The Broken Eye
Page 215

Karris smiled at him, smiled like she knew the game, like she loved that he thought he was going to win, smiled like she was better than he was. He blinked, then, the barest flicker of doubt. She ducked her head demurely and smiled on sweet secrets.
He had a plan. Damn. Andross Guile wasn’t a man to leave anything to chance. He wasn’t going to take a chance, not even a six-to-one chance. Even if he owned all of the other six, he would have a favorite.
But how would he cheat? The ceremony must surely be designed to making cheating impossible.
But Andross Guile knew exactly what those safeguards were. Or who.
Karris looked at the High Luxiat Amazzal. Was he part of it?
“Orholam, all-mighty Lord of Lords,” he said. “Look upon us. Highest Lord and Highest God, thee we beseech. Look upon our efforts and bless them with thy light, thy life, thy favor. This day, Orholam, Lord and High King, Emperor of Emperors, Balancer of Scales, Mighty and Just, Honorable and Pure, Awesome in Power, Wholesome in Mercy, we seek your will and not our own. We seek this day your White, your light, your antidote to night. We, your satrapies, ask your hand to rest lightly on us, lightly on obedient hearts that need only prompting, not compulsion, only guidance, for it is thy purpose which we seek to serve, and not our own. We praise thee, Lord of Luxlords, Light of Nations, Voice in the Stillness, Guide to the Blind, and Path of Mercy to the Benighted. See and move, O God.” Each time he said ‘God’ he gave it the traditional moment of hesitation, of respect. It was a measure of his piety or simply his experience that he made the traditional seem vibrant, like he himself thought even this measure of respect was perhaps too little.
“Candidates,” he said, “come forward. From this time forward, drafting is forbidden. Drafting is an imposition of our will upon the world. Any who draft or who accept another’s drafting on their behalf will be disqualified and executed as a heretic. Understood? If so, repeat, ‘Under the Un-deceivable Eye of Orholam, I understand and I agree.’”
They did so, in unison. Then they followed him to a circle on the floor. Young luxiats carried folding screens out for each of them and set them up quickly. Karris’s luxiat was a pimply, blushing young man of no more than eighteen.
The High Luxiat spoke now only for their ears. “The ceremony must be unimpeachable. Thus, because in years long past others have attempted to destroy the sanctity of it, we have put safeguards in place. No lenses. No mirrors. No jewelry. No strips of cloth in your color. Nothing. Even your hair will be covered. In order to assure all that you are obeying these injunctions, you will strip, be searched, and be given identical garments, randomly assigned, all under the eyes of the Blackguards, luxiats, and each other. No exceptions. Even a White submits. If you object to these rules, you may remove yourself from consideration now. If you don’t object now, and are found violating the rules, you’ll be executed by Orholam’s Glare. You understand?”
They did.
“If you think you see some malfeasance on the part of any other, bring it to the attention of the luxiats. A new Blackguard and luxiat will be assigned to her or him, and she shall be searched again. Appropriate punishments will follow, by which I mean death for the heretic and the Blackguard who allowed the heresy both.”
He left, and Karris stripped down. Her blushing luxiat was far more embarrassed than she was. Then he saw the bruising. Flopping into the river flat on her side had made the left side of her body look like she’d been dead and lividity had set in. His mouth moved, but he was obviously forbidden to speak. Karris ignored it. Years with the Blackguard had stripped necessary nudity of its shame. Besides, feelings about her body would distract her from the game Andross was playing, and you couldn’t play Andross and have any hope of victory if you didn’t give it your full attention.
The High Luxiat was facing seven Blackguards. Each drew a number from a bowl and moved to one of the disrobing lords or ladies. Trainer Fisk—Watch Captain Fisk now—moved to Karris. He gave her a shrug that barely moved his muscle-bound shoulders. “It was supposed to be women to search the women, and men for the men, but with our numbers so low, they said—Orholam’s beard, what happened to your—”
“Just do it,” Karris said.
He did. Not that there was much searching to do. Her hair took the most time, despite that it would be covered. Then he examined both of her hands, her eyes, her armpits, her back, her butt crack, the soles of her feet. Contraband was obviously the first target, but luxin-packing was the second. Fisk was professional and moved quickly, his face a mask.
Seven more Blackguards watched the searchers, and the luxiats, making sure nothing was passed between any of them. The randomness—assuming it was random—of the choice of guards seemed like it would defeat any plan Andross might try to orchestrate. Karris watched the others.
She saw nothing other than their obvious discomfort. She wondered, would someone being passed a—a what, precisely? A colored lens. A drafter could never go wrong with a lens. It would be small, inconspicuous, and allow lethal action.
But she saw nothing untoward.
Luxiats brought out stacks of robes, and at least two Blackguards searched each robe, bending seams to look for hidden pockets, and shifting the piles randomly. The High Luxiat himself distributed them then, also seemingly at random. The robes weren’t even different sizes, meaning Karris was swimming in hers while Jason Jorvis could barely close the robe.
The High Luxiat came to each of them while they dressed, holding a plain wooden bowl. “This is the order you’ll draw,” he said.
“We draw for the order we draw?” Karris asked, deadpan.
He sighed. “Would it shock you that there have been problems about precedence in the past? One goes first, seven goes last.”
Karris shrugged and drew. Six.
She was secretly glad to be going so late. By then, the choices would be constricted.
“There will be seven stones presented. Listen for Orholam’s voice. He will guide you. You each may bring no more than one stone back. Just to warn you, each has multiple layers of paint on it, and there is no way to tell how deep is the true one. You bring it back and plunge it into the bowl full of solvent. Whoever has the White’s stone will be revealed.”
“What do you mean we bring it back?” Karris asked. “Where are we going?”
“That’s it?” Jason Jorvis asked. “No other rules?”
“You really don’t remember?” Ismene Crassos asked.
“My family weren’t on the Jaspers last time.”
“And you didn’t hear the stories?”
“I’m just trying to get the rules clear,” he said.
All Karris could remember from the time Orea Pullawr was selected as White was a boy named Amestan Niel who’d stayed at a neighboring estate for the summer. She’d barely said two words to him in the whole time. Her best friend, whom Karris had told all about her crush on him, all summer long, had kissed him the night before he left. It had been a devastating betrayal at the time. Last Karris had heard, Amestan Niel was now the third largest exporter of wool in Paria.
Somewhere in the tower, something rumbled. Something big.
They all looked at each other.
“Was that part of … this?” Karris asked. But from the startled look on the High Luxiat’s face, she knew it wasn’t.