But it was right to be afraid. This was the Old Man of the Desert himself.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak for a long time.
Teia flared her eyes to sub-red sensitivity, but he was nothing more than a warm smudge in the darkness. Likely swaddled in many layers, his face so dark that he must be wearing thicker layers over it in case she used paryl and he missed it. “My lord?” Teia asked finally.
“None may wear cloaks in my presence. Put yours on the hook by the door.”
She removed her cloak and stood slowly, certain that he had a cocked musket pointed at her. She groped around until she found the hook, and hung her cloak on it.
Right choice. I made the right choice for once, leaving my cloak back in the room.
“Pull the hook down,” he said quietly.
She pulled the hook and a mechanism snapped around the cloak with a click, securing it in place. So the Old Man of the Desert was paranoid about his Shadows and their cloaks, even when he knew (or thought he did) exactly which cloaks they had.
It was, Teia guessed, perhaps the only way to become an old man when one ran a network of assassins.
A light bloomed in the room, cool blue. It wasn’t for her benefit. She wondered if it meant he was a blue drafter, or he merely wanted to be able to see the expressions on her face as he spoke to her.
The altered voice emerged again from his swaddling robes. “You were seen getting individual training with Karris White Oak some time ago.”
Teia’s throat tightened. “Yes, my lord. The, uh, the Archers try to take care of each other.”
“She took a special interest in you.”
Teia couldn’t tell if it was a question, couldn’t tell if there were suspicions hidden in that statement. “She seemed to like me. We trained together a couple of times.”
“Everything you’ve done tells me I should trust you, Adrasteia. And yet.”
She said nothing.
“A crisis is simply opportunity wearing danger’s cloak. On the other hand, you know what they say about old warriors and bold warriors.”
“Uh.” She didn’t.
“Ah, that’s right. A slave. Not stupid, but not educated, either. No matter. I’ll test your loyalty as we go. The perennial problem of a secret order, is it not? The danger of infiltration? You have risen so fast. And your gifts make you so useful, it’s hard not to put you to work. It could be a purposeful temptation. Hmm.”
Heart pounding, Teia waited again. She turned her palms out, helpless, but didn’t say anything. There were lines here, and crossing any of them might get her killed. On the other hand, she couldn’t seem too self-controlled, too patient, too formidable.
Finally she threw her hands up in the air. She was playing the angry girl who would lash out at anyone. Might as well play her to the hilt. “I can’t do—”
But he interjected immediately, as if to spare both of them the consequences of what she might say, “I have an assignment for you. The new White is isolated, surrounded by enemies, with all her most trusted friends fled or dead. Get close to her.”
“Close? I’m in the Blackguard. As soon as I take final vows, I’ll be near her all the time.”
“I want you to be more than that. She’ll need a confidante. Become that.”
It was the best news Teia could have heard, but she sagged. “I’m… I’m a nunk. She’s the White!”
“She was herself taken under Orea Pullawr’s wing in just this way. Fit the mold. Make her feel she’s doing good by taking you in. That’s an order.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, as if she felt it far beyond her capabilities.
“Adrasteia. You admire her, don’t you? Like her, even.”
Teia swallowed. To lie or not to lie? “I do, my lord.”
“Never forget.”
“Forget?” Teia asked. Playing a little stupid had never hurt.
“You may be called on to kill her and die doing it.”
Teia prostrated herself. “Yes, my lord.”
“Do you have doubts?”
She nodded, still gazing at the floor.
“Good. Honest. I would have thought it strange if you didn’t. Adrasteia, your work is so secret that it will be hard for you to learn the wisdom of the Crimson Path. But I can tell you this. You will matter. To the Chromeria, you’re an exalted slave. For us, you are a woman who will change the world and leave it better for your sacrifices.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You worry about Kip?” he asked.
“He said once that the Order tried to kill him. A Mistress… Hillel?”
“Indeed. She was one of our best. For who expects a fat middle-aged woman to be an assassin? Not a Shadow, though.”
“I… He was in my squad, and he was my owner, my lord. I hated being a slave—I hated being his slave—but he was kind to me. Didn’t rape me.” Teia had to acknowledge her closeness to Kip. Bring part of a secret to light unbidden, and you might be mistaken for honest.
“Listen to yourself,” the Old Man said. “He didn’t rape you. Thus he’s kind? Don’t you see how diseased that is? Their entire system of governance, religion, society… it leads to you, saying a man is kind because he didn’t rape you.”
Teia hesitated. “I… That does seem wrong. But… you won’t ask me to kill him, will you, sir? Can I ask that of you?”
“Oh no, child. That will never happen. Kip is not our enemy. Early on, we thought him insignificant, and his elimination a perfect way to get closer to Andross Guile, who wanted an inconvenient bastard removed. It was a mistake. We have learned since then. I swear this to you, Adrasteia. You will never have to act against Kip.”
The Old Man of the Desert was very good. He was very, very good. So maybe it was the voice modulator. Maybe it was that Teia had spent some time around the very best. But whatever it was, Teia could tell he was lying. Some tiny flutter in his voice, some pause a fraction shortened as if he’d practiced beforehand, the stilted lack of contractions.
For some reason, until now this had been simply an assignment. Now a sudden spark of outrage caught in her soul. You tell me I’m not a slave, but you treat me like a moron?
How stupid do you think I am?
The Old Man must be accustomed to dealing with idiots. He thought he would draw Teia slowly into his circle until she would do anything for him?
Oh, look, a little girl, a former slave, small and stupid. When it comes to deceiving her, I don’t even need to try. It was as if, as she burst from her chrysalis—nothing but that old lie ‘I am a slave’—the Old Man was stomping on her before her wings could spread.
“You’re young, and you know little of our faith yet. It is natural to have questions,” the Old Man said, supremely confident.
Oh. Fuck. You.
This little girl is going to tear you apart, Old Man. You have just become my mission in life. What had Kip said? Diakoptês didn’t mean ‘breaker’ exactly, it was more like ‘the one who rends asunder,’ the one who destroys utterly. On Diakoptês’s behalf and on her own, Teia was going to wreck this bastard.
“I guess I just have one,” she said. “Will it be worth it?”
“Oh. Oh, indeed. We will pull down all the artifice of this world and break it. We will show how hollow the Chromeria is. We will kill their very god and see them scuttle for the darkness like cockroaches exposed to the light of our fury. We will destroy the very edifice on which their power rests, and in the end, they will know we did it for good.”
Teia pursed her lips and bobbed her head eagerly. Took a deep breath, as if this were all she had ever hoped for.
These weren’t madmen. They were something more dangerous. These were zealots. More dangerous than merely bad men because they would never rest, but also more foolish. Zealots always wanted to explain, to gain converts.
“And now,” the Old Man said. “A reward for your good service. And a test, I suppose, to see if you are what you appear to be. You’re a bitter child, aren’t you?”