“My apologies,” Gavin said. In quick glances, he studied the blade again: white and black, seven lambent gems. If he’d been able to see colors, it probably would have been even more impressive.
“How long until they name your replacement?” Gunner asked.
“Men like you and me can’t be replaced, Gunner, only followed.”
A quick flash of a grin. But then, “Answer the question, Six.”
“Prisms and Prisms-elect are traditionally only named on Sun Day. If he or she dies before Sun Day, most of the duties are deferred, and the balancing is accomplished through manual means—that is, drafters around the world being told not to draft as much of one color, but more of another.”
“Good news at last,” Gunner said. Then he spat over the deck. “‘Traditionally’?”
“During wars, four times Prisms have been named early, with the final ceremonies put off until Sun Day.”
“So you could already be replaced?” Gunner said. “Good thing you’re good on an oar, I guess.”
Oh, Gunner was worried that if he didn’t ransom Gavin before another Prism was named, Gavin’s value would go down. Orholam’s sweet saggies, like Gavin was property. The thought clanged, dissonant, the vibrations shaking sand from surfaces that had been smooth, revealing rusty nails beneath the surface. It was one thing to be forced to row. Even to be beaten was hard and infuriating, but nothing more than Gavin had dealt with in training. Sore muscles? He’d had those for five hundred days straight as he’d designed the skimmer. He’d had men and women try to kill him, he’d been hated and feared everywhere he went. But to be a slave?
No, this was an unpleasant land he was visiting. It wasn’t his new home. Good on an oar? He would escape or be rescued, there was no question of it. He wasn’t a rower; he was simply rowing for a time.
Gavin owned slaves. When he saw stray looks on their faces, fear or despair or disgust, he judged whether it was an assassination attempt—and if it wasn’t, he dismissed it. Dismissed them. Because they were beneath his notice.
The only slave he’d treated like she was human was Marissia. He’d been good to her, at least. More than good. He’d been an excellent owner to the slave closest to himself. That had to count for something.
“You’re certain your father doesn’t want you back?” Gunner asked.
“You saw where that sword was, didn’t you?” Gavin asked. He meant when Gunner had fished him out of the water. He didn’t remember it himself, but he’d been told he’d been impaled on the damn thing. “My father put it there.”
That was true, as far as it went. Gavin had taken the dagger into his own chest when he saw it was him or Kip. An odd touch of mad heroics. And now Kip was drowned. Which showed all the good heroics do.
“What do you want?” Gavin asked.
Gunner spread his arms, soaking up the sun. His jacket parted over his sinewy bare chest, and he held the ivory and ebony musket-sword easily. “Gunner wants a legend,” he said.
“You’ve got two. The Sea Demon Slayer? You’ve been a legend since you were six and ten. And you captured me, a legend if there ever was one.”
“If you says so yourself,” Gunner said, grinning.
“I figgered Gunner wouldn’t be one for false modesty,” Gavin shot back.
Gunner paused. “Indeed, no.” He got pensive. Finally, he gestured to his ship, his crew, even his miraculous sword. “It ain’t enough. You understand? Of all of ’em, you understand, don’t you? I was a boy when I did that other. That can’t be the pineapple of my life, can it?”
Gavin didn’t grin at the malapropism. Gunner wouldn’t take even a hint of well-meant mockery, not now.
“It was half luck,” Gunner said. He shook his head. “A man’s more than one act, ain’t he?” But he didn’t wait for Gavin to answer. He pointed to the horizon with grim amusement. “There, you see it?”
Gavin couldn’t see it.
Gunner grunted, looking at Gavin’s chains, but decided to keep him in them. “We’re being followed by a galley. Belongs to one Mongalt Shales. He’s sworn vengeance on me. Two years ago, I was gunner for the famous Captain Giles Tanner. You know him?”
Gavin had to shake his head.
Gunner grunted, like it was a loss, but a digression too far to fill Gavin in. “Pirate, ’course. We found a galley and gave chase, and I made a shot from the long tom. Didn’t just blow the first mate off the wheel—I blew off the wheel. From three hundred paces. Bit of luck to that shot, I admit. Without her bein’ able to turn, fight was over like that. No one else even died.”