The Black Prism(101)

Gavin sat back in his chair, as if stunned, defeated. In the silence before anyone stood to leave, he shook his head. Said grimly, “I ceded power after the war, gave up the promachia. I became an adviser, when many wanted me to be an emperor in truth. And now you ignore me. Very well. But tell your satraps and satrapahs this: Prepare for war. King Garadul won’t stop at taking Garriston. I guarantee it.”

You see, father, this is the one thing I can do that you never could: I can handle appearing to lose.





Chapter 41





Liv had barely seen her new apartments in the yellow tower before she’d gone out. Not to celebrate, not because she was impulsive, but because her courage had been fading with every passing second. She’d been to half the moneylenders on the islands before she found one willing to do business with her.

Stepping inside her new room, she found that the tower’s slaves had brought all her meager belongings over from the closet she’d called home for the last three years. And there was a woman sitting on her bed.

“Salvé, Liv, been out celebrating?” Aglaia Crassos asked.

“What are you doing in my apartments?” Liv asked. “How’d you get in here?”

“It’s not good to forget your friends, Aliviana.” Aglaia stood and came to stand a hand’s breadth from Liv’s face.

“What? You’re here to threaten me? I’m shaking.”

Something ugly crossed Aglaia’s face, but then was replaced by that smooth mask again, and that disingenuous laugh. “Careful with that sharp tongue, girl. You may cut your own throat.”

“I’m done,” Liv said. “Gavin Guile has—”

“Bought you to be his bed slave. I heard.”

“Go to hell!” Liv said.

“You’re the one who’ll do that, seeing how you’re throwing yourself at the man who murdered your mother and destroyed your country.”

It was a tremendous slap. Liv took a step back.

Aglaia had made a reference to the burning of Garriston before, but Liv had never heard anything remotely like that. In truth, Liv had no idea, but considering the source, she was willing to bet it was a lie. “The Prism didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“And you know that because he said so? Your mother died in those fires. Your father led the fight against Gavin Guile.”

“What do you care about Garriston? Ruthgar fought on the Prism’s side. Your father fought beside Gavin.”

“And my brother is the governor of Garriston, so I’m in a position to know things,” Aglaia said. She lowered her voice and leaned in. “And maybe now you are too.”

So that was what this was about. “No,” Liv said. “I’m finished with you, with Ruthgar, and with your lies.” Fealty to One. That was the Danavis motto, with strong suggestion that it was fealty only to one. And Liv wasn’t about to serve this one.

“Welcome to your new life, Liv. You’re important now. You are a player in the great game, and your hand isn’t all bad. You see, Liv, you might be Tyrean, but no one’s going to hold that against you anymore. It will only make you more remarkable for overcoming such a handicap. The good life can be yours.”

“You can’t buy me,” Liv said.

“We already did.”

“Things are different now. By the Prism’s own command.”

Aglaia’s eyebrows rose slowly, making her horsey face seem even longer. It was a practiced gesture, but then, nothing about her was genuine. “I’ve been working with you for, what, three years now? And I went back through my notes. I never thought you were a thief, Aliviana Danavis. But now you’re abandoning your duty after three years of schooling. Three years we’ve supported your every need—”

“Oh so generously, too!” Liv said.

“If it had been more generous, your debt would be that much greater now. Here’s my question, Liv. What kind of woman are you?”

It was the same question that had put a quill in Liv’s hand to sign away a fortune. With her new friendship with Gavin, she could probably tell the Ruthgari to go bugger themselves. What could they say against the Prism’s decision? And though Liv had gone from a nothing—a monochrome talented in a minimally useful color—to a bichrome, she still wasn’t worth fighting over. Plenty of each nation’s investments went bad. Drafters died or burned out, or switched loyalty in the last year of their training. Every nation tried to steal drafters, and the Ruthgari were more successful at it than anyone else, so surely they wouldn’t fight too hard to keep Liv.

But to be a Danavis was to act with honor. Always.