The Blinding Knife(177)

“Gavin,” Andross Guile said. His voice was level, gravelly.

“Father.” He mustered what respect he could.

“You stabbed me in the back in there.” Andross Guile’s face was covered, of course, but his tone was almost bemused. He relished this, Gavin realized. There was nothing left to the old man now except proving his mastery, and there was no game that could compare to Gavin challenging him.

Andross was also certain that he would win, which frightened Gavin.

“I did what you taught me, father.”

“Stuck up for some wandering wretches from Tyrea?”

“Won. I won.”

That earned some silence.

“So you get your own satrap. By itself, worthless. This new Tyrea may not even survive. So you get a vote on the Spectrum you can count on for a couple years. No subtlety, though. If you want to own Colors, there are better ways. Why did you defy me?”

“Funny,” Gavin said. “That was exactly my question for you. Why oppose me, father? What do you care if we fight or not? It’s not like anyone’s going to ask you to take the field. What do you care even if I become promachos again? What could be better for our family?”

“You forget who asks the questions here,” Andross snapped.

Gavin sat in one of the old armchairs. Once regal, it was now shabby. “So you’ve been playing Nine Kings with Kip? How good is he?” It was a petty defiance, asking more questions by misdirection when his father had laid down the law. But he thought Andross would find it irresistible. The man had nothing but his games now.

Andross smiled, a rictus bent upward. “After the war, you lost your focus, Gavin. You could have been as good as me. Now you’re running out of time, and you’ll never be my equal. I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Misjudged me? There’s an understatement. You saggy-drawered monster. Mother took one look at me after Sundered Rock and knew me. You’ve talked to me a thousand times since, and still don’t know me. You never knew me, you blind old fool. “You don’t know what it does to me to consider that I might not be like you,” Gavin said, tone flat.

“It’s time for you to marry,” Andross said.

Gavin had thought the old man might have forgotten. He himself nearly had. It was a shot in the gut.

“I’ll only marry one woman,” Gavin said.

“I’m only asking you to marry one. You’ve got five years. If you can give me four sons, perhaps one of them will have a spine on which I’ll have a chance at rebuilding this family.”

“I have a son,” Gavin said. Kip, who was actually his brother’s son. What a horrible mess.

“A bastard.” Andross waved a hand. “He will be pushed aside in due time. Until your true heirs reach majority, Kip will serve in other ways. To serve as a focus for other families’ assassination attempts and so forth. But Kip will never carry this family’s name forward.”

Gavin tented his fingers, sneering, but of course Andross couldn’t see it. “What’s your master plan, then?”

Andross Guile’s lips thinned. He sat across from Gavin. “I was going to give you your choice of a wife. There were three strong contenders from families wealthy enough or connected in useful ways, and the girls young enough to give you children quickly. Young enough to be… malleable. Solicitous.”

“You mean you could control them after I die.”

“Of course. You bed a strong-willed woman and she might steal your future and disappear.” Andross gave a malicious grin.

Gavin froze. From the tone and the smile, the sentence was meant to be a knife under his armor—under Gavin’s armor—and he had no idea what his father was talking about.

Say the wrong thing, and he’ll know.

So he said nothing, as if stricken. Which he was, if for the wrong reasons.

The knife. It had something to do with the knife.

“Are you curious who they were?” Andross asked.

“Please,” Gavin said lightly. He swallowed.

“Your little temptress Ana Jorvis, Naftalie Delara, and Eva Golden Briar. I was even going to add Liv Danavis, if you’d managed to save Garriston with her father’s help. Of course, now you’ve bound the Danavis clan to us forever in another way so it’s a moot point. Regardless,” Andross Guile said, “now you’ve destroyed that choice for yourself. I’ll give you this, son, you present me with interesting challenges.”

Grinwoody brought them tea. Gavin picked up his cup. “Father, speaking of moot, all of this is moot. I’m not going to marry—”

“Tisis Malargos.”

The teacup hovered in front of Gavin’s mouth. “Pardon?”