She hoped she knew.

“Look now,” the White said. The shadows like a rising tide had swallowed the walls of Big Jasper and rolled upward constantly, lights winking out around the curvature of the land until only the tallest buildings and the Thousand Stars were alight. Then only the Thousand Stars. They burned day into night.

It had been a long, long time since Karris had really looked.

“We drafters are those Thousand Stars, Karris. We have been turned to a hundred purposes, but at heart we have only one: to bring the light into darkness. Each high-set mirror is special indeed, brilliantly crafted, magically made, but in the end elevated not because of its innate specialness but because only by being set high can it serve to bring light where there is darkness. We are elevated to serve.”

For a time, they watched the light reflected from those many mirrors play over Big Jasper. Then the White said, “The second time I saw the green flash, what I call Orholam’s wink, was one of the hardest days of my tenure as White. I was on one of the lower balconies here, thinking about something I’d seen that had terrified me. I thought that if I did the wrong thing, the world would be plunged back into a war that it seemed had just ended. I thought that if I didn’t do something, though, a blacker fate might befall than even that.”

“After the war? What was it?” Karris asked. She’d already run away by then, but she wasn’t aware that there had been huge crises. Small ones, certainly. Perhaps all the putting down of pirates and rebels and the distribution of lands and pillage had been far more dangerous than she had thought, and they only seemed like small challenges because they had been so adeptly handled. Aside from the Tyrean solution, which, though immoral, had kept Tyrea weak for nearly two decades.

“It was the day Gavin came back from Sundered Rock.”

Karris held her breath, and her pulse became thunder in her ears. “Because he was still drugged and didn’t seem himself?” she asked, lying almost smoothly enough to do Lady Felia Guile proud.

“No,” the White said. “Or, alternately, precisely.”

She said nothing more, and Karris didn’t want to insult her by filling the space with words.

“I saw a thing that terrified me, and in my panic, I almost did something rash because I thought I needed to do something. And then … Orholam’s wink. I took it as a message that he was with me. He knew. Power is any action that results in consequences. But real power is action that results in the intended consequences. Real power is impossible if not guided by wisdom. I had the power to kill. But Orholam had another plan. That was the second wink.”

It was like the words were in a foreign language, and Karris was struggling to translate them. The White had seen Gavin—and?

And she knew.

Just like that? Instantly? Karris had been in love with the man. Had made love with him. Had focused every fiber of her young soul on her forbidden love—and she hadn’t seen it, but the White had?!

It made her furious. It made her feel stupider than words.

She almost reached out to draft red, to get that affirmation and validation that her rage was deserved. But then she realized she was comparing apples and oranges. The White had found Dazen while he was drugged and in the immediate aftermath of killing his brother. Karris hadn’t spent much time with him before fleeing to conceal her pregnancy. When she’d come back a year later, Dazen had had time to practice being Gavin. They’d only gotten reaquainted when all around him treated him as Gavin. His clothing, speech patterns, hair, and posture were all different.

The point was that the White had known. She’d known. And she hadn’t exposed Dazen.

The White said, “How much is a man’s soul worth? For what price will you buy his redemption? Is your answer different if he leads a nation? What if he could affect all of history? What price would be too much? What justice or vengeance would you forgo, for your hope?” She closed her eyes and sighed. Then her lips twisted in a little, reluctant grin, and she opened her eyes again. “He did turn out to be a pretty damn good Prism. Go figure.”

Karris let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. This was surreal. This just simply couldn’t be. “How did you keep it to yourself for so long?”

“To be a White is to know secrets, Karris. But that the position requires spying and skulduggery doesn’t relieve me of the moral obligation for how I use what I know.”

Another breath. “And you’ve known about … me, too? How long?”

“I’ve known about your son since the beginning. Other women I’ve known who have given up children have been haunted by it ever since. So over the years, I gave you several assignments where, had you wished, you could have extended your time to go looking for him without anyone being the wiser. You never took those chances.”

Woodenly, Karris said, “I was … afraid I’d lead spies right to him. Afraid of what I would do, of who he’d become, of what he thought of me.”

“The darkness has not served you well. From what I learned today, I believe now that Andross Guile has known about him for years as well. Be wise as a serpent, child.”

But Karris couldn’t wrestle with her thoughts about her son. Zymun. She hadn’t even known his name. There was too much there, and she didn’t trust herself how she’d react in front of the White. Her chin drifted up, and she pushed that open wound away. Just for the time being.

“I wish … I wish I had the kind of certainty you have. That Orholam is guiding me. I wish I could see him give me a visible sign, like he did you.”

The White chuckled. “Yes, two green flashes, in fifty years. What are the odds? It turns out, if you watch the sunset almost every day, pretty good. Karris, what we see is not determined solely by what is in the world, but also by what is in us. The lens is as important as the light. You think I haven’t questioned those two occasions a thousand thousand times? Besides, Orholam speaks differently to each of his children. I only thought of the green flash as a message because my own grandmother always called it Orholam’s wink. Had you seen it, you would have thought it a curious phenomenon. Orholam may speak to you in ways more pedestrian: through his holy writ, or through his followers’ words, related to you. Could you accept that?”

“Of course.”

“Then hear this word, which is his gift for you. Are you listening?”

“I’m listening. Did Orholam just tell you this now, or have you somehow steered me into this?”

“Orholam has told me this for you a thousand times. In fifteen years, I have never read these words without you filling my mind, but it has been my lot to know and not to tell. Part of the price I pay for my own sins. Even the forgiven must pay penance.”

Sins? What sins had the White committed? Did she think that not telling anyone about Gavin was a sin? Surely not. “What is the word?” Karris asked.

“The Most High will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten.”

Locusts hadn’t come to the Seven Satrapies since before Lucidonius, but Karris had a luxiat when she was a child who told stories that made the plague as real as a memory. Thought to be an effusion of an imbalance of a surfeit of both green and blue, they came in a cloud, with a sound like distant, unremitting thunder. They spread from horizon to horizon, literally shadowing the land. The mass was like a million chariots descending to pillage the land, and the ancient Seer Jo’El spoke of them marching as in ranks.