Perhaps, in this great game, there is no giving of cards. Only trades.

The White rummaged in her desk. She pulled out a small framed picture. “When I die, Kip, I want you to have this. And after you’ve used it, if he still lives, I want you to give it to Gavin.” She turned it around, and Kip saw that it was one of the new Nine Kings cards. “This is the work of a dear old friend of mine—”

“Janus Borig,” Kip said. He recognized the handiwork. He took the framed card from the White. It was called the Unbreakable. It was beautiful. Janus Borig had clearly lavished attention and time on this work. Where some of the cards were the product of haste and compulsion—though all showed her total mastery of her art—this card was as intricately painted as any Kip had seen. A young woman with fiery hair stood on a hill dominated by an oak, the smoking ruins of an estate to her left. To her right was an abyss. Tiny flecks of blue and green touched her gray eyes. Tears stood on each cheek, but her jaw was set, eyes fixed on some point in the distance.

“I’d just buried my youngest daughter,” the White said. “Calling me the Unbreakable has felt sometimes like a cruel joke, and other times a promise. I chose to live, to fight, even when fighting meant to fight despair and the taunts of meaninglessness that is the abyss. This card is not all pleasantness, but I should like to be understood, someday.”

“Damn, you were beautiful. And fierce! And—and I can’t believe I just said that out loud,” Kip said. He’d slipped up in recognizing the art. If he pretended to slip up in another direction, he might be able to distract her before she demanded to know how he knew Janus Borig’s work.

The White laughed. “Well, thank you. I think perhaps Janus was being kind.”

“Janus isn’t kind. She’s honest,” Kip said. “That’s what a Mirror…” does. Shit. Can’t hold a thought in your head for six seconds, can you, Kip?

“Don’t feel bad,” the White said. “I know an artful dodge when I hear one. And I’ve dealt with your father and grandfather for far too long to underestimate you, Kip, even if you are young.”

“You send satraps out of here crying, don’t you?”

“It’s happened,” she said drily. “Janus,” she said.

So Kip told her about his meetings with Janus Borig. He told her that the woman had been working on his card. He told her about the assassins with the shimmercloaks. He told her about Janus Borig dying in his arms.

He could see it was a blow to the White.

“Kip, this is vital. Did she save anything from the fire?”

Kip had been bracing himself for that question for the entire conversation. “She wanted me to grab something, but the fire was so intense, and there were piles of gunpowder everywhere. I was only able to grab the shimmercloaks.”

The White studied his face. “You’re a good liar, Kip, but I’ve dealt with the best. The shimmercloaks are good for killing people, but the cards are good for a thousand purposes. Janus wouldn’t have let you dawdle grabbing weapons while letting the truth burn. It was her whole life’s work.”

“She wasn’t conscious,” Kip said, not willing to let a good lie die.

I thought we were going to go with refreshingly direct. Dammit.

The White sighed. “I won’t ask more. I hope you’ve put them in a safe place. Don’t check on them often, else spies may find them by luck. Be ware of using them alone. I don’t know what all the new cards are, but I can imagine some of the events of recent history would flay your mind.”

With his own hand so recently burnt clean of skin, it was a metaphor with some resonance for Kip.

Kip moved to speak, but realized that correcting her to say that he didn’t actually know where the cards were would be to admit he had been lying. Every way he moved, she gained something.

“How come when you do this to me, I don’t hate you?” Kip asked.

“Box you in, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Unlike when Andross does it,” she said.

“Yes.” Emphatically.

“Because you can tell I love you and want the best for you.”

“Love me?” Kip scoffed. “You barely know me.”

“When you have lived either a very short time or a very long time—if you’ve lived well—you will be able to love easily, too. Broken hearts have fresh places to bond with new faces.”

Kip wasn’t sure how to take that, wasn’t sure he could believe it. He said, “You had other daughters? I mean, other than the one … Er, sorry.”

“Had, yes. Grandchildren, too. Had.” She stared at him for a while, inscrutably. She put away the framed card. For a moment, Kip wondered if she’d forgotten what he’d come here asking. Then he saw a twitch of amusement in her eyes. She could tell he was wondering if she was old and senile, and she was letting him wonder. It was a game to her.

And this woman was preparing for her death of old age? She was brighter than the rest of the Spectrum combined!

Kip waited.

“I’m too busy to teach you myself, though you intrigue me, little Guile. I do hope you make it to full flower. You are a boy with such potential.” She closed her eyes for a moment, upbraiding herself. “Your pardon, a young man. I’m afraid that all men under forty are boys to me now. No, I can’t teach you. I will look into the matter of this magister, though. And … you do need a tutor; this much is plain. You will continue with those classes she cannot teach, but in all she can, Lady Guile will be your tutor.”

“Lady Guile?” Hadn’t Felia Guile joined the Freeing in Garriston? Kip wondered about that sometimes. She’d been in Garriston at the same time he had, and she’d never even asked to see him, her only grandson. Maybe a bastard was too shameful. “Oh! You mean Karris?!”

“Mmm,” the White said, with a little smirk.

“That’s great!” Kip said. Even if he was a little scared of her. She clearly knew everything, and she had his total respect.

“Attend your lectures—your other lectures—as usual until I can speak to her. She may need some convincing.” The White’s smirk faded. “Kip, Orholam walks men through fires every day. I believe that. But before you walk through fire, make certain it’s one he’s asked you to walk through.”

Chapter 29

After three days, the storm abated. Gunner had the Bitter Cob drop anchor in the lee of some little island while he waited for the skies to clear so they could find their bearings. The pirates were good enough to feed the slaves before they slept. Gunner was fastidious in keeping his goods performing at their highest potential.

Gavin slept like a stone, woke, and slept again. He dreamed again, and knew he was dreaming. He was a child, and everyone was gone. Mother and father were at the Chromeria: father for some ceremonies, and mother to be near him. Gavin got to go with them because he was older. Dazen and Sevastian had to stay home with the servants and house slaves. Dazen woke alone in his bed, and thought of calling for his nurse. He was eleven years old, almost. Too old to be afraid of the dark. He wasn’t sure what he’d heard, but he lay in bed, listening, almost too scared to breathe.

He was eleven. Too old to be such a scaredy.