He walked to Tisis and looked down into her questioning hazel eyes, her face more open than he deserved, more beautiful than he could imagine. “Forgive me?” he said.

“Just this once,” she said, smiling.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the lips. She reacted like red luxin just waiting for a spark. Her body molded into his as if it had been made for it. Her lips were—

Big Leo cleared his throat noisily.

—her lips were, oh, Orholam, her lips were the best—

“Hey! Newlyweds!”

“You were the one who reminded him of impending death,” Winsen said.

“‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,’ and all that,” Ferkudi said. “I mean, we do need to let the trap develop a bit. Maybe they have time for a quick throw behind those bushes over—”

“Breaker,” Cruxer said.

“‘Gather ye rosebuds,’ Ferkudi?” Ben-hadad said, incredulous. “You read poetry?”

“I’m a gentle soul!” Ferkudi protested.

“‘And lo! they saw that the ape could speak, and they were much amazed,’” Big Leo said under his breath.

“‘And sore afraid!’” Tisis said, finally pushing Kip back. It took him a moment to realize she was finishing the quote. He hadn’t read either poem. Aside from Master Danavis’s scrolls of military history and tactics and drafting—boy, did some things about the general seem obvious in retrospect—there had been few books or scrolls in Rekton, and fewer people willing to let a fat kid with pie-sticky fingers handle their treasures. His mother had kept books for years, despite her addiction. Finally, most of those had been sold to fund her haze smoking and self-loathing.

“You don’t look like a man who’s just been thoroughly kissed,” Tisis said.

“Mmm. Just putting on a good show for the boys,” he said.

“Come back,” she said. “And I’ll put on a good show just for you.”

“Oh my.”

There was something cosmically wrong with being horny when you left your wife to go to battle. There were traditions to follow, dammit: there was supposed to be a night of passion first, then the husband left deeply satisfied, carrying a nice memory of what awaited when he returned. It was a nice incentive to live.

Of course, unrelieved horniness with the promise of relief if he lived was a nice incentive, too.

Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! I would prefer the other incentive, sir!

Chapter 30

Stand straight and tall.

Done and done.

Maintain the dignity of the White.

That was probably a lost cause, considering she’d just kicked a man in the head in front of tens of thousands of people.

Speak loudly and clearly. Don’t talk fast because you’re nervous.

Karris took a deep breath. Say this for executing a man: it does rather overshadow one’s fear of public speaking.

She looked out over the many thousands of faces staring at her and the charred corpse of High Luxiat Tawleb and the huddled young luxiat Quentin at her feet. She had moved out from under the shadow of Tawleb’s corpse. She had fought enough to know that even a roasted body can drip fluids. Not something she wanted to wear.

But coincidentally, her move had arrayed her so that she stood in the center as judge, and the dead man hung to her left, and now to her right huddled the repentant young luxiat Quentin. It wasn’t an arrangement she had planned—Gavin certainly would have thought of it, standing here like the sign of the three, but then, he’d had a lot more practice with theatrics, and he was able to pull off symbolism effortlessly. Karris would simply have to muddle through, and accept luck when it came knocking.

“Luxiat Quentin Naheed,” she said loudly. “You have earned expulsion from the Magisterium for the violation of your vows. You deserve to be stripped of your title.”

He said nothing. He was already on his knees, and he simply slumped forward. Silent.

“Quentin Naheed, you have earned being disowned by your family for the shame you have brought upon them. You deserve to be stripped of your name. Quentin, you have earned exile from your satrapy for dishonoring the gift of your education. You deserve to be stripped of a home. And most of all… convict, you have earned death for the murder of Lucia Agnelli. You deserve to be stripped of your life.”

Two Blackguards came forward and lifted Quentin to his feet. He wasn’t weeping, nor did he have the ten-league stare of the doomed. He was staring toward Teia, who had pulled off her eye caps, and was meeting his eyes, with a resolute, calm strength Karris hadn’t known the young woman had. Almost too quietly for Karris to hear, Quentin was repeatedly whispering a breath prayer: “Orholam, give me strength for the path you’ve laid before me.”

They took his arms, and, as he stepped into place, offering no resistance, he stepped on the foot of one of the Blackguards. “Pardon me, sir, I did not mean to do that,” he said.

“Hold,” Karris commanded. She turned her gaze to the crowd, that restive, hungry hound, eyeing her hands for its next treat. She glanced at Quentin, but his eyes were down. To the crowd, she announced, “We are called to do justice, but to love mercy. How do we do those things on any day? How do we do those things in war? We have not Orholam’s perfect sight. The traitor we spare today may return to the fight and kill our allies tomorrow. But…

“But even a traitor may repent truly. And today I have seen a vast gulf between the attitudes of these two men doomed to die. Thus, today I will extend the hardest mercy I know. Quentin, you will not die for your crimes.”

The young man stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign tongue.

“We are at war,” Karris said, “and I will not cast aside a weapon that can be used. Quentin, your sin was pride, a pride carefully banked in hot coals under false humility. The body can die but once, pride can die every day. You, Quentin, shall live a slave. You shall be my slave until you learn what true humility is. I expect it may take all the years of your life.

“And why my slave? Because you are to be a lash for me. We are called to do justice and to love mercy—so I will extend the mercy of your life to you. But we are also called to walk humbly in the light. And this is the lesson that too many of us have forgotten. A lesson that the Chromeria has ignored. You, Quentin, will not be ignored. Despite what you deserve, you will not be expelled from the Magisterium. You shall be a luxiat still. You will be a badge of their shame, for failing Orholam, for allowing darkness to enter the temple of light. You will be dressed in gold, to remind them how easy it is to love gold and to be led astray by a love for earthly pleasures. You will be assigned to study beside and tutor luxiats, to turn your brilliant mind to helping them in their work, and to helping us win this war. You will be Orholam’s justice to them, you shall be a lash against their pride, and the High Luxiats and I shall continue to talk about whether this is punishment enough to cleanse the stain they have allowed into the House of Light.”