd patrol and guard duty and overwatch. There were only four or five Blackguards in the barracks, and those were napping for a half hour or grabbing a quick meal before heading out for more shifts.
Most surprising though, was seeing Ben-hadad. “Oh, thank Orholam,” he said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you all. What is all this stuff? Coin sticks? Weapons? Writs of—”
“Shut it, Ben-hadad,” Kip said. “Not now.”
“I can’t wait to tell you where I’ve been! I was—” Ben-hadad started.
“Ben!” Cruxer said.
“Meet me here in three,” Ironfist said, not even slowing.
The squad scattered, each going toward their own bunks and chests.
“Wait,” Kip said. He already had all his stuff. “What are you all doing?”
The sleeping Blackguards perked up instantly. “What’s happening, Commander?” Stump called, sitting up.
“I’m not your commander anymore,” Ironfist said, not even slowing as he went to his own room. “I’ve been relieved of duty.”
He might as well have hit them with lightning. “What?” Lem asked.
“What the hell!?” Stump asked.
But Ironfist didn’t answer. Kip followed him. “Sir, how much should I tell you?” he asked.
Ironfist didn’t turn. He started loading a pack. “Is what you’re doing right?”
“It’s … not wrong. It’s smart. It’s for the good of my squad and the satrapies.”
“Sounds right to me, then.”
“Will you come with me?” Kip asked. “Even just as far as the docks?”
Ironfist paused. There was a small bag sitting on his desk. He picked it up, looked inside. “Andross. That old fox.” He breathed out again, then he walked over to the painting he kept of a young Parian woman. Took out his knife and slit down the canvas next to the frame. He reached in and pulled out a ceramic tube. He smashed it on his desk. Inside was a slip of paper.
“What’s that?” Kip asked.
“Orders,” Ironfist said. He read them. “From the White. One in the event of her natural death, one in case of her murder. But, no, Kip, I can’t go with you. If I do, whoever it is your grandfather is trying to fool won’t believe it for a second. He has a falling-out with you, and with me at the same time, and I go wherever you go and protect you? It’s too convenient.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Kip said.
“Your grandfather doesn’t understand personal loyalty. He would never guess that I would want to protect you if there wasn’t something in it for me, the old fool.”
Kip’s eyebrows raised. He’d never heard Ironfist speak ill of any of the Colors, even when he clearly thought it.
“Not a Blackguard anymore,” Ironfist said, winking. But the strain on his face was clear. “I can’t go with you. Not after what’s happened.”
“You don’t mean what happened upstairs, do you?” Kip asked, confused.
“Kip. Karris and I rescued your father. He’s back on the Jaspers.”
“He’s back?” Kip said. “He’s alive! I knew it!”
“Quiet! He’s hurt. Badly. Maybe crippled. Maybe unable to … serve as Prism.”
“I have to go to him. I—how can I help?”
“Help by not going to him.”
“What? Why? He’s my father!” Kip’s squadmates were busy with their things, and he wanted to ask them what they were doing, but—his father!
“Because you’re about to be pursued by his enemies. Enemies who don’t even know that he lives.”
“But I want to—”
“Doing what you want will put him in danger. What’s more important to you?”
I wanted to save him myself, Kip couldn’t say. It was what he’d promised to do. Maybe he’d been involved by prompting his grandfather to send more people looking, but maybe Andross would have done that anyway, and Kip had done nothing at all. Another oath failed. Just like he’d failed to find damning information on Klytos Blue, as his father had asked, what? A year ago?
There were too many things happening at once. Too many thoughts and too much pressure. “Where was he? How’d you find him?” Kip asked. “I didn’t even realize you were gone.”
“We saved him from my sister. The Nuqaba. She was having him blinded.”
“Your sister? I didn’t even know you had a—” Kip looked at the painting. It was of a pretty young woman, hair strung with jewels and piled high, vibrant brown eyes lit with orange halos. “The Nuqaba’s your sister?!”
But Ironfist ignored that. He said, “And Andross is right, many or most of the Blackguards would join me if I went with you—even as far as the docks. Think of what happens if you split the Blackguard. What would victory be? If our half killed the others, what would we do then? Murder Andross and then what? Lay down our arms and be executed? Seize control? Rule the Chromeria ourselves? That isn’t who we are.”
“So what do we do? Just let him win?” Kip was furious. He was doing exactly what that murdering spider wanted him to do, but there didn’t seem to be any way out. He couldn’t even go to the one man who might be a match for Andross Guile. His father was finally here—and Kip had to leave? Now? Before he even saw him?
Kip said, “He planned this! He’s doing it on Sun Day on purpose. What everyone will be talking about will be Sun Day and this year’s party, and the new Prism-elect and what does anyone know about him, and there’ll be tributes to the White who everyone loved and speculation on who’ll replace her. Normally it would be a huge scandal that he stripped your commission, but this … That you and me got kicked out … Anything else that happens today will just be buried under the other news, right?”
“If you’re looking for justice, look not to earth, Breaker.” Ironfist looked up suddenly to the crystal embedded in the wall. It strobed yellow, then red, then yellow. The crystals were rarely used—the system was delicate and difficult to fix. It was only normally used for initiation day to announce the colors of new drafters coming through the Threshing—and for emergencies. Only the higher luxiats and Blackguards were supposed to have access to them.
“That’s not one of our codes,” Ironfist said.
“What?” Kip asked, but Ironfist was already on his way out of the room.