Chapter 7
Kip sat in the secretaries’ office, fiddling nervously with the bandage on his left hand as Ironfist and Gavin talked on the balcony off the ship’s stern. He had been seated with his back to the wall between the office and the Prism’s stateroom, but having overheard too much, he quietly moved to one of the secretaries’ chairs, farther back from the wall, so it wouldn’t look like he’d been eavesdropping.
A Blackguard. Him. It was like winning a contest he hadn’t even known he was competing in. He hadn’t really thought about his future yet; he figured the Chromeria would take the next few years of his life and he’d go from there. But the toughest people he knew in the world were Blackguards: Karris and Ironfist.
The stateroom door opened and Ironfist stepped out. He gave Kip a sharp look. A disapproving look. And all at once Kip realized he was being imposed on Ironfist—the man didn’t want Kip the fatty debasing his Blackguards. His heart dropped so fast it left a smoking crater in the deck.
“The Prism will see you now,” Ironfist said. And he left.
Kip stood on weak knees. He walked into the stateroom.
The Prism Gavin Guile, the man who’d made Brightwater Wall and faced a sea demon and sunk pirates and crushed armies and cowed satraps—his father—smiled at him. “Kip, how are you feeling? You did some pretty amazing things the other day. Come. I need to see your eyes.”
Feeling suddenly awkward, Kip followed Gavin out onto the stern balcony. In the bright morning light, Gavin looked at Kip’s irises.
“A definite green ring. Congratulations. No one will ever mistake you for a non-drafter again.”
“That’s… great.”
Gavin smiled indulgently. “I know it’s a lot to get used to, and I suppose someone’s already told you this, but you used a lot of magic in the battle, Kip. A lot. Going green golem isn’t something we teach anymore because a person can generally only do it two or three times in their life. It burns through your power—and your life—at an incredible rate. The power’s intoxicating, but beware of it. You’ve seen some of the greatest drafters in the world work, and you can’t assume that you can do everything they can do. But look at me, lecturing. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s…” It’s the kind of thing a father does. Kip didn’t say it out loud. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
Gavin looked over the waves at his fleet following them. He was somber, pensive. Finally, he spoke. “Kip, I don’t get to be fair to you. I can’t spend the time with you that you deserve, that I owe you. I can’t tell you all the secrets that I wish I could. I can’t introduce you to your new life the way I wish. You’ve chosen to be known as my son, and I respect that. That’s how you’ll be known. As my son, I have work for you to do, and I need to tell you what that work is now, because I’m leaving today. I’ll come to the Chromeria every once in a while, but not often. Not for the next year.”
There were too many thoughts at once. Everything Kip knew had been turned on its head too many times. In the last few months he’d gone from being a child with a haze-addled single mother to losing his village, his mother, his life. He’d been flung into the Chromeria, and into the company of the best drafters and fighters in the world.
And on the very day his father had accepted him, recognized him as a son instead of a bastard, he’d found a note from his mother claiming Gavin Guile had raped her. She’d begged Kip to kill Gavin. She’d probably been high when she wrote it, of course. So it had been the last thing she’d written. It didn’t magically make it different from all the other lies she’d told Kip over the years.
She said she loved me. Kip quickly rejected the thought and the well of emotions it tapped.
Some of it must have shown in his face, though, because Gavin said quietly, “Kip, you have every right to be angry, but I have something impossible to ask of you. I’m going to send you on to the Chromeria. I expect you to do well in all your classes, of course. But honestly, I don’t care, so long as you learn as much and as quickly as you can. What I really want is…” He trailed off. “This has to be our secret, Kip. I’m putting my very life in your hands by even asking you this. And you may, of course, fail or choose not to do this, but—”
Kip swallowed. Why was his father dancing so carefully about asking him to join the Blackguard? “You’re scaring me more by hedging than you would if you just told me,” Kip said.
“First, you have to impress your grandfather without me there. He will summon you. He will not be pleasant. We’ll count it a victory if you avoid wetting yourself.” He grinned that Guile grin, then sobered. “Do your best. If you can impress him, you’ll have done more than I ever could. But whatever you do, don’t make an enemy of him.”
“And that’s going to be impossible?”
“No—well, maybe—but I was starting with the easy assignment. I want you to destroy Luxlord Klytos Blue.”
Kip blinked. That wasn’t “Join the Blackguard” either. “That thing about being more scared by your hedging than the assignment? I take it back.”
“By destroy, I mean do whatever you have to do to make him resign his seat on the Spectrum. I need that seat, Kip.”
“For what?”
“I can’t tell you. What you should ask is, what do I mean when I say, ‘Do whatever you have to’?”
“Right, then, that,” Kip said. He was hoping this was all some kind of joke, but the feeling in his stomach told him that it wasn’t.
“If you can’t get Klytos to resign of his own will, or through blackmail, kill him.”
A chill radiated from Kip’s spine to his shoulders. He swallowed.
“Your choice. I’m trusting you with that. This is war, Kip. You saw what happens when the wrong man is in power. The governor of Garriston could have prepared his city. He knew what was coming. Preparing the city would have made him deeply unpopular and it would have cost him a fortune. So instead, he chose to let them all die. One man caused all that carnage, simply by his inaction. If we hadn’t been there, it would have been much, much worse. This is like that. That’s all I can tell you.”
It was impossible, but Kip felt a calm. The impossibility didn’t matter right now. He could grapple with that when his father was gone. “Does he deserve it?” he asked.
Gavin took a deep breath. “I want to say yes to make it easier on you, but ‘deserving’ is a slippery concept. Does a coward who deserts his comrades deserve to be shot? No, but it has to be done because the stakes are so high. Klytos Blue is a coward who believes lies. If a man believes lies and repeats them, is he a liar? Maybe not, but he has to be stopped. I don’t believe Klytos is an evil man, Kip. I don’t believe he deserves to die out of hand or I’d kill him myself. But the stakes are high, and they’re rising. Do what you must. Get in the Blackguard first. I’ve secured a tryout for you. Get in, and the position will help you accomplish the rest.”
Sure. Simple as that. Of course, for Gavin Guile, it probably was as simple as that. Things were so easy for a man of his powers, he probably thought they were easy for other people. “What are we trying to do?” Kip asked. “Ultimately, I mean.”
“War is a spreading fire. And every old grudge is dry wood, begging for flame. When I fought my brother, men joined me who hated me, but they hated their neighbors more, and those neighbors then sided with him. We killed two hundred thousand people in less than four months, Kip. I had a chance to stop this new war at one city, a few thousand dead. I failed. There are satrapies that wouldn’t mind seeing Atash burn, that wouldn’t mind that fire spreading to Blood Forest, that don’t want their sons to die defending Ruthgar, that don’t want their daughters to have to be Freed after defending Paria, that don’t want to raise their taxes for Ilytian heathens, that don’t want to send their crops to those filthy Aborneans.”
Kip understood. “Which leaves no one.”
“We’re trying to stop the war before it engulfs everyone.”
“How do you stop a war?” Kip asked.
“You win. So you do your part, and I’ll do mine.”
“How long do I have?” Kip asked. A small part of him rebelled. It wasn’t fair to ask a boy to do this. It wasn’t what you’d ask of a son. But Kip was only a son by his father’s grace. He was an unwanted bastard, and if Gavin held the boy he’d never known at arm’s length, how could Kip blame him?
“Depends on how long the Color Prince licks his wounds in Garriston. It’s probably too much to hope he’ll stay the winter, so he’ll most likely head west. I imagine Idoss will hold him off for a few months. Losing Idoss should be enough to move the Spectrum. If not… six months, Kip. Eight if we’re lucky. If we don’t save the city of Ru, he’ll get their saltpeter caves and iron mines and we’ll be plunged into a war worse than the False Prism’s War, and unlikely to be as brief.”
Kip was in so far over his head he couldn’t even see the surface. “Why me?” he asked.
“Because audacity is a young man’s sword. Daring is a gun. And, to be blunt, if you fail in non-spectacular fashion, you’ll merely look like a petty child. That would damage your reputation but not mine. And it won’t get either of us killed. You’re a good weapon because to look at you, you look like a child, an affable boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Affable. Code for “fat and nice.” Next I’ll be “jolly.” “I’m so unlikely that I’m perfect?” Kip said.
“Exactly.”
“I thought that once, right before I ran away from Garriston.” Kip had thought no one would think a child would come to spy on the Color Prince and rescue Liv. That had turned out well.
“But you’re stronger now.”
“That was two weeks ago!”
Gavin laughed.
“Doesn’t that tell you something?” Kip insisted.
Gavin smiled. “It should tell you something, too.”
“What?” Kip asked.
Gavin got serious. “That I believe in you.”
Kip wasn’t sure what to do with that, not when Gavin delivered it straight. He couldn’t laugh it off, couldn’t make a joke out of it. It was too obviously true, and it warmed him. Kip grimaced. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”
Gavin rubbed Kip’s head. “Almost as good as I think I am.” He grinned. “You know, Kip, when this is all over…” He let the words fall away, and his good humor went with them.
“It’s never going to be over, is it?” Kip asked.
The Prism took a deep breath. “Not the way I’d like.”
“Are we going to lose?” Kip asked.
Gavin was quiet for a while. He shrugged and smirked. “Odds are.” He wrapped an arm around Kip’s wide shoulders, squeezed, released him. “But odds are for defying.”