The Blinding Knife
Page 23
Briefly, but she noticed.
Gavin could hear his imprisoned brother’s voice, sudden, sharp: ‘So you’d take this, too, huh, brother? Make love with her, as if you were me? You want to hear her scream my name when she’s in the throes of passion?’
If she were any other woman, he would force the moment to its crisis: he would kiss her right now and let her decide. She wanted to say no? Fine, to hell with her. He’d move on. Or, more likely, she’d say yes, and he’d bed her and leave her with a smile on her face—but leave her. At least he’d do something.
Karris was the only woman who paralyzed him.
He remembered lying beside her in her room in her father’s house, so long ago. He remembered kissing that breast, caressing her body, talking as the dawn approached. They’d made love half a dozen times through the night, urgency and passion winning through the awkwardness of inexperience. He had to be gone before her maid came to wake her in the morning.
They’d both known their romance was doomed, even then, even as the children they’d been. “I’ll come for you,” Dazen had promised.
He’d come back as he’d sworn, and she’d been gone—taken away by her father, though he hadn’t known it then; he’d thought she had betrayed him—and her brothers had ambushed him. And he’d started the fire that killed them all: brothers, servants, slaves, children, treasures, hope.
“I’ve done you many wrongs,” Gavin said now. He stood. “And I regret every one of them. I’m sorry.”
He extended a hand to Karris, to help her stand. He thought she was going to refuse for a moment, but then she took his hand, popped to her feet, and didn’t release his hand. She stood close, but her proximity was a challenge. “Do you want to specify what you’re asking my pardon for?”
At Garriston, she’d said, ‘I know your big secret, you asshole.’ And slapped him.
Which hadn’t actually clarified that much. He’d kept a lot of secrets over the years, and whatever she thought she knew could be leagues away from the worst truth. His central secret had necessitated all sorts of other ones over the years.
And by secrets, I mean lies.
So how cold are you, Gavin? How committed to your goal? You’ve killed for it before. Can you do it again?
They were hundreds of leagues away from the nearest Chromeria spy. If Gavin told Karris the whole truth and she swore to expose him or ruin him, he could kill her.
Simple. Easy.
In a fair fight, she’d have a fair chance against him. Her Blackguard training had made her quite a weapon. But there was no fair fight against a Prism.
“I’m just sorry,” Gavin said. He looked away.
She didn’t let go of his hand. She clamped down on it until he met her fiery gaze. “It’s not an apology if you won’t take responsibility. If you can’t even name what you’re apologizing for, you’ve given me nothing. You will not buy absolution on the cheap, not after what you’ve done. Not from me.”
Gavin tried to take his hand back. She refused to let go.
“Let go, or swim,” Gavin said coldly.
She let go.
Damn woman. She made him so furious. More furious because she was right. Damn her!
But he couldn’t kill her, and he knew it. He’d let the world burn down first.
She picked up the luxin tube he’d been using to place charges and handed it to him. “Five more charges should finish the channel,” she said. “But we’ll have to hurry to get it done before low tide. Then we can work on the seawall footings.”
They worked until there was no longer enough light in the sky for Gavin to draft. Karris steadied the boat, and made the forms, and made sure that they were keeping within the lines they’d planned.
The seawall would actually be three seawalls, with two wide gaps: one for ships coming into the bay, and one for ships leaving. The channels through the coral that led to the openings zigzagged, the turns marked by buoys. If they came under threat of attack, the locals could remove the buoys. It was going to be rough work, Gavin thought. He’d learned some things from building Brightwater Wall, but there he’d also had thousands of workers and dozens of drafters to help him.
Lovely that I made such a defensible refuge for the Color Prince.
Well, second time’s the charm. He would leave this for the people of Tyrea—now his people—and he would do a few other things to give them a head start on establishing a city. Then he would leave.
They had a small campfire, and Karris cooked some fish she’d snared while Gavin slept. She woke him and they ate together.
“Sorry,” he said, “I should have helped with dinner.”
She looked at him like he was being stupid. “You’re making the Ninth Wonder of the World this week; I can make dinner.”
“It’s not really fair, is it?” Gavin said. “I couldn’t do this without you, but it’ll be the Thing Gavin Built, just like Brightwater Wall was.”
She shook her head. “You’re a mystery to me, Lord Prism.”
He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke in the middle of the night, there was a blanket over him. He saw Karris in the low light of the fire, watching the darkness. He felt an immense gratitude toward her. She’d worked hard all day long, too, and now she was staying up all night.
Her back was to him and to the fire, maintaining her night vision, of course. Gavin and most sub-reds could control their eyes well enough to attain full night vision quickly, but Karris didn’t like to lose even a few seconds of night vision.
Gavin sat up and was right on the edge of calling out to tell her he would take the next watch when he saw her shoulders shake.
Not a shiver. She was crying. Gavin hadn’t seen Karris cry in years.
He knew she wouldn’t be pleased to find out he’d noticed, but he stood and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed.
“I’ll take this watch,” he said gently.
“Don’t, Gavin,” she said. Her voice was raw, right at the edge.
Don’t what? Don’t touch her? Don’t say anything? Don’t leave?
“Today was Tavos’s birthday,” she said, struggling to get the words out clearly. “I almost didn’t even remember.” Tavos, her brother. He’d died in the fire. He’d been a terrible person, violent, unstable, one of the boys whose jeering had made Dazen believe that if he didn’t fight back that night, he would be killed. But Karris hadn’t seen that, had maybe never seen that side of her brother. Even if she had, he’d still been her brother. “I just miss them all so much. Koios…” She sounded like she wanted to say more, but couldn’t.
Koios had been her favorite brother. He was the only one Gavin regretted killing. The only halfway decent person among them.
And then she did weep. She turned to him, and he held her. He said nothing, still not certain he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing, knowing only that if he said anything, he would say the wrong thing.
Bewildered as he might be, sometimes a man’s highest calling is simply to stand, and hug.
Chapter 19
In his dream, Kip was a green wight, chasing down screaming children and murdering them with blade and fire. He woke alternately furious, weepy, and bloodthirsty, the rage from those phantasms sometimes still clinging to him.
Gavin could hear his imprisoned brother’s voice, sudden, sharp: ‘So you’d take this, too, huh, brother? Make love with her, as if you were me? You want to hear her scream my name when she’s in the throes of passion?’
If she were any other woman, he would force the moment to its crisis: he would kiss her right now and let her decide. She wanted to say no? Fine, to hell with her. He’d move on. Or, more likely, she’d say yes, and he’d bed her and leave her with a smile on her face—but leave her. At least he’d do something.
Karris was the only woman who paralyzed him.
He remembered lying beside her in her room in her father’s house, so long ago. He remembered kissing that breast, caressing her body, talking as the dawn approached. They’d made love half a dozen times through the night, urgency and passion winning through the awkwardness of inexperience. He had to be gone before her maid came to wake her in the morning.
They’d both known their romance was doomed, even then, even as the children they’d been. “I’ll come for you,” Dazen had promised.
He’d come back as he’d sworn, and she’d been gone—taken away by her father, though he hadn’t known it then; he’d thought she had betrayed him—and her brothers had ambushed him. And he’d started the fire that killed them all: brothers, servants, slaves, children, treasures, hope.
“I’ve done you many wrongs,” Gavin said now. He stood. “And I regret every one of them. I’m sorry.”
He extended a hand to Karris, to help her stand. He thought she was going to refuse for a moment, but then she took his hand, popped to her feet, and didn’t release his hand. She stood close, but her proximity was a challenge. “Do you want to specify what you’re asking my pardon for?”
At Garriston, she’d said, ‘I know your big secret, you asshole.’ And slapped him.
Which hadn’t actually clarified that much. He’d kept a lot of secrets over the years, and whatever she thought she knew could be leagues away from the worst truth. His central secret had necessitated all sorts of other ones over the years.
And by secrets, I mean lies.
So how cold are you, Gavin? How committed to your goal? You’ve killed for it before. Can you do it again?
They were hundreds of leagues away from the nearest Chromeria spy. If Gavin told Karris the whole truth and she swore to expose him or ruin him, he could kill her.
Simple. Easy.
In a fair fight, she’d have a fair chance against him. Her Blackguard training had made her quite a weapon. But there was no fair fight against a Prism.
“I’m just sorry,” Gavin said. He looked away.
She didn’t let go of his hand. She clamped down on it until he met her fiery gaze. “It’s not an apology if you won’t take responsibility. If you can’t even name what you’re apologizing for, you’ve given me nothing. You will not buy absolution on the cheap, not after what you’ve done. Not from me.”
Gavin tried to take his hand back. She refused to let go.
“Let go, or swim,” Gavin said coldly.
She let go.
Damn woman. She made him so furious. More furious because she was right. Damn her!
But he couldn’t kill her, and he knew it. He’d let the world burn down first.
She picked up the luxin tube he’d been using to place charges and handed it to him. “Five more charges should finish the channel,” she said. “But we’ll have to hurry to get it done before low tide. Then we can work on the seawall footings.”
They worked until there was no longer enough light in the sky for Gavin to draft. Karris steadied the boat, and made the forms, and made sure that they were keeping within the lines they’d planned.
The seawall would actually be three seawalls, with two wide gaps: one for ships coming into the bay, and one for ships leaving. The channels through the coral that led to the openings zigzagged, the turns marked by buoys. If they came under threat of attack, the locals could remove the buoys. It was going to be rough work, Gavin thought. He’d learned some things from building Brightwater Wall, but there he’d also had thousands of workers and dozens of drafters to help him.
Lovely that I made such a defensible refuge for the Color Prince.
Well, second time’s the charm. He would leave this for the people of Tyrea—now his people—and he would do a few other things to give them a head start on establishing a city. Then he would leave.
They had a small campfire, and Karris cooked some fish she’d snared while Gavin slept. She woke him and they ate together.
“Sorry,” he said, “I should have helped with dinner.”
She looked at him like he was being stupid. “You’re making the Ninth Wonder of the World this week; I can make dinner.”
“It’s not really fair, is it?” Gavin said. “I couldn’t do this without you, but it’ll be the Thing Gavin Built, just like Brightwater Wall was.”
She shook her head. “You’re a mystery to me, Lord Prism.”
He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke in the middle of the night, there was a blanket over him. He saw Karris in the low light of the fire, watching the darkness. He felt an immense gratitude toward her. She’d worked hard all day long, too, and now she was staying up all night.
Her back was to him and to the fire, maintaining her night vision, of course. Gavin and most sub-reds could control their eyes well enough to attain full night vision quickly, but Karris didn’t like to lose even a few seconds of night vision.
Gavin sat up and was right on the edge of calling out to tell her he would take the next watch when he saw her shoulders shake.
Not a shiver. She was crying. Gavin hadn’t seen Karris cry in years.
He knew she wouldn’t be pleased to find out he’d noticed, but he stood and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed.
“I’ll take this watch,” he said gently.
“Don’t, Gavin,” she said. Her voice was raw, right at the edge.
Don’t what? Don’t touch her? Don’t say anything? Don’t leave?
“Today was Tavos’s birthday,” she said, struggling to get the words out clearly. “I almost didn’t even remember.” Tavos, her brother. He’d died in the fire. He’d been a terrible person, violent, unstable, one of the boys whose jeering had made Dazen believe that if he didn’t fight back that night, he would be killed. But Karris hadn’t seen that, had maybe never seen that side of her brother. Even if she had, he’d still been her brother. “I just miss them all so much. Koios…” She sounded like she wanted to say more, but couldn’t.
Koios had been her favorite brother. He was the only one Gavin regretted killing. The only halfway decent person among them.
And then she did weep. She turned to him, and he held her. He said nothing, still not certain he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing, knowing only that if he said anything, he would say the wrong thing.
Bewildered as he might be, sometimes a man’s highest calling is simply to stand, and hug.
Chapter 19
In his dream, Kip was a green wight, chasing down screaming children and murdering them with blade and fire. He woke alternately furious, weepy, and bloodthirsty, the rage from those phantasms sometimes still clinging to him.
