Kip thought of his mother, choosing to blast her brain on haze or any other intoxicant she could get until she was able to forget him, committing a slower, less noble suicide day by day. But Andross Guile wasn’t looking for commiseration.
“I wanted to die. I considered following her and laying open my veins in the bath. And do you know what saved me?”
“Me?” Kip asked dubiously.
“Ha! Don’t flatter yourself. Nine Kings. Distractions saved me. Even this old heart takes time to muddle through grief, but those distractions kept me alive long enough to do it. My petty tortures of you kept my mind occupied, gave me something to look forward to. Would Kip fail here? What could I come up with to take away from him when he lost our game tomorrow? How else could I test the boy, in ways that strained you but gave you some chance for victory?”
“You did not let me win. Don’t even pretend you—”
“Bah! You think your wits are a match for mine? Well, I’ll let you wonder. Now shut your mouth, I’m trying to thank you.”
Kip fell into sullen silence, feeling abruptly like a child again. Robbed of his rage, he felt powerless in Andross’s august presence.
Andross sighed. “Well, there. Thank you. That is all.”
“That’s it?” Kip asked.
The man sank down lower in his chair. Grimaced. “You’ve earned my respect, Kip. You’ve overcome adversity that would have crushed lesser men. You’ve surprised me. Not once, but several times. When I think of you, I’m disgusted and disappointed that my son could make… this. And yet, despite this blubber and this loud mouth and this utter lack of self-control, these Tyrean manners and…” He waved a hand, as if there was much more objectionable about Kip but that it was a tangent. “Despite it all, Kip, you consistently win.” His voice grew scratchy. “I have lost my wife and all my boys now, one way or another. Perhaps I am to blame for some shred of that. But you, Kip, you have proved you are a Guile. I will hinder you no more.” He turned away and gestured Kip to go.
Kip walked to the door slowly, bewildered.
“Perhaps,” the lonely old man said in the darkness, not turning, “perhaps someday we could play that last game you owe me.”
Kip left the cabin and closed the door under Grinwoody’s disapproving eyes.
Chapter 106
Gavin knocked on the door out to the balcony and let two very cold Blackguards back in. They didn’t make eye contact, but they did grin at the floor. “Well done, sir,” one said beneath his breath. “Woman’s got some lungs,” the other said to the first, clearly intending to be overheard.
The first winked, not at all stealthily, at Karris, who covered her face and laughed ruefully. They were like her brothers. Gavin wasn’t going to get in the middle of that. That relationship would change now that she was his wife. But Gavin didn’t want to kill her joy. Let things change in their proper season. He rang the slaves’ bell.
Marissia and another slave, a skinny old woman with Ruthgari skin tanned so leathery she looked Atashian came in and began laying out their clothing at Karris’s direction.
“I didn’t even realize you’d moved all your things in,” Gavin said.
“I wanted to wait for you; it seemed presumptuous to invade without being asked, but my kin in the Blackguard kicked me out.”
Gavin laughed. He noticed as Marissia dressed him that Karris was watching him closely, watching how he looked at Marissia. Hiding it well, but jealous. For her part, Marissia was a cipher. Professional, calm, more rumpled this morning than usual, but that was because she’d probably slept in the hallway, rather than in her closet-sized room off Gavin’s quarters, where she slept when she didn’t share Gavin’s bed.
In his years as Prism, Gavin had grown used to having very little privacy, at least not from the Blackguard or from Marissia, but what had seemed amusing when the Blackguards had teased him about overhearing him and Karris making love all night, sometimes loudly, seemed less humorous when he saw Marissia’s carefully blank face and deeply shadowed eyes.
There are nations at stake, and I’m thinking about a slave’s feelings. Gavin cursed inwardly.
After getting dressed—Karris picked out his clothes, something that Marissia had done for ages—Gavin went downstairs. He stopped only to say, “Twenty minutes, meet me at the back door, packed and ready for war.”
Karris nodded grimly. It was almost daylight, and they couldn’t afford to burn too much of that.
Facing the Spectrum was almost a relief. Gavin thought it was definitely better than being stuck between two jealous women who both had good cause to be angry at him. It was a fight that Marissia couldn’t have, of course, because it was a fight she would lose spectacularly, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel, or that she was wrong to. Orholam have mercy. Four Blackguards accompanied him. It was understandable, given the assassination attempt last night, but it still made Gavin feel like a prisoner.