The drafter spoke to him, but Gavin was beyond words now.
Staring a challenge at the sun, but still I could draft the black. I could take my noonday shadow, withered though it is, and cast it over all the world.
A woman in a chirurgeon’s coat stepped close, looming over Gavin. She was plain, and pale, and paler than her usual pallor, Gavin guessed. Blanched white as only the pallid people at this arc of the satrapies could blanch. She wore two heavy leather gloves. He couldn’t hear her, but he could read her lips. Though she didn’t know he was the Prism, she was begging for his forgiveness. He’d seen those words pass lips in their thousands and thousands, every Sun Day.
Still I could draft the black. Orholam, you do not show half the mercy I do.
Karris, I will miss seeing your smile.
The chirurgeon lifted the first white-hot metal poker from the barrel and scuffed the coal particles from the metal with quick strokes. She braced her hip against the table and brought the smoking hot point over his head, holding it in both hands, burning like a second sun. She moved carefully, carefully.
Last second. Last chance. This is it.
The glowing metal descended, the bright white point of that terrestrial sun blotting out the celestial one.
He’d been like this. Last time. At the point of death. And had refused to die. Hands outstretched, like now, only facedown that time. Arms outstretched, and he’d reached out and embraced all hell.
And it was there, beneath his fingers like a smothering blanket of black spiders, ready to be thrown over the face of the world, over the face of the sun.
The black luxin trailed under his fingertips like all the waters of the world. To claim it, he had only to make a fist.
Still I can— His fingers went rigid, but didn’t clench.
Tssss. The sound of his sizzling eyeball was the first thing he heard as all sound came back.
He’d known it would hurt.
He’d had no idea.
He screamed his soul.
Chapter 84
“Karris, you have to wake up. Right now.”
Karris blinked to find Marissia shaking her. “Marissia, what are you doing? It’s not even light out.”
“It’s Gavin. One of my spies has just reported.”
That woke her instantly.
“Gavin’s imprisoned in Rath, and he may be executed.”
“When? How do we know? How good is the source? Where?” Karris moved toward the bureau where she kept her blacks.
Marissia stepped in her way, put a hand on her arm. “Today,” she said.
“Today?! And we’re learning this now?!”
“I have an idea,” Marissia said. “Mind you, not a good one.”
And now here Karris was, agreeing with the last part more and more with every windswept league. Gavin’s invention of the skimmers should change everything. They might even save his life.
She’d grabbed all the Blackguards she knew could keep their silence and whom she knew had a fair bit of drafting left until they broke their halos, but she hadn’t told everyone. There hadn’t been time. She’d hadn’t looked for Ironfist, certain that he would have seen this foolishness for what it was and tried to stop it.
But there he’d been, at the Luxlords’ dock at the back of the Chromeria, waiting.
She took a deep breath and lifted her chin, gathering her thoughts. He was as imposing as his arguments would be good. And that was if he even bothered to argue with her, rather than simply throw her over his shoulder and carry her away.
He scowled at her and she moved to speak. He spoke first. “You can go get yourself killed, but you’re not going to do it alone.”
“You have to let me— What?”
Ironfist let her struggle under a glare that weighed more than she did. Then a little smile stole onto his face.
She jumped onto him and hugged him, hard.
“Gah!” He caught her, startled, then pushed her away. “Karris, there’s no, there’s no hugging in the Blackguard!”
She smiled up at him. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
Karris couldn’t count the emotions that passed over his face, but twice his mouth opened to say things, and nothing came out. He stepped back away from her, then looked irritated that he’d retreated. He settled on a glower. “I brought baggage,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder.
“I’m baggage?” the Blackguard inductee named Ben-hadad asked.
But Ironfist ignored him, noticing all the Blackguards looking at him, grinning their fool faces off. “What is this?!” Ironfist barked at them. “Lives in the balance. The whole point of the Blackguard, and you’re lolling about? Skimmer! Now!”
They scattered like deer at a musket shot, and only then did a small, satisfied smile steal over his face. He looked at Karris and sniffed. “The room slave told me your plan. Terrible plan. This one here will make it work, though.” He made a grudging motion to Ben-hadad.