The Black Prism(148)

Isa had barely crossed Kip’s mind in the last days. He’d thought about her, but there was something hollow there. He’d let himself daydream about kissing Isa someday, but maybe that had been more because she was there than that she was perfect for him. Or because she was there and Liv wasn’t, and Kip needed something to distract him from thinking about Liv.

And now here she was. She’d measured both sides, and she took his spectacles off and was carefully bending the arms to fit behind his ears.

“Hmm,” she said. “Your right ear’s higher than the left.”

“My ears are lopsided?” Kip said. As if I didn’t have enough to be self-conscious about.

“Don’t worry, mine are too! Really, most people’s are off a little bit.” She paused. “Just not quite so much.” She shook her head in disbelief.

“I’ve got freakish ears?”

Liv grinned wickedly. “Gotcha.”

“Orholam’s ba—Ahem, beard.” Kip scowled. Every time. Every stinkin’ time.

She smiled, self-satisfied, and gave the nose pieces a final bend, then propped the spectacles on his face. “There. You might have to play with them to make them more comfortable, but they aren’t really meant to be on your face all day long anyway.”

He looked around, and was not terribly surprised to see that most everything had a greenish tinge through the green glass.

“What you’re seeing is white light from the sun reflected off of surfaces, then filtered through your lenses. So if you’re surrounded by white marble walls or something, you’ll be able to draft almost as much as if you were in a forest. The lenses aren’t as good as drafting from natural greens, but it’s better than nothing. You can’t just look at anything, though. Look around. You see how some things really look green, and others don’t? Like if you look at this cloth, what color does it appear to be?” She drew another cloth out of her bag.

“Uh, red.” Kip thought he could hear Gavin’s voice from the floor above them, getting louder, angry.

“It is red.”

Refocusing his attention on Liv, Kip looked over his glasses, and though the cloth’s tone was changed a little, it was indeed red. “So how does that work?” he asked.

“The spectacles will only help if there are surfaces that are reflecting green to you. White surfaces work best because white is all the colors together. Much less good, but sometimes possible, will be drafting through your lenses when looking at yellow or blue surfaces, since green is a secondary color.”

“Lost me there.”

“So now you want the color theory?” She grinned, joking. “For your purposes, if you need to draft, the spectacles will help most if you can find things that are either white or light-colored. Ripe wheat would work, a spruce tree won’t,” Liv said.

“I think I can remember that,” Kip said. The whole things-aren’t-the-color-they-are thing really didn’t make sense, but he suspected he could wrestle with that later.

“Good, so that covers source. For the time being.”

You mean we still have to cover skill, will, and still?

Liv said, “I don’t want to beat this to death, and I’m sorry you don’t get to have the ceremony, because maybe that helps this sink in. Those spectacles are now your most important possession. Not only do most drafters have to save up for months or even a year to afford one pair of spectacles, but everyone then immediately saves for a spare pair. If you get rich, or if the Prism orders it, I suppose, you can have a custom pair made by the lens grinders. They can give you a darker or lighter green or adjust the frame for fit or looks. But without your spectacles, you’re close to powerless. I know you’ve been with the Prism, but he’s the exception. He doesn’t need spectacles. His eyes don’t halo. He can use as much magic as he wants. The rules don’t apply to him. Even the rules for Prisms don’t seem to apply to him. Can you imagine anyone else coming in here, alone, and simply taking over? From the Ruthgari? And the funny thing is, they’re going to take it. They won’t like it, but they’ll—”

A man’s voice from the roof interrupted her. “I don’t give a good god’s damn what your paper says, there’s no way you’re—” The man cut off with a yelp.

Kip looked up just as a man plunged past their balcony. He landed far below with a huge splash in the bay, and Kip saw him struggle to the surface, spluttering, his rich clothes billowing in the water. He started crying for help.

“This is outrage—!” someone started to shout, then Kip saw another man plunge past the balcony. He splashed in the bay, almost on top of the governor.