“Wait. ‘Almost everyone’? Who doesn’t fail?” Kip asked.
The jubilant men and women quieted.
The old woman said, “The only person in my lifetime who didn’t take the rope was…”
Gavin. Kip knew it. Of course. His father had been the one man who did what no one else could do, what no one else had ever done. Kip had failed him.
“Your uncle,” the mistress said.
My “uncle” Gavin, or my uncle Dazen?
Apparently registering his confusion, she said, “Your uncle Dazen Guile, who nearly destroyed our world. Good footsteps not to follow, hm?”
She was speaking that other language again. After all Kip had seen Gavin do, it was Gavin’s brother who’d passed?
“Four minutes is wonderful, Kip, but that’s just bragging rights. Are you ready to see your colors?”
Chapter 44
Liv dropped into a curtsey, glad for the excuse to break eye contact with the Prism. When she straightened, Gavin Guile was looking at her critically. Obviously she’d been right, not many women answered his summonses in their work clothes and no cosmetics.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a proper Tyrean curtsey,” the Prism said.
After your armies left, there weren’t many women left to curtsey. “How may I serve you, High Luxlord Prism?” Liv asked instead.
“Lord Prism is sufficient,” Gavin said.
“Thank you, Lord Prism.”
He was obviously weighing her, thinking. But thinking what? Whatever else that wretched woman Aglaia Crassos had done, she’d made Liv think of the Prism as Gavin Guile—a man, and a good-looking one at that. His eyes were—quite literally—the most entrancing eyes in the entire world.
Magister, Liv. Tutor. Lord. Luxlord. Noble. General. Twice as old as you. Way too old for you. Not a broad-shouldered, muscular man—just another magister. You can go to hell, Aglaia Crassos.
“Have you chosen who you want to be your magister in yellow?” he asked.
Thank you!
See, I’m a disciple. Purely academic. A child in comparison to him. Hopelessly young and ignorant. She pursed her lips. “Honestly, I’d like to study under Mistress Tawenza Goldeneyes.” She could barely believe she’d dared say it out loud. The woman only took three disciples a year—and she already had three. The three best yellow disciples in the Chromeria.
Gavin laughed. “That prickly she-bear? A bold choice. She’s the best, and she probably won’t hate you as much as you think she does for the first year. I’d have you send my compliments to her when I assign her a fourth student, but she’d doubtless take it out on you. Consider it done. How are your apartments?”
She paused. It was almost a personal question. No, he’s simply worried—no, not worried, he’s checking that his orders have been carried out. Generals do that sort of thing. “They’re better than anything I thought I’d ever have, Lord Prism. And the clothes? I used to have three dresses. Now I’ve got more than fifty and my worst is nicer than my old Sun Day best.” Wait, maybe clothes weren’t the best topic.
“And yet you decided to come in this,” Gavin said, noticing. Oops. His voice didn’t intone disapproval. If anything, there was a thin thread of amusement. But his face didn’t give her any expression to know if he was irritated. She should have listened to that slave, Marissia. It wouldn’t have killed her to freshen up a little. He glanced past her, and she followed his gaze, but the room was empty except for the two of them, and there were no unusual decorations on the walls, just the normal testing crystal.
“You said to come at my earliest convenience.” She couldn’t keep a defensive tone out of her voice. “I thought you’d not want to be kept waiting.” That was better. Nicely assertive, Liv.
“I think you’ll do perfectly.”
“Lord Prism?”
“You’re perfect because you refuse to be impressed, Aliviana. I like that. It—”
“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m not impressed!”
He grinned. “You say, interrupting me.”
And proving his point.
Liv decided to shut up. Maybe differentiating herself from all the other women who came here—and were unsuccessful in their attempts to seduce Gavin—had not been a good plan.
“It seems every time I summon a woman between the ages of thirteen and sixty, she comes dressed like a Ruthgari courtesan, either overly eager or completely terrified. Like I run a brothel up here.”
Oh, Orholam strike me, what if I’ve done the one thing that makes me more attractive to him? “You’re Gavin Guile,” Liv said, like that explained everything. It did. Not only would snaring the Prism totally change a woman’s own life, but it would change her entire family’s life. Immediately and for generations to come, and for the better. Add gorgeous and virile to “Prism,” which already meant powerful, respected, and rich, and Liv had no doubt that hemlines soared and necklines swooped. It was a wonder that women didn’t come to the Prism naked. How much would Ana have worn if the Prism had summoned her?