“The point is that I have a very good idea what traits are Guile traits, and what traits seem random. Blue eyes with dark skin? Very rare among most peoples. Not rare in my family. There’s a lot of Parian blood in the Guile line. My brother was darker than Kip. Our mother was Parian, as was my grandmother. I was thought to be oddly light-skinned. If there is one of my grandsons whom I suspect might not be a Guile, it’s not Kip.”

“Kip? The bastard?”

“I’ve declared Kip legitimate. Kip does what he’s told.”

In what world does Kip do what he’s told?

But lie though it might be, now, for the first time, Zymun seemed truly aware that his position was tenuous. It was as if he’d made the cornerstone of his identity that he was, secretly, a Guile, that he had all seven satrapies waiting for him, that he was destined. And now his own grandfather was threatening that?

But Kip had told Teia about his own interactions with Andross Guile, so she saw what was happening. Andross hated his new grandson’s arrogance, so he was doing to him exactly what he’d done to Kip, pretended that belonging to the Guiles was something that had to be earned.

It was patently ridiculous to Teia. The Guiles had no children. To whom would the old man give all this wealth? He’d gone on and on about genealogy, but he’d failed to produce a large enough crop of his own to give him the luxury of being picky. There remained only Kip and Zymun. Gavin was gone, probably never to return, and even if he did, where did a marriage to Karris fit into Andross’s book? The threat had to be hollow.

But Zymun didn’t know that.

“You little moron,” Andross said. “You had the Blinder’s Knife, and you used it to try to kill my son? You think you can play the Color Prince? Maybe. You think you can play me? You have no idea.”

“Grandfather, I was trapped. The Color Prince was there and you were so far away. Disobedience would have meant—I failed on purpose.”

“Learn to lie better.”

“I thought you and my father were at odds—”

“You had no way to know how I felt about Gavin. You were ingratiating yourself with the Color Prince.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what you meant. You were on a barge, with Gavin. All you had to do was come back to Little Jasper and bring me the knife. If you’d done so, tomorrow I would have made you Prism.”

“I swear I’ll never disobey again. I’ll do anything you ask. Everything—”

“You think I’m punishing you? I haven’t even begun to punish you. This isn’t my punishment. This is reality’s punishment. I can’t make you the Prism tomorrow. We need the Knife for that, and … other things that you don’t need to know about. Yet. Your incompetence may cost us—it may cost you everything. Had you either killed Gavin or joined him—either way!—if you had brought me the Blinder’s Knife, your own future, not to mention this family’s, not to mention all of the Seven Satrapies’, would be assured.

“Someday, you cretin, you may lead this family and perhaps this world, if you aren’t too stupid to take what I hand to you. But that day is not today. From this day forth, you obey without question, and you prove yourself worthy of this family. I’m giving you one chance. You have a brother, and however much he pretends to oppose me, he and I have an understanding, and he serves me well. If he serves better than you do, I will not hesitate to make him the Guile heir. From Ataea Guile’s time, we have only practiced primogeniture when it suits us. The only way you will inherit is if you please me. And so you know, in this family, the one heir gets everything.”

The ambition on Zymun’s face was as naked as the hatred, but Andross Guile didn’t seem to notice. Zymun said, after a pause that was only a little too long, “Of course, grandfather. How may I best serve?”

Andross Guile stared at him and tossed back his liquor with a grimace. “Tomorrow we make you the Prism-elect.”

“I thought the White had to acquiesce to any recommendation the Spectrum brought her for that. I was under the impression she wasn’t a friend.”

“She isn’t, but she’s doing me a big favor tonight.”

“She’s signing off on it tonight?”

Andross Guile gave a thin-lipped smile that was all victory. “In a manner of speaking,” he said.

He didn’t explain any more to Zymun, seemingly pleased to deny a morsel of information to the young man, but Teia’s heart dropped. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t put it together before now. A woman that Andross Guile wanted dead, and Murder Sharp being here—after being at the Chromeria earlier.

Sharp wouldn’t go to the Chromeria simply to test Teia; the place was too dangerous for him. He’d come to scout, and he’d used Teia to scout the last part, and used what she reported to help him kill the White. No doubt now Sharp would make himself highly visible somewhere on the other side of Big Jasper for the entire night, just in case a drafter stumbled across some paryl in the old woman’s body.

Murder Sharp would have an alibi.

For a moment, blind rage flooded Teia. Who would hurt that kind old woman? How dare he? Murder Sharp was an animal, but he was merely a tool. It was Andross Guile Teia wanted to kill. How could he stand so close to goodness for so long, and hate it? Such things—for sure they are not men—should not be allowed to be.

She could kill him. She could kill Zymun. She could kill Grinwoody. No, not Grinwoody. Slaves shouldn’t be killed for the sins of their masters, no matter how much they seemed to enjoy facilitating them.

Would it not be a service to the greater good to kill these detestable men? Would it not be a fulfillment of the Blackguard’s oaths? She hadn’t taken the final oaths, but she knew them, and had wanted to take them for as long as she could remember.

I swear upon my life and light and sacred honor to protect the White, the Black, the Prism, and all the members of the Spectrum of the Seven Satrapies, and in the final exigency to protect the Seven Satrapies. I shall live not as a woman free, but as a slave to my duties and after them to my commanders. The final exigency was when a Prism went mad, and refused to lay down his powers, and had to be put down, but Teia supposed it also applied if a Color or even a promachos went mad and did the same.

She began filling herself with paryl, not simply the constant stream she needed to keep the shimmercloak functioning, but enough to make weapons.

‘Protect,’ Teia. The word is ‘protect.’ Not ‘avenge.’ You are not to be a blade in the darkness, you are a shield. You are not a woman alone, you are a soldier under authority.

If I kill now, I’m an assassin, not a Blackguard.

I am a special soldier, with uncommon skills and unique abilities, but I am a soldier under orders. If the White commands me to kill Andross Guile, I will kill with joy in my heart, and a conscience clean of murder, though guilty of rejoicing in it.

The world might be better if I were a law unto myself, if I killed these loathsome men.

She sat on that thought. She’d killed a man in that alley, almost on accident, but he’d been a man who would have killed her or her team if she hadn’t. Aside from the heaviness of killing at all, when she looked at the situation, she couldn’t see a moment when she would have acted differently. More competently, sure. But she’d trained as hard as she could for as long as she could. Her skills at that point in time weren’t something she could change. She would have done what she did again. This …