The Blinding Knife(249)
Gavin barely made it to the Chromeria before nightfall, the skimmer going slower and slower as his eyes strained for light. At least the waters were still enough that he was able to land directly on the back side of Little Jasper, where there was a tiny dock, rather than having to draft an entire dory by starlight and row in to Big Jasper and walk.
Stepping onto the creaking wood, he disintegrated the yellow skimmer. He rubbed his arms and shoulders, hoping they didn’t cramp. The muscles were trembling and weak from his journey even though the last two hours had been slow going. He was starting to feel a sick foreboding that yellow was getting harder to draft. He hoped it was simply the gathering night, and not that he would wake tomorrow unable to draft yellow at all. If so, he was going to have a hard time getting back to the fleet before the battle was over.
He tried to smile over the rising terror. At least he was going to spend tonight in Karris’s arms. To the evernight with everything else. What had the Third Eye said? “Bruised and broken as you are, it might be your only chance”? Gavin was sore and fatigued, but he was neither bruised nor broken, so either she had meant the “you” to mean Karris or she was simply wrong. Regardless, he wasn’t going to solve the mysteries of prophecy and he didn’t care to. He just wanted to see his wife. His wife. How odd that phrase seemed. And yet how he’d missed her. He felt it keenly now, now that she was so close and his mind wasn’t crowded with fighting, plotting, doing, doing, doing. Some part of him thought that she was going to be snatched away if he didn’t hurry. He opened the lock on the stout oak door. The hinges were rusty. Pulling the door open made him aware again of how tired his arms were. He tried to lift a hand over his head and couldn’t.
The door opened to a long, claustrophobia-inducing tunnel, barely wide enough for one man to pass with his shoulders turned. Gavin touched his hand to one of the ingenious sub-red switches, and from the heat of his hand, it triggered a reaction that opened panels of yellow down the length of the tunnel. Sometimes it was the simple, elegant things that could be done with magic that impressed him far more than his own brute-force behemoths.
Five minutes down the tunnel deposited him at an iron gate with a different lock. He opened that and took a narrow staircase up into the front yard of the Chromeria. By the time he reached the lifts, two Blackguards had fallen in step beside him. He grinned at them. “Gentlemen.”
“Lord Prism,” they said.
He took the lift up, and then the second lift to his own floor, walked past the Blackguards, who didn’t look surprised in the least to see him—how did they do that, anyway? He walked to his own door, then, thinking he heard something, he looked down the hall. The White’s door was closing, very slowly.
She must be asleep. Her guards are being careful not to wake her.
But still Gavin hesitated. You should go check that out. For a second he was aware of himself, poised between going in to a beautiful woman and going to an old crone. What kind of an idiot even thinks that’s a choice?
Cursing himself for a fool, he left his door and strode quickly down the hall. It was rude to enter anyone’s room filled with luxin; it was treated like coming in with a pistol leveled at your host’s head, and if Gavin could get away with many things, that wasn’t one of them. Not with the White. So he drew in superviolet. What they couldn’t see couldn’t be rude, could it?
He opened her door as stealthily as it had just been shut. A crack, and then more. Bodies wearing Blackguard garb lay on the floor and a figure was treading slowly toward the White’s bed, clad all in black.
The light streaming in from the well-lit hallway betrayed Gavin. The figure spun, drawing a pistol from his belt in a smooth, fast motion.
Gavin blasted the door open with his shoulder and dove into the White’s room, shouting, “Assassin!”
The pistol roared. Its ball shattered wood and whined, ricocheting off the stone behind it.
A gray ball nearly two feet across shot out of the man’s hands, catching Gavin’s first Blackguard as he was jumping into the room and drawing his pistol. It knocked him horizontal and back into the other Blackguard.
The assassin had dropped his first pistol and drew another, turning to kill the White, who was awake and scrambling to get off her bed.
From the floor, Gavin shot the tiniest spotlight beam of superviolet out, and as the assassin turned, Gavin’s superviolet played over the man’s hand. Then Gavin shot the rest of his superviolet.
Superviolet is delicate. All the superviolet Gavin held probably weighed only as much as a hairpin, and it wasn’t strong, but even a hairpin flung at great speed can have some effect. The superviolet burned the air and slammed into the back of the assassin’s hand, cracking bones and flinging the pistol out of the man’s grip.