Teia couldn’t even decode the words for a moment.
Kip’s friends had believed he was the Lightbringer. Sure, but they were dumb kids. Kids believed stupid stuff all the time, right?
This was different. Dour Trainer Fisk believing it?
“Why would you—” she started.
“We’ve all heard the stories. It’s just that some people don’t want to believe them. ‘He shall rise from green’ doesn’t have to mean coming from the Blood Forest or Ruthgar. It could mean he starts out drafting green. One of the first glimmers of Breaker’s magical genius showed when he went green golem in the Battle of Garriston—he’d never even heard of going green golem. He intuited it on the spot. His will was so strong, he drafted a green that stopped musket balls, Teia. ‘He shall kill gods and kings’? He’s already done both. ‘He’ll be an outsider’? How much more outsider can you be than a mixed-blood bastard from Tyrea? Each of those things offend the luxiats, and all of them together make their blood boil—as it makes them furious that a Lightbringer would be necessary to put their worship right—but hasn’t Orholam’s work always offended those in power? I won’t put myself on the wrong side of Orholam. ‘In the darkest hour, when the abominations come to the shores of Big Jasper, when Hope himself has died, then shall he bring the holy light and banish darkness.’ ‘Hope himself,’ Teia. That’s Gavin Guile. He’s dead. Our darkest hour is coming. We have to pick a side.”
Teia’d heard it translated as ‘hope itself,’ but that was maybe beside the point. For some reason, Teia hadn’t thought through what it would mean for the world if Kip really was the Lightbringer.
If he was the Lightbringer, he would shake the pillars of the earth. At the Lightbringer’s coming, the pious, the desperate, the poor, the na?ve, the fools, the idealistic, the young—all those would flock not to the Lightbringer, but to their hope of what the Lightbringer would do for them. To those who had nothing, he could be everything.
What had happened to those first tribal warriors who spilled out of Paria with Lucidonius? They’d become Names. They’d ruled satrapies. Men and women who’d been thralls and stonecutters and foresters and mercenaries and brewers had become luminaries and generals and High Luxiats.
At the same time, to everyone who had power now, he would be terrifying. He would bring rebellion even in the best of times. But now? At the very time the Chromeria needed a united front against the Color Prince, Kip might splinter it from within—without even intending it.
For purely utilitarian reasons, the Chromeria itself might want to kill Kip, who’d never shown disloyalty for a moment.
But those who kill their friends for the trouble they might cause don’t deserve friends.
‘Deserve’? Am I still thinking about power as if morality belongs in the same conversation with it?
Teia said, “He didn’t leave me here to spy. I decided my work with the Blackguard was what I was called to. But we are still friends. I don’t deny that. That friendship doesn’t abrogate my loyalty to my oaths, sir.”
“Not yet.”
Teia licked her lips and admitted, “It won’t. Ever. Orholam forbid that such choices ever face us.”
“But if it did…?”
“This is like you’re asking a mother if they had to sacrifice one of their children, which one they’d choose. It’s a cruel question and it won’t happen.” She prayed.
“And if it does?” he asked.
“I’ll do the right thing, sir.”
“Ha! Best answer I could imagine. Anyway, I wanted to let you know where I stand before I raise you to full Blackguard.”
“Sir?!”
“You stand vigil tonight in the Prism’s chapel. At dawn you take the oath with a few of your brothers and sisters. Your first shift as full Guard will be on the White’s detail tomorrow at noon. We’re putting some traitors up on Orholam’s Glare. I recommend you get some sleep now. It’s gonna be a long couple days.”
Teia was thunderstruck. Full Blackguard? So soon? Was Commander Fisk so pressed for new bodies to fill the details, or was he trying to use his time as commander to pack as many good people into the Blackguard as possible? She mumbled a thanks and opened the door to leave.
“He hesitated, you know. Lytos,” Commander Fisk said quietly, looking away from Teia. “At the end. Breaker didn’t tell your squad about it, but he did tell the White. Lytos changed his mind, turned away from his treason. He was moving to attack Buskin to stop him when Winsen killed him. It wasn’t Winsen’s fault, so Kip didn’t tell him. Lytos shouldn’t have been there in the first place, so Breaker kept the burden of that knowledge on his own shoulders. But he wanted the White to know. When you’re a leader, you protect the living first, but you honor the dead as you can. It’s the kind of grace I’d expect from the Lightbringer. And… and Orholam saw to it that word of Lytos’s ultimate faithfulness got to me, the one person to whom it would matter most, so I wouldn’t have to remember him as a traitor. That’s Orholam’s mercy, isn’t it?”
Chapter 10
Time is the only prison from which prison frees us. Gavin woke with a new sense of vigor. Of course, the light was still the same, so he had no idea how long he’d slept. He accepted his ignorance as a gift. He’d slept until he was no longer tired.
And he felt better. Stronger than last night, the pain faded from his eye to a dull throb. He felt almost his old self. Or, he thought as he stretched and became aware of it, maybe that was just his erection.
Somehow, despite the narrowness of the palanquin, neither of them had fallen off it in the night, and Marissia’s form was plastered to his. The curve of her butt was holding down what was straining to be up.
His twitch seemed to waken her. He couldn’t shift away. He’d been imprisoned nude, and with Marissia only in her light shift, she could hardly help but notice his state if he moved. Marissia knew his body like no one else in the world.
But then she made his stillness moot by shifting her own position. She hesitated, and gave a luxurious moue. She’d always loved morning sex. “Is that for me?” she asked.
It wasn’t, but it seemed rude to say so. He cleared his throat as she rolled over with impressive dexterity, anchoring a leg on his hip and looking into his face. She pulled her body close.
“You’re feeling better, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Much.”
A cloud passed over her face. “Then your father will take me away soon.”
And like every freedom, the freedom from time offered by this prison was revealed to be a lie. Gavin said, “I can pretend to be sicker than I am.”
“But we can’t know when he’s watching, so that’s hopeless, isn’t it?”
Gavin hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
She looked into his eyes with a serenity that defied sense. “He’ll kill me.”
Gavin nodded, throat thick. She was a loose end.
“Will you do me a favor?” she asked.
“Anything.”
“Make love to me.” Her fingernails brushed lightly down his back in the way he liked. But having really seen her for the first time just last night, how could he now ignore her deep currents and see only the surface?
Easily. Oh so easily.
Her eyes were hot, intense, full of longing and grief and fear. “One last time, please. Show me I meant something to you.”
Orholam have mercy. Gavin remembered the last time he’d made love with Marissia, just before he’d left the Chromeria, how he’d felt as if he were somehow cheating on Karris, though that was before they’d married. He’d rejected the guilt then: every lord kept a room slave. Most kept more than one. Gavin was downright abstemious by comparison with others, and certainly compared to others in his class.
That day Marissia had made love to him like fire, all longing and hidden rage and despair.
No wonder.