Teia pursed her lips and bobbed her head eagerly. Took a deep breath, as if this were all she had ever hoped for.

These weren’t madmen. They were something more dangerous. These were zealots. More dangerous than merely bad men because they would never rest, but also more foolish. Zealots always wanted to explain, to gain converts.

“And now,” the Old Man said. “A reward for your good service. And a test, I suppose, to see if you are what you appear to be. You’re a bitter child, aren’t you?”

Teia looked up angrily, smoothed it over quickly. Hesitated. “I don’t like to be wronged,” she said. He’d talked to Master Sharp. Sharp must have told him how she wanted vengeance on everyone. It was her part now. She couldn’t blink. Not ever, not if she was going to get in.

“Schedules will be juggled to put you in proximity with the new White. You will begin getting close to her immediately. In the meantime… in the next three days, tag one person with paryl. Whoever’s wronged you, I suppose. Or whoever you wish. Only no Blackguards. No nobles. That person will be dead within the day. My gift to you.”

Chapter 6

Summon Zymun.

Karris was in no place to do this now, but there was no way she could avoid it, either. She’d rejected Zymun at birth; if she repeated the insult now, on this horrible night of all nights, there was no way he’d ever forgive her.

Forgiving herself was already out of the question.

“High Mistress?” Gill Greyling said. He must have pulled a double to be still on duty.

Accelerate promotion of new Blackguards, even at the cost of quality.

Trainer Fisk—Commander Fisk now—would howl, but she would help him pick out those with a natural gift. The nunks would have to learn as they fought. It would mean more dead, but having veteran Blackguards who were constantly exhausted would mean more dead, too, and if they lost too many veterans, the whole force would be degraded for decades.

Let the young die, so the old can sleep.

Dammit.

She motioned for Gill to open the door. It had been too long a day. But if it had been a long day for her, it had to have been nightmarish for Zymun. He’d been called on, so soon after arriving at Big Jasper, to perform the Freeing. Seventy-five old drafters had submitted to his knife today. Karris couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling.

Gill didn’t obey immediately, instead giving her a few extra moments to pull herself together, and nearly commenting on her state. Despite his newness, Gill was going to be an excellent Blackguard. The best of them didn’t look out only for their charges’ physical well-being. Finally, satisfied, he opened the door.

Zymun Guile was seventeen years old, though he looked older dressed in his Prism-elect’s finery. Stylishly combed black hair, broad shoulders, blue eyes already tinged with a rainbow of luxin, a broad nose, and the devastating good looks that seemed the Guile inheritance.

“High Lady,” he said, his bow flowing smoothly into his kneeling and touching her foot in obeisance. He looked up at her and swallowed. “Mother.”

She stared at him, somehow unable to move, to respond. He looked so like his father’s family, a dark mirror to their good looks. Could he not look like her, a little?

If he resembled her more, would that make this meeting easier or harder?

“Zymun,” she managed. She took his hand and helped him stand.

He mistook her pulling, and hugged her immediately.

She froze up, but he didn’t notice.

“Mother. Mother, I was so afraid you’d not want to see me.” His voice quavered on the edge of tears.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

He stepped back, getting control of himself. He dabbed at the corners of his eyes to dry tears she hadn’t even seen.

“I’m, I’m sorry,” he said. “I was out of line. That was inappropriate. Forgive me, High Lady.”

Forgive him? The words Karris had barely summoned were snatched from her throat.

“No…” She’d meant to say, ‘No, son,’ but she couldn’t force the words past her lips. “No, the offense is mine. I know your day has been much, much harder than my own.”

He looked at her blankly for a half a moment. “Yes—yes, I… I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel about today.”

“You don’t have to feel how you’re supposed to, Zymun,” she said. “How do you feel?”

He searched her face, then looked away. “How did father do it?”

“With immense loathing and terrible guilt,” Karris said. “But, speaking confidentially of course, Gavin’s faith in Orholam and the Chromeria itself was never strong. He had trouble believing Orholam would ask for the killing of innocents, whatever they’d sworn or whether they’d agreed to it. It tore his soul, every time. I didn’t know if maybe it was easier for you, because you’re younger or maybe have more faith than he did.”

“I only wish I did, mother. I, I wanted to be strong for you. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” He heaved a great sigh. “I’ve been trying not to think about it. But it’s good to honor Orholam in this, right?” He looked up at her as if to check her reaction. “I’m just really amazed at the faithfulness of those who I freed to the light today. They’re like heroes to me. The self-sacrificing purpose with which they came to this day was so inspiring. And if I hadn’t been coached so well, I couldn’t have done my little part.”

Karris didn’t know what it was, but something felt off in his response. He’d killed seventy-five people today.

What was the appropriate response to that?

The mind is fickle. She’d seen men who’d learned their entire families had been murdered by wights actually laugh because they simply couldn’t believe it. Soldiers made rude jokes about the bodies of their dead mates. Medics laughed about spurting blood and diarrhea. When life is outrageous, the only appropriate response is an inappropriate one.

But an appropriate response, muted?

“Mother,” he said suddenly, swallowing. He whispered harshly, “I killed them.” He convulsed on a sob barely contained. “All those people.”

She felt herself suddenly warm. He’d been trying to play strong for her. Of course that was it. Thrown into a world he didn’t understand, with rules he didn’t comprehend, and subjected to incredible demands, he’d had to pretend.