“Good guess,” Ironfist said reluctantly.

“So why do the superviolets get bent over the fence?” Kip asked.

“Excuse me?” Ironfist’s voice pitched higher.

“You know,” Kip said. What?

Ironfist’s right eyebrow climbed.

“Like for a whipping.”

“That expression doesn’t mean what you think it means,” Ironfist said.

Kip opened his mouth to ask what it did mean then, but could tell the commander wasn’t going to tell him.

“There are never enough superviolets to fill an entire tower, and superviolets can draft best if they are higher up. The quality of light there is better for their work, plus a good majority of their work is directly for the White. So they inhabit the Prism’s Tower, close to the top.”

They walked to the great gates with hundreds of other people who were coming, to work or conduct business. The gates were covered with beaten gold, but were open, so Kip only caught a glimpse of the scene and figures depicted on them. The walls, however, were a wonder themselves. It became obvious that blue luxin was their main element, but the luxin itself could be lighter or darker, and it apparently had to be mixed with yellow. For strength? That had to be it, given that the entire bridge was made of that mix. But each wall of the hexagon was different. There were patterns of blue and yellow and green throughout, and that wasn’t even including the towers. While the north side of each tower was as close to perfectly transparent as possible for maximum sun exposure, the rest was constructed to mark the buildings for their owners, so that even the untrained could tell which building belonged to whom. And, apparently, to show off.

Every surface of the blue tower was cut like a giant sapphire so that the entire tower gleamed off a thousand surfaces no matter what angle you saw it from. The sub-red tower, over its base of interwoven blue and yellow and green, seemed to burn. Illusory flames licked up the luxin for ten and twenty feet and occasionally threw sparks and flames even higher. All the rest of the tower seemed to ripple, like the air over a fire.

Kip stumbled as they entered the central yard. He looked at his feet. Great grooves cut the ground in a broad arc, connecting the gates. But the gates Kip had passed didn’t slide shut, they just shut on hinges, like normal doors. He looked at Ironfist, confused.

“Glass flower,” Ironfist said.

“Huh?”

“What do flowers do?”

Look pretty? “Uh…”

Ironfist looked pleased to have stumped him. “With regards to the sun.”

“They open?”

“And how would that work with a group of buildings?”

Kip thought about it, and gave up.

“It wouldn’t,” Ironfist said.

“Oh. Then…”

“Try again.”

“Do you ever answer questions straight?” Kip asked.

“Only to my superiors.” Which was, Kip realized, a straight answer. He wrinkled his nose, too intimidated by Ironfist to point that out, but the twitch at the corner of the big man’s mouth told him he knew. “Flowers follow the sun from morning to night,” Ironfist said, perhaps by way of apology.

Kip looked at the tracks again as he and Ironfist approached the central building. Before the road came to the gate, it flared wide—so wide that most of it simply abutted the wall in a wide crescent. “You mean the whole thing turns?” It was the only thing that made sense, Kip realized. If the buildings were all transparent on the north side, they would only take full advantage of the sunlight in the middle of the day, but if the whole compound turned, they would get maximum light from dawn until dusk. But all of it? Impossible!

“Here we are,” Ironfist said.

Kip swiveled his head back to the front as they stopped in front of a huge silvery gate. It was as plain as everything else here was ornate.

Two guards on either side of the gate, dressed in full mirror armor, each wearing a sword and holding a matchlock musket nearly as tall as he was. “Commander Ironfist,” they said in greeting.

“Finally,” Ironfist said, pushing Kip inside. “You are about to meet the Thresher.”

Chapter 36

Meetings with Dazen were always a practice in deception.

Gavin’s tightened chest didn’t ease at the sight of his brother. He should have killed him years ago. How simple that would have been. How simple it still could be. All he needed to do was stop dropping bread down the chute. Just like that, his problem would go away. He thought of it every morning, after every sleepless night. But this was his brother. He hadn’t killed him in the heat of battle, how could he kill him in cold blood?

Seven years, seven purposes.

Three times now, he’d put “Tell Karris Everything” on the list. Not just about loving her. About this. That Dazen wasn’t dead, that he was here. That so much was built on lies. She deserved to know; she could never know. Because if she knew, it might bring them reconciliation and happiness together—or it might bring a new war to consume the Seven Satrapies.

“Hello, brother,” Gavin said again. The air was cool on his skin, the scent of resin and stone inescapable. He braced himself for the response. His brother, after all, was a Guile too. And unlike Gavin, he had nothing else to think of except what he would say to Gavin the next time he came to visit. That, of course, and plot to escape. After sixteen years, most men would have given up, but not a Guile. That was their legacy: absolute, unreasoning faith in their supremacy over other men. Thank you, father.

“What do you want?” Dazen asked, his voice rough from disuse.

“Did you know that during the war, I fathered a bastard? I just found out about a month ago. As big of a surprise to me as to anyone, but all sorts of things happen during war, don’t they? Karris was furious, of course. She wouldn’t share my bed for three weeks, but, well… making up with Karris has always been so good that I almost want to fight with her.” He looked up and left and smiled for an instant, as if at a private memory.

It was important to layer the lies with a Guile. In Gavin’s narrative to his brother over the years, he had established an alternate life. He and Karris were married, but had no children—a nagging heartache, and a source of conflict with Andross Guile, who wanted Gavin to put Karris aside and find a woman who could produce heirs. He leaked those details slowly, grudgingly, making his brother work to uncover them. Then, every time, Gavin could leak more information to see if his brother looked either confused by the lies or contemptuous of them.

Dazen had a nasty smile on his face. “So who was it? Do you even know her name? Did she have proof?”

He was fishing, hoping Gavin would give him something for nothing. And he would suspect Gavin if Gavin gave it to him. But Gavin went ahead. “His face is proof enough. He’s the very image of Sevastian.”

Dazen’s face paled. “Don’t you bring Sevastian into your lies, you monster, don’t you dare.”

“We’ve adopted the boy. His name is Kip. Good kid. Smart. Talented. A bit awkward, but he’ll grow.”

“I don’t believe you.” Dazen looked sick. He might not believe it, but he was close. “Who’s the mother?”

Gavin shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “Lina.”