She smiled at him, glowing, literally glowing with pride for him. Kip had no idea how an emotion could have color, but for some reason it seemed natural.
“The enemy steered that storm toward you, so this much healing is allowed me. You won’t be blinded, not today,” she said, and she extended her hand as if making the sign of the three on him, her thumb to one eye, middle finger to the other, and her forefinger touching his forehead where the eye of the mind was. Warmth shot through him, and he fell into blessed sleep.
Chapter 14
Teia had always expected her Blackguard vigil would be one of the most religious experiences of her life. After a night of prayer atop the Prism’s Tower, the chosen initiate would take his or her final Blackguard oaths as the sun rose. Teia had always believed in Orholam, but she was usually too busy to pray or attend more than the mandatory chapels. Orholam was the emperor of the universe, but she paid him scant tribute.
She’d looked forward to her vigil, though, thinking it would finally give her time to pray and focus. Perhaps—it being a vigil that would shape the course of her entire life—Orholam would take special notice of her. Speak to her, even.
Instead she’d barely been able to prop her eyelids open through the night. She’d mumbled some prayers, sung a few traditional songs, and wondered if she’d made a huge mistake by staying on the Jaspers instead of going with Kip.
And from the twinges in her belly, her moon blood was going to start soon. Six months since her last cycle, and it came now? Shit.
Did I really mark Quentin for death?
He’s going to die anyway. It’s war. It’s necessary.
Like Marissia.
How many of my friends do I have to kill before I’m on the wrong side?
I’m a soldier, a Blackguard under orders.
But Quentin? Bumbling, adorable Quentin?
Dammit.
All his nerves, all his twitching, his weird oath to Kip that he would never lie to him. His strange intensity, that he would help the Mighty no matter what.
Quentin had been trying to repent for literally as long as they’d known him. But it wasn’t real repentance. Not when you wouldn’t face justice.
But judging what was real repentance wasn’t up to her, was it? That was Orholam’s job, and the White’s.
I’m a soldier, not an executioner. I can’t kill him. I can’t be his judge. That’s not what I am. I’ve stepped outside my authority.
I can kill when ordered to do so, but I don’t choose it myself. That’s not who I am.
And just like that, she knew she needed to go fix this. Even if it meant failing her mission.
She stood and opened the door. A Blackguard named Presser was guarding her vigil, but he said nothing. A Blackguard’s vigil was her own. If she left, she left.
Taking a deep breath, Teia walked out past the Blackguards at Karris’s door, and to the Blackguard station guarding the steps and the lift. It was the middle of the night, but Commander Fisk was apparently checking in with his people, chatting quietly in the orangey light of their torches—the usual luxin lighting here hadn’t yet been repaired.
“You’re leaving?” Fisk demanded. “You abandon your vigil, you’re out. You know that.” He was taking it unusually personally, she could tell.
Ah, he’d probably taken some criticism for raising her to full Blackguard so early. Her failing reflected poorly on him, and just as he began his tenure as commander, too.
Teia would have usually bulled right at conflict, but the orange gave her an idea. “Not abandoning my vigil, sir. Fulfilling it. Orholam told me there’s something I need to do. I’ve committed a transgression against my brother. I need to make it right before final vows.”
Tleros, a Blackguard Archer as skinny as the spear she carried, said, “You’re supposed to take care of that kind of thing before your vigil.”
“I didn’t know I was going to be keeping my vigil until today. Which is better, delayed obedience or disobedience? Should I honor our traditions and stay all night with a guilty conscience, or should I honor Orholam and obey him now?” It was the best way she could think of not to blame Fisk for not giving her enough time.
But he got the message. Commander Fisk grimaced. “You’re right. Allowances must be made. Back before dawn, nunk, otherwise you’ve broken your vigil.”
“Are you serious?” Tleros asked. She hesitated. “Err, Commander.”
“Yes,” Commander Fisk said, “and why don’t you meditate a bit on what your tone should be when you speak to your commander?”
“Yes, sir,” Tleros said. She hesitated again. “Perhaps a shift in the scullery would help focus my mind?”
Commander Fisk merely glowered at her.
“Two?” Tleros asked.
“Whatever you think is necessary,” Fisk said.
Tleros’s shoulders sagged. “Yessir.”
Teia took the lift down, stopped a story above the main floor, took the stairs down, and down, and found the same men on duty at the mirror prison still. Thank Orholam for that.
A few pleasantries later, while checking in paryl for an assassin, and she was outside Quentin’s cell.
She opened the peephole.
She hadn’t expected him to be sleeping, but his body was too warm to be dead. The last remnants of her paryl marker still clung to his head. She thought about not waking him. She didn’t want to talk to him. She hadn’t killed him, wasn’t that enough?
“Quentin,” she said before she could think too much about it.
He woke easily, but not guiltily as he used to. “Is it time?” he asked before he even turned to the door.
“No, it’s still late. You’ve got six or seven hours yet.”
“Teia.”
“Quentin, I hate what you did, but I don’t hate you. I’ve taken the wrong way out myself before.”
He looked at her for a while, silent and sober. “There’s nothing I can do to make up for what I’ve done,” he said. “I’ve cooperated with the White, I’ve told all I know, and it’s still not even close to balancing what I did, and what I tried to do. I’ve got nothing more to say.”
“Fuck, Quentin.”
“I assume you have questions for me or you wouldn’t have come back. I’m willing to answer.”
“Who was involved?”
“As I said, High Luxiat Tawleb gave me my orders. I believe one of the other High Luxiats may have been involved, but they told me nothing to give me evidence of that. It’s purely speculation. But I know the High Luxiats fear the Guiles have grown too powerful.”
Their fear would be greater now, Teia realized. But that at least one of them had been willing to kill to keep the balance of power? Luxiats? Killing? Much less High Luxiats. What was the world coming to?
“Do you need anything?” she asked.
His calm composure cracked for an instant. “My shriving wasn’t the best. They couldn’t allow any luxiats to visit me, lest they be spies or assassins. The Prism-elect Zymun came instead. He was, um, not terribly interested in… much.”
“Zymun’s an asshole.”
Quentin suppressed a quick grin, then grew somber. “I suppose I deserve no better. Indeed, worse.”
“Surely there’s something I can do for you.”
He swallowed. “There is… one thing.” He cleared his throat. “My, uh, my mother. I was forbidden writing instruments. For good reason, I suppose. I wonder if you could send her a message. You can put it in your own words. Given that I’m a traitor, the authorities fear I’d be sending code. Tell her the truth, Teia. She lost everything in the False Prism’s War, and she wanted me to stay with her more than anything. We were very close. But I felt Orholam’s call. My mother sacrificed me for—” He cut off, blowing air, puffing his cheeks out to keep from crying. “For Orholam. And I… did this. Became a murderer. Because High Luxiat Tawleb promised that I could be a High Luxiat myself. I told myself that I obeyed him because I wanted her to be proud of me, but it wasn’t for her. It was for me. For my pride.”
“Fuck, Quentin,” Teia said again.
“Goodbye, Teia. Thank you for being a friend to me, though I didn’t deserve it. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll spend the rest of the night in prayer.”