We all have our blind spots, but pity her whose blind spot is a person. Karris had had two—the White, whom she’d underestimated but loved, and Gavin, whom she’d underestimated and come to love when she stopped underestimating him. It was by Orholam’s grace alone that both of her blind spots had been good to her.
Karris had only one chance in seven to fulfill the White’s wishes. And suddenly, she wanted it with half her heart.
No one sane could want to be the White. But Karris could want Andross Guile’s puppet not to be the White. If she was the only stumbling block in his way, so be it.
If it be your will, Orholam, use me.
But how could she do it? Had the White been trusting Orholam to take Karris the rest of the way?
And there it was again. A distant sound that made Karris’s ears perk up. The first had been louder, but it had been buried under the rattling of the chains. A musket shot. There were multiple shots, muffled by the thick doors and thick stone, coming from another floor, perhaps? Or was she hearing the shots through the window? Was someone out on a balcony several floors down celebrating Sun Day?
It was, of course, forbidden to celebrate in such a way, but that didn’t stop many people on Big Jasper. It did, however, usually stop people within the Chromeria itself. Karris looked over at the Black, who was seated in the second row, but Carver Black didn’t appear to have heard the shots, or he was a better pretender than she’d ever guessed.
Andross on the other hand … Andross was the ultimate in pretense, in misdirection. Karris stared at him, though he shared the dais with her, and staring was obvious. What did she care? It wasn’t like they could take away her candidacy because she was socially awkward.
And then she saw it. She didn’t know why this should be the first time. She’d seen Gavin operate a thousand times a thousand—but Gavin had always been a special case. Now she saw power for what it meant to her. To her, it meant not just operating outside the social norms—she always had—it meant flouting them. It meant staring at a man past the time it was acceptable to stare, and instead of feeling awkward, making everyone else feel it. That mastery, that freedom at the expense of others, was intoxicating.
For one who had always had an affinity for the blue virtues of order and harmony and setting a plate exactly according to some point-book written by some long-dead prince of the punctilious pompacio, power was a revelation. Power, not for others, but for her.
And the heart of intoxication is toxic.
Andross Guile looked back at her calmly. He didn’t seem angry. It was a feeling, an intuition, rather than any hint of expression. He had an air of expectation. And an expectation, for Andross Guile, was an expectation of victory. He was patient because he was going to win.
Karris smiled at him, smiled like she knew the game, like she loved that he thought he was going to win, smiled like she was better than he was. He blinked, then, the barest flicker of doubt. She ducked her head demurely and smiled on sweet secrets.
He had a plan. Damn. Andross Guile wasn’t a man to leave anything to chance. He wasn’t going to take a chance, not even a six-to-one chance. Even if he owned all of the other six, he would have a favorite.
But how would he cheat? The ceremony must surely be designed to making cheating impossible.
But Andross Guile knew exactly what those safeguards were. Or who.
Karris looked at the High Luxiat Amazzal. Was he part of it?
“Orholam, all-mighty Lord of Lords,” he said. “Look upon us. Highest Lord and Highest God, thee we beseech. Look upon our efforts and bless them with thy light, thy life, thy favor. This day, Orholam, Lord and High King, Emperor of Emperors, Balancer of Scales, Mighty and Just, Honorable and Pure, Awesome in Power, Wholesome in Mercy, we seek your will and not our own. We seek this day your White, your light, your antidote to night. We, your satrapies, ask your hand to rest lightly on us, lightly on obedient hearts that need only prompting, not compulsion, only guidance, for it is thy purpose which we seek to serve, and not our own. We praise thee, Lord of Luxlords, Light of Nations, Voice in the Stillness, Guide to the Blind, and Path of Mercy to the Benighted. See and move, O God.” Each time he said ‘God’ he gave it the traditional moment of hesitation, of respect. It was a measure of his piety or simply his experience that he made the traditional seem vibrant, like he himself thought even this measure of respect was perhaps too little.
“Candidates,” he said, “come forward. From this time forward, drafting is forbidden. Drafting is an imposition of our will upon the world. Any who draft or who accept another’s drafting on their behalf will be disqualified and executed as a heretic. Understood? If so, repeat, ‘Under the Un-deceivable Eye of Orholam, I understand and I agree.’”