The Broken Eye
Page 120
“Such a pleasant surprise to see you here,” Gavin said. As if that covered the half of it.
She laughed aloud. “Do you know, the seed crystal tells me that you actually are happy to see me. You’re a complicated man, aren’t you, Gavin Guile?”
He blinked. “What’s this about a seed crystal?” You never knew. Sometimes you just ask, and people will tell you what you want to know.
She studied the crystal. “A genuine question. Really? Really?”
She laughed again.
Gavin quirked an eyebrow. For the last two hours, his mind had been spinning like a mill with the gears uncoupled, whizzing furiously, accomplishing nothing.
“Do you remember the mosaic on the left-hand wall, as you enter my library?” she asked.
By ‘my library’ she meant the Library of Azûlay. The building itself was more than eight hundred years old, and probably built on top of a library that had been there at least two hundred more. The mosaic was of King Zedekiah, skin depicted in onyx, the scroll-spear of wisdom in his right hand and whatever had been in his left hand long ago chiseled out by thieves. The kings and queens and satraps who followed had never found two scholars who agreed on what had been lost—a scepter? scales of justice? a sword?—or they would have restored it long ago. King Zedekiah, Gavin remembered, wore a crown with seven stars. One for each color, naturally. The red and blue and green, most likely ruby and sapphire and emerald, had been picked out at whatever time the left-hand mosaic tiles had been stolen, but those had been easier to replace.
Though it was a famous place, and he knew much about it, Gavin had never been there. He had never visited her. And he had never taken her to his bed, made Orholam only knew what promises, and then left her without a word—unlike his older brother, the real Gavin.
Thanks for that, brother.
“The crown?” Gavin said, dubious. “Surely metaphorical.”
“King Zedekiah was one of the nine kings.”
“I’ve heard that speculation before,” Gavin said. “You think—”
“Not speculation. You think I support scholars for the warm feelings I get for my charity?”
“Never that,” Gavin said. He smirked to try to take the edge off. It didn’t work.
Her expression darkened. “They confirmed it for me. Along with some other fascinating tidbits.”
“Pray tell,” Gavin said.
She looked down at what she’d said was the orange seed crystal. “Mostly sarcastic, but interested, too. You hoping I’ll slip up? You want to battle with me, Gavin?”
“Seems like that trinket is doing more than telling you yes or no on whether I’m telling the truth,” Gavin said.
“King Zedekiah was holding a sword in his hand. All diamonds, except for a helix of obsidian up the spine, wrapping around seven jewels. Ah, I don’t need the seed crystal to tell me you’re familiar with the blade.” She walked up close to the bars. She had a terrible walk. Heavy and direct, like a man trudging under the weight of a pack, no sway to her slender hips at all.
But then she was at the bars, and the scent of her perfume wafted over him. Lemon and jasmine and balsam and amber. It reminded him of Karris’s scent, a brief flash of the paradise that was having her hair drape over his face, skin to skin.
But he was brought back instantly as she spoke. “Haven’t you ever wondered why so much of your approved history starts only four hundred years ago?”
“That was when Lucidonius came. No empire likes to laud that which came before it.” Gavin shrugged. “Simple exercise in maintaining power. Bury the past until you’re sure it’s dead.”
“Another truth wrapped around a lie. You’re hoping I’ll be frustrated and explain why you’re wrong.”
Sometimes Gavin wondered how well he would have ruled if he hadn’t had the handicap of maintaining his façade. He’d had to keep the Nuqaba at arm’s length throughout his time as Prism because he didn’t know the full details of her tryst with his brother, and she was said to be one of the strongest intuitive thinkers in the Seven Satrapies. He’d feared that she would take one look at him and declare him a fraud.
Luckily, her religious duties had kept her tied to her own country, and its great distance from the Chromeria had been enough excuse for Gavin to avoid going there. But now here he was, her prisoner, and she had a means of knowing whenever he told a lie.
“So then, why do you think the empire is doomed?” Gavin asked.
“Because Eirene and I are deciding whether we’ll join the Color Prince or stay with your father and the Seven—pardon—Five Satrapies.”
It took Gavin’s breath away. Treason. Treason, discussed as if they were discussing who could give a better price for alligator leather.
“You see, Gavin, the Spectrum has become so insular that they’ve forgotten they exist for us, not the other way around. When’s the last time any member of the Spectrum even traveled to their home satrapy? Six years ago. And that was prompted by one of Delara Orange’s cousins dying young, with two wills and four bastards.”
Gavin said nothing, but it was more than his breath that was gone. It was his spirit, limp as a wind-starved sail. Why would she tell him her planned treason, and tell him so bluntly?
Because there was, quite simply, nothing he could do to affect what she did. Ultimately, she was saying, all of Gavin’s power rested on his magical power. This was her vengeance.
No, it was only the beginning of her vengeance. She would dismantle all he’d accomplished in his time as Prism.
“You see,” she said, “the Spectrum was so busy hobbling you that they ignored every other threat. Think what you could have accomplished if the empire had been an empire in truth. Ilyta could be a center of smithing that would enrich everyone. Instead it’s ten thousand pirates, two hundred smiths, and a few hundred thousand people in poverty. Did I say Five Satrapies? Four. And think about Tyrea. Well, surely you know what a wasteland Tyrea is. Totally unnecessary. If a man as strong as you couldn’t unite this empire, then this empire is too weak to stand.”
“So you’ve made your decision?” he asked.
She smiled almost shyly. “I’ve made mine. The Color Prince thinks he can control us. You see this?” She held up the jewel. It was a six-pointed star, with black tips on each point, both the color—orange, he assumed—and the black somehow throbbing with life. She had it contained in a tiny glass box, and the box on a chain.
“The seed crystal?” Gavin asked.
“Didn’t you find them when you destroyed the other bane?”
Gavin shook his head. “Is this a cruel joke?” The term ‘seed crystal’ didn’t bode well.
She shook her head. “All that work. All those lives. Wasted. The bane will reform if you don’t seize the seed crystal. Within months. They look for a host; a drafter to whom they give enormous power. And for some reason, this man, this Color Prince thinks he can then control all of them. But so long as I hold this, rather than it holding me, I don’t need to find out. He thinks an orange drafter must, by her very nature, desire to become a goddess. But I’m smart enough to choose freedom. Freedom from the Chromeria. Freedom from him, as well. But I won’t leave without Ruthgar. To get the terms we want—that we need—it will take both of us.”
She laughed aloud. “Do you know, the seed crystal tells me that you actually are happy to see me. You’re a complicated man, aren’t you, Gavin Guile?”
He blinked. “What’s this about a seed crystal?” You never knew. Sometimes you just ask, and people will tell you what you want to know.
She studied the crystal. “A genuine question. Really? Really?”
She laughed again.
Gavin quirked an eyebrow. For the last two hours, his mind had been spinning like a mill with the gears uncoupled, whizzing furiously, accomplishing nothing.
“Do you remember the mosaic on the left-hand wall, as you enter my library?” she asked.
By ‘my library’ she meant the Library of Azûlay. The building itself was more than eight hundred years old, and probably built on top of a library that had been there at least two hundred more. The mosaic was of King Zedekiah, skin depicted in onyx, the scroll-spear of wisdom in his right hand and whatever had been in his left hand long ago chiseled out by thieves. The kings and queens and satraps who followed had never found two scholars who agreed on what had been lost—a scepter? scales of justice? a sword?—or they would have restored it long ago. King Zedekiah, Gavin remembered, wore a crown with seven stars. One for each color, naturally. The red and blue and green, most likely ruby and sapphire and emerald, had been picked out at whatever time the left-hand mosaic tiles had been stolen, but those had been easier to replace.
Though it was a famous place, and he knew much about it, Gavin had never been there. He had never visited her. And he had never taken her to his bed, made Orholam only knew what promises, and then left her without a word—unlike his older brother, the real Gavin.
Thanks for that, brother.
“The crown?” Gavin said, dubious. “Surely metaphorical.”
“King Zedekiah was one of the nine kings.”
“I’ve heard that speculation before,” Gavin said. “You think—”
“Not speculation. You think I support scholars for the warm feelings I get for my charity?”
“Never that,” Gavin said. He smirked to try to take the edge off. It didn’t work.
Her expression darkened. “They confirmed it for me. Along with some other fascinating tidbits.”
“Pray tell,” Gavin said.
She looked down at what she’d said was the orange seed crystal. “Mostly sarcastic, but interested, too. You hoping I’ll slip up? You want to battle with me, Gavin?”
“Seems like that trinket is doing more than telling you yes or no on whether I’m telling the truth,” Gavin said.
“King Zedekiah was holding a sword in his hand. All diamonds, except for a helix of obsidian up the spine, wrapping around seven jewels. Ah, I don’t need the seed crystal to tell me you’re familiar with the blade.” She walked up close to the bars. She had a terrible walk. Heavy and direct, like a man trudging under the weight of a pack, no sway to her slender hips at all.
But then she was at the bars, and the scent of her perfume wafted over him. Lemon and jasmine and balsam and amber. It reminded him of Karris’s scent, a brief flash of the paradise that was having her hair drape over his face, skin to skin.
But he was brought back instantly as she spoke. “Haven’t you ever wondered why so much of your approved history starts only four hundred years ago?”
“That was when Lucidonius came. No empire likes to laud that which came before it.” Gavin shrugged. “Simple exercise in maintaining power. Bury the past until you’re sure it’s dead.”
“Another truth wrapped around a lie. You’re hoping I’ll be frustrated and explain why you’re wrong.”
Sometimes Gavin wondered how well he would have ruled if he hadn’t had the handicap of maintaining his façade. He’d had to keep the Nuqaba at arm’s length throughout his time as Prism because he didn’t know the full details of her tryst with his brother, and she was said to be one of the strongest intuitive thinkers in the Seven Satrapies. He’d feared that she would take one look at him and declare him a fraud.
Luckily, her religious duties had kept her tied to her own country, and its great distance from the Chromeria had been enough excuse for Gavin to avoid going there. But now here he was, her prisoner, and she had a means of knowing whenever he told a lie.
“So then, why do you think the empire is doomed?” Gavin asked.
“Because Eirene and I are deciding whether we’ll join the Color Prince or stay with your father and the Seven—pardon—Five Satrapies.”
It took Gavin’s breath away. Treason. Treason, discussed as if they were discussing who could give a better price for alligator leather.
“You see, Gavin, the Spectrum has become so insular that they’ve forgotten they exist for us, not the other way around. When’s the last time any member of the Spectrum even traveled to their home satrapy? Six years ago. And that was prompted by one of Delara Orange’s cousins dying young, with two wills and four bastards.”
Gavin said nothing, but it was more than his breath that was gone. It was his spirit, limp as a wind-starved sail. Why would she tell him her planned treason, and tell him so bluntly?
Because there was, quite simply, nothing he could do to affect what she did. Ultimately, she was saying, all of Gavin’s power rested on his magical power. This was her vengeance.
No, it was only the beginning of her vengeance. She would dismantle all he’d accomplished in his time as Prism.
“You see,” she said, “the Spectrum was so busy hobbling you that they ignored every other threat. Think what you could have accomplished if the empire had been an empire in truth. Ilyta could be a center of smithing that would enrich everyone. Instead it’s ten thousand pirates, two hundred smiths, and a few hundred thousand people in poverty. Did I say Five Satrapies? Four. And think about Tyrea. Well, surely you know what a wasteland Tyrea is. Totally unnecessary. If a man as strong as you couldn’t unite this empire, then this empire is too weak to stand.”
“So you’ve made your decision?” he asked.
She smiled almost shyly. “I’ve made mine. The Color Prince thinks he can control us. You see this?” She held up the jewel. It was a six-pointed star, with black tips on each point, both the color—orange, he assumed—and the black somehow throbbing with life. She had it contained in a tiny glass box, and the box on a chain.
“The seed crystal?” Gavin asked.
“Didn’t you find them when you destroyed the other bane?”
Gavin shook his head. “Is this a cruel joke?” The term ‘seed crystal’ didn’t bode well.
She shook her head. “All that work. All those lives. Wasted. The bane will reform if you don’t seize the seed crystal. Within months. They look for a host; a drafter to whom they give enormous power. And for some reason, this man, this Color Prince thinks he can then control all of them. But so long as I hold this, rather than it holding me, I don’t need to find out. He thinks an orange drafter must, by her very nature, desire to become a goddess. But I’m smart enough to choose freedom. Freedom from the Chromeria. Freedom from him, as well. But I won’t leave without Ruthgar. To get the terms we want—that we need—it will take both of us.”
