It didn’t explain everything—how were there two Prisms during the war?—or how had Dazen faked being a Prism? But that the blade was a well of power—Kip was certain of that. He’d seen the evidence.

Orholam have mercy. What happened if the previous Prism didn’t want to give up his power and die? They were usually young. Who wanted to die?

That’s what the Blackguard is for. To protect the Prism for the satrapies, and if necessary, to protect the satrapies from the Prism.

What kind of spectacle would that make, if some Prism angered the Spectrum enough to get ousted, and they voted to kill her? It would surely be the commander, perhaps one or two others, who would bring the ousted Prism forth and slay her to take her gift. For the good of the satrapies.

No wonder they shrouded it in secrecy. It might even be necessary. All drafters reached their end and had to be put down, so surely Prisms must incur some cost for their ceaseless drafting. Perhaps they went mad.

But Prisms were there to Free others. When Blackguards subdued and killed a screaming, fearful Prism—that would not be a moment to increase the faith of the faithful.

No wonder it was a night of mourning and darkness.

“You don’t look very well,” Quentin said.

“I don’t feel very well.” It also meant that Gavin Guile was no longer a Prism. Even if the Blackguard found him now, he would be useless to them.

Better, then, to find the knife, before the Color Prince does.

And all this, Andross Guile had understood in an instant. He’d acted immediately. Kip didn’t know whether that made him admire the man or hate him.

But Gavin wasn’t dead. Unlike every Prism before him, he’d survived. Because he was unique. Perhaps unique in all history.

“Quentin, you said you’d figured out the shelving scheme in here?”

“Just yesterday, actually. Shouldn’t be a problem now to find out whatever you need about anyone’s family—or even the Black Cards.”

“I’m going to have to trust you, Quentin. Can I do that?”

“That’s an illogical question, isn’t it? For if I were not trustworthy, would I not tell you that I am?”

“Whereas if you were trustworthy, you’d point out the illogic of the question,” Kip said.

Quentin raised a finger to protest, but then lowered it. He looked first puzzled, then vaguely gratified, as if Kip had shown him a particularly useful trick. “Ah. Aha. I see. Thank you. How may I serve?”

“Forget the genealogies, forget looking up the Black Cards. I want to know everything you can find about the Lightbringer.”

Chapter 56

“I looked up to your mother,” Eirene said. “She took me under her wing when my own mother died. She knew I had no women to look up to. As an adult, I can see why else she was doing it, of course. Making peace between Malargos and Guile needn’t take a marriage, if your friendships are strong enough. But then something happened. Do you know what?”

Gavin sat in his cell, looking at his captor through heavy-lidded eyes. This was their third visit over the past months. He’d lost two fingers from those meetings. One more and he wasn’t going to have much grip in his left hand. “Pray tell,” he said. His voice was gravelly. Hadn’t been used much in weeks. She was letting him rot down here.

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question. Do you know what happened? One day, Felia Guile is visiting all the time, and inviting me to visit her, and then … Nothing. She refused to ever even talk to me again. What happened?”

That strange intensity was suddenly back. The worst of it was that Gavin was slowly starting to believe that Eirene Malargos wasn’t insane. She was a normal woman driven to extremes by her circumstances. Circumstances that the Guiles had much to do with.

“I don’t know,” Gavin said, rubbing his eyes, nearly scratching himself with his bandaged hand. “But I’m sure it was all my fault somehow. How’s it going keeping your nephew silent?”

“This was fifteen years ago. Think about it. Why would Felia Guile shut me out, suddenly, then?”

Gavin fixed stupidity on his face and thought about it. It didn’t take him long. First he thought it was the war or his fraud, but that was sixteen years ago now. Fifteen years ago was when Felia had learned that Dervani Malargos had survived the war, after being lost in the wilderness for years, and was making his way home, carrying Gavin’s secret. She’d confessed at her Freeing that she’d tried to buy him off, first, and then sent pirates to intercept his ship, murdering him, or so she thought.

Felia Guile, willing to kill to protect her last living son, but not willing to face the daughter whose father she’d had murdered and smile. That sounded like mother. Hard when she had to be, but soft underneath. Not like Andross Guile, who never would have thought to befriend a Malargos in the first place. But if he had, he would have played it to the hilt.

This world has only two kinds of people: villains and smiling villains.

Gavin said, “Of course I know why. Because I kept my silence about what happened at Sundered Rock from even her. For two years, I told no one, and then she heard a rumor that your father was alive. She asked me about it, because I’d made a passing reference at some point to him being dead. She asked me if I could be mistaken.” He closed his eyes and blew out air, as if it were a painful memory.

“And what did you tell her?” Eirene asked.

You dumb cunt, I’m going to enjoy killing you. You have no idea about me, do you? I’m going to tear your fingers off with chains and make you eat them. “I told her the man was an impostor. He wasn’t the first or the last with a lot of scars and wild tales to come back to a wealthy estate to claim the empty seat at the table.”

“He wasn’t an impostor,” Eirene said.

“Yes. He was.”

“No he wasn’t.”

“And you know this how?” Gavin asked. He had the target now. The man had sent messages to Eirene. Odds were they’d never met, though. He would have sent something to prove he was who he said, but perhaps it was something that could have been a forgery, or a fact that a close associate might have known.

“I’ll ask the questions.”

No need to hold back, then. His story needn’t be perfect, it merely had to cast doubt on the other.

I am the Father of Lies. See my magnificence. “I know because I was there, Lady Eirene. At the end. Dervani was close to Dazen.” True. “He was a good warrior.” True. “Not the most talented of drafters, but clever with his uses of green luxin.” True, if flattering. Some sugar of what the listener wants to hear helps a bitter lie go down. “He stood when many fell, in my brother’s and my last clash.” First part was true. Second part was not. “He was there, at Sundered Rock. At the end. He lived through the conflagration.” True, he had lived, and he had been at the battle. But he’d only lived because he’d not been near the center at the end. No one had lived through that magical miasma except Dazen and Gavin. “Dervani charged me at the end, trying to save Dazen. He … died heroically.” Pure fabrication.

“You lie!” she said.

Gavin looked away. Looked back at her. Pursed his lips. “He tried. He … charged me, knocked me over. He pointed a pistol at my face, and it misfired. When I rose, I disarmed him, and … he broke. I grabbed a javelin and threw it through his back as he ran away. I didn’t see his body afterward, but I’ve seen a lot of battle. He didn’t live through that. I guarantee it. I then picked up that pistol. Little thing. Decorated with silver sparrows, if I remember right. Must have been a backup pistol. Be the only reason it was still loaded that late in the battle. No bigger than my hand. Odd thing in the middle of a battlefield. There were no damned weapons handy except that javelin and that pistol. I couldn’t bear to draft the least luxin at that moment, and my brother was barely conscious. I took that little pistol, and I put it between my brother’s eyes. It didn’t misfire for me.”