The Broken Eye
Page 152
“It was the only one there.”
“Was it?”
“Yes. But I have to wonder why you’d send me on such a job. Was it to see how dumb I was? If I’d found both cloaks, would you have expected me to bring them to you? Why would I possibly make myself less valuable to you, you who so casually kill?”
A brief troubled look crossed Murder Sharp’s face. He really hadn’t thought it through. The question was, had whoever had given the orders?
“Was this a test to see how smart I am?” she asked.
A frown on that perpetually grinning face. “Perhaps it was. Regardless, well done. You brought us a shimmercloak, and that’s better service than many in the Order of the Broken Eye have done in a century. Even if it was handed to you.”
For one moment, Teia’s heart stopped. He knew the White had helped!
Then she realized Master Sharp meant that he had helped her so much that the job was simple.
“It was windy out there,” Teia said, just to say something.
“Never liked heights much myself. But then, that’s why they pay us, isn’t it?” He folded the purloined cloak up with rapid motions.
“You’re going to pay me?” Teia asked.
“Of course not, how would you explain where you’d gotten the money? But I do get paid on your behalf, and for that, thank you. Two cloaks would have been better.” He looked at the cloak again. “I would let you keep this if I could,” he said. “I suspect it’s gonna get bloody here. Try not to get killed.”
With that, he flipped up the hood of his own cloak, laced it back up over his face with quick, practiced motions, and stepped out of the room.
Which left her alone with her thoughts. Which circled Kip.
She expelled a great breath. Dammit, Kip. Just. Dammit.
You had to do that in front of Murder Sharp? When I couldn’t respond?
And how would I have responded, had he not been here?
The exact same way, probably.
What was it about Kip that petrified her? When they trained, he was her partner, and it was easy. Everything flowed smoothly and easily, like they were left and right hands, working together. He trusted her so implicitly that she trusted herself more when he was around. He made her feel better about herself.
What was scary about that?
And how could this be a surprise? When he’d given her that hug that wasn’t just a hug, the alarm bells should have been ringing. She should have acted then. If she simply wanted to be his partner, or his friend, she should have said something afterward. Something clear, without being unduly embarrassing. Stringing it out was a cruelty of kindness. A friend didn’t do that.
No, she’d wanted to bask in that little extra attention, but she’d wanted to freeze it there. She wanted no expectations of her, only his adoration.
That sounds like a great relationship. For me.
Why then did she feel that virulent rage shoot through her at the very thought of Tisis Malargos?
Seems like a bit of an overreaction, huh?
She knew where he’d be now. He’d be trying to knock the sawdust out of that heavy bag. Boys, so uncomplicated.
One of these days, she was going to have to tell him that Ben-hadad had secretly been repairing that one stitch since he’d noticed Kip trying to knock it open. Ben-hadad’s father had been a tailor, and Ben-hadad had left that one stitch hanging loose on purpose, while tripling the bag’s strength at that seam.
The prank gave all the squad a little smirk every time they saw Kip mercilessly pounding that bag.
Funny to frustrate the Guile who’d had everything in life handed to him.
Suddenly, that prank seemed impossibly petty and cruel.
No, now was probably not the time to tell him about the seam.
She looked at the door. She should go now, before Kip did something stupid.
Why do I have to be the adult?
You think you are being the adult, between you and Kip?
Orholam damn it, I nearly fell off the side of the Prism’s Tower half an hour ago. I am not going to be afraid of talking to a boy.
She grabbed the door handle. Dropped it.
Fine, I’ll be afraid. It’s a different kind of fear altogether. But I’m not stopping.
She huffed. It felt empowering. Stupid boy.
She threw the door open and, glowering storms at everyone who crossed her path, made her way to the lift. It stopped down a few floors. Payam Navid, one of the most handsome young men in the Chromeria if not the entire world, stepped on. He looked at the sour look on her face. He was so beautiful it was probably the first time in his life he’d seen a woman frown at him. Probably wasn’t even aware that women could frown. Bastard. It wasn’t fair that someone could be so attractive.
He said, “I don’t—”
“Don’t talk to me.”
“I only—”
“Don’t.”
“Come now,” he said, smiling, showing perfect teeth to go with his tall, dark, and gorgeous.
Teia sniffed and waved a hand at his face. “All this pretty you’ve got going on here? One more word, and you lose it.”
For a moment, he seemed amused. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder. She must seem like a puppy barking at him. But then his eyes lit on the embroidery of her Blackguard rank on shoulder, stitched gray on gray. A wash of expressions poured through his perfect face, and then he looked away, intimidated.
He got off at the next floor. Once he was out of harm’s way, he turned and said, “What’s your name, anyway?”
She rolled her eyes, and put her hand to the lever.
He blurted, “Would you like to go to the—”
But she was already gone.
The little draught of confidence she got from that gave her enough strength to step off the lift in the basement. But then she stopped.
Oh, come on, T. Don’t be ridiculous!
One at a time, she lifted her feet and walked to the door of their exercise room. And again, she paused in front of the door. Move!
She threw the door open. It slammed back against the wall, far harder than she’d intended. She stepped into the room, apologetic—not at all the attitude she’d intended.
But then she saw Kip. He was lying on the floor, unmoving, unconscious.
What had he done?!
She ran to him. There was a halo of cards—Nine Kings cards?—around Kip. The heavy bag lay on the floor nearby, torn open, sawdust scattered. Kip’s eyes were open, unseeing. He wasn’t breathing.
No no no!
He was bare-chested, his skin cold, clammy. She rolled him onto his back, and for a moment, she had hope.
In his open eyes, colors were swirling: in Kip, every color of luxin was alive.
But Kip wasn’t.
There was no reaction in those eyes, just a palette of colors swirling down an eternal drain, disappearing, disappearing.
“Kip! Wake up! Kip, come back! Breaker!”
She shook him, but there was no response.
The cards were stuck to him like leeches, holding on. She began tearing them off his skin. They were poison. They were killing him. As each popped off, she saw a swirl of colors fade into his skin like dribbles of ink dropped into a glass of water. What was going on?
Tearing the last one off, she held her breath. But Kip didn’t stir. If anything, the colors rising and falling like billowing clouds in his eyes began to recede.
“Was it?”
“Yes. But I have to wonder why you’d send me on such a job. Was it to see how dumb I was? If I’d found both cloaks, would you have expected me to bring them to you? Why would I possibly make myself less valuable to you, you who so casually kill?”
A brief troubled look crossed Murder Sharp’s face. He really hadn’t thought it through. The question was, had whoever had given the orders?
“Was this a test to see how smart I am?” she asked.
A frown on that perpetually grinning face. “Perhaps it was. Regardless, well done. You brought us a shimmercloak, and that’s better service than many in the Order of the Broken Eye have done in a century. Even if it was handed to you.”
For one moment, Teia’s heart stopped. He knew the White had helped!
Then she realized Master Sharp meant that he had helped her so much that the job was simple.
“It was windy out there,” Teia said, just to say something.
“Never liked heights much myself. But then, that’s why they pay us, isn’t it?” He folded the purloined cloak up with rapid motions.
“You’re going to pay me?” Teia asked.
“Of course not, how would you explain where you’d gotten the money? But I do get paid on your behalf, and for that, thank you. Two cloaks would have been better.” He looked at the cloak again. “I would let you keep this if I could,” he said. “I suspect it’s gonna get bloody here. Try not to get killed.”
With that, he flipped up the hood of his own cloak, laced it back up over his face with quick, practiced motions, and stepped out of the room.
Which left her alone with her thoughts. Which circled Kip.
She expelled a great breath. Dammit, Kip. Just. Dammit.
You had to do that in front of Murder Sharp? When I couldn’t respond?
And how would I have responded, had he not been here?
The exact same way, probably.
What was it about Kip that petrified her? When they trained, he was her partner, and it was easy. Everything flowed smoothly and easily, like they were left and right hands, working together. He trusted her so implicitly that she trusted herself more when he was around. He made her feel better about herself.
What was scary about that?
And how could this be a surprise? When he’d given her that hug that wasn’t just a hug, the alarm bells should have been ringing. She should have acted then. If she simply wanted to be his partner, or his friend, she should have said something afterward. Something clear, without being unduly embarrassing. Stringing it out was a cruelty of kindness. A friend didn’t do that.
No, she’d wanted to bask in that little extra attention, but she’d wanted to freeze it there. She wanted no expectations of her, only his adoration.
That sounds like a great relationship. For me.
Why then did she feel that virulent rage shoot through her at the very thought of Tisis Malargos?
Seems like a bit of an overreaction, huh?
She knew where he’d be now. He’d be trying to knock the sawdust out of that heavy bag. Boys, so uncomplicated.
One of these days, she was going to have to tell him that Ben-hadad had secretly been repairing that one stitch since he’d noticed Kip trying to knock it open. Ben-hadad’s father had been a tailor, and Ben-hadad had left that one stitch hanging loose on purpose, while tripling the bag’s strength at that seam.
The prank gave all the squad a little smirk every time they saw Kip mercilessly pounding that bag.
Funny to frustrate the Guile who’d had everything in life handed to him.
Suddenly, that prank seemed impossibly petty and cruel.
No, now was probably not the time to tell him about the seam.
She looked at the door. She should go now, before Kip did something stupid.
Why do I have to be the adult?
You think you are being the adult, between you and Kip?
Orholam damn it, I nearly fell off the side of the Prism’s Tower half an hour ago. I am not going to be afraid of talking to a boy.
She grabbed the door handle. Dropped it.
Fine, I’ll be afraid. It’s a different kind of fear altogether. But I’m not stopping.
She huffed. It felt empowering. Stupid boy.
She threw the door open and, glowering storms at everyone who crossed her path, made her way to the lift. It stopped down a few floors. Payam Navid, one of the most handsome young men in the Chromeria if not the entire world, stepped on. He looked at the sour look on her face. He was so beautiful it was probably the first time in his life he’d seen a woman frown at him. Probably wasn’t even aware that women could frown. Bastard. It wasn’t fair that someone could be so attractive.
He said, “I don’t—”
“Don’t talk to me.”
“I only—”
“Don’t.”
“Come now,” he said, smiling, showing perfect teeth to go with his tall, dark, and gorgeous.
Teia sniffed and waved a hand at his face. “All this pretty you’ve got going on here? One more word, and you lose it.”
For a moment, he seemed amused. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder. She must seem like a puppy barking at him. But then his eyes lit on the embroidery of her Blackguard rank on shoulder, stitched gray on gray. A wash of expressions poured through his perfect face, and then he looked away, intimidated.
He got off at the next floor. Once he was out of harm’s way, he turned and said, “What’s your name, anyway?”
She rolled her eyes, and put her hand to the lever.
He blurted, “Would you like to go to the—”
But she was already gone.
The little draught of confidence she got from that gave her enough strength to step off the lift in the basement. But then she stopped.
Oh, come on, T. Don’t be ridiculous!
One at a time, she lifted her feet and walked to the door of their exercise room. And again, she paused in front of the door. Move!
She threw the door open. It slammed back against the wall, far harder than she’d intended. She stepped into the room, apologetic—not at all the attitude she’d intended.
But then she saw Kip. He was lying on the floor, unmoving, unconscious.
What had he done?!
She ran to him. There was a halo of cards—Nine Kings cards?—around Kip. The heavy bag lay on the floor nearby, torn open, sawdust scattered. Kip’s eyes were open, unseeing. He wasn’t breathing.
No no no!
He was bare-chested, his skin cold, clammy. She rolled him onto his back, and for a moment, she had hope.
In his open eyes, colors were swirling: in Kip, every color of luxin was alive.
But Kip wasn’t.
There was no reaction in those eyes, just a palette of colors swirling down an eternal drain, disappearing, disappearing.
“Kip! Wake up! Kip, come back! Breaker!”
She shook him, but there was no response.
The cards were stuck to him like leeches, holding on. She began tearing them off his skin. They were poison. They were killing him. As each popped off, she saw a swirl of colors fade into his skin like dribbles of ink dropped into a glass of water. What was going on?
Tearing the last one off, she held her breath. But Kip didn’t stir. If anything, the colors rising and falling like billowing clouds in his eyes began to recede.
