“You believe that?” Kip asked. “I thought you were an atheist.”

The instant intensity came back to Andross’s multicolored eyes. “A word I hope you use not of me publicly, idly or otherwise.”

“Never,” Kip said.

He seemed placated. “I have more … nuanced beliefs than most. Orholam is a lawgiver in a distant land. He is king of a thousand worlds. Such is enough for his majesty, and the actions of men are either mostly or entirely beneath his notice, their loves and hatreds, their triumphs and tragedies—”

“But not their lies?” Kip asked, pushing it by interrupting once again.

“Does the stone need to notice when you release it from your hand in order to fall? Orholam is lawgiver. When young lovers fornicate and sire a bastard, they aren’t being punished. It’s a natural consequence of the laws governing the system. Are you as dull as the luxiats that you cannot see the difference between this and atheism?”

“Orholam is a caring lord,” Kip said. Not so much because he believed it, but to see what Andross would say.

“Caring enough to give us rational and consistent laws, which is great care indeed. Laws that apply to the faithful, to apostates, to pagans, and to those in vast reaches beyond unknown oceans who have never even heard the word ‘Orholam.’ I find that infinitely more caring than some bearded giant who embraces some and smites others without reason.”

Kip had an intuition. What do you do with a fog of deceptions and misdirection? Drag that sonuvabitch into the light.

“I’ve really enjoyed training with Karris,” Kip said. It was a non sequitur if his grandfather weren’t doing what Kip thought he was.

But Andross Guile clapped his hands once with real delight. “Well played, boy!”

“All that about Orholam and laws, just to remind me to keep my oath about not telling her about Zymun?” Kip asked.

“Swords are dulled with constant use, wits, sharpened,” Andross said. But it was a stall. He played his Nine Kings card, and Kip had now played enough games that he realized Andross was almost certainly going to win in a few turns. Kip drew, needing Day of Darkness. He didn’t get it.

Andross seemed to decide to expand. “You want to break your oath, and you’re looking for excuses to do so. But no. That’s not all I’m doing. I’m teaching you how to be a man, Kip. One has duties to one’s family. This, too, is Law. It was a task to which your mother was unequal, and now that you’re an orphan, there is no one else.”

A cold rage settled over Kip like the sheets of ice covering the Karsos Mountains’ peaks, ice that lived through the hottest summer, frozen purity in the embrace of rock. The bluntness of brute certainty hit his faith like an iron hammer hitting ice, shattering and scattering it. Kip had to believe Gavin was alive, because without his protection, his possible vengeance against any who hurt Kip, Kip was naked and vulnerable and surrounded by enemies. He believed because he wanted to believe.

What do you do with a fog of self-deception?

Though the game wasn’t finished, Kip silently gathered his cards, never looking his grandfather in the eye, and left.

Andross Guile didn’t say anything until Kip reached the door. “I should have known you weren’t ready. I misjudged you. A boy you are, still.”

But Kip had kept his oath, which perhaps meant that Andross had gotten exactly what he wanted.

It was enough to keep him up late at night, wondering what he should have done or said instead—which made the training a welcome relief. It was a few hours of total absorption. The language of hand-to-hand combat was direct and simple, the deceptions revealed within seconds, and in Kip’s case, spoken with a very limited vocabulary.

“Form up!” Trainer Fisk barked. “Squads today. We’re doing Specials.”

An appreciative mumble went through the inductees. Specials was the term for the quirky, dangerous assignments Trainer Fisk and Commander Ironfist came up with to challenge the inductees to think creatively. It was a change to the old way of doing things, but Commander Ironfist was fearless. He needed Blackguards immediately, so the old system of graduating in cohorts was out, too.

Now, he’d told them, as soon as they’d learned all the skills they needed and had proven that they had the character needed as well, they could be promoted. For some of them, that might be soon, he said.

Everyone assumed he meant Cruxer and a couple other boys from cohorts ahead of theirs, but everyone hoped it applied to them, too.

There was some grumbling among the senior cohorts, of course, but much of that was alleviated when Ironfist immediately took half of them for final vows. There were new scrubs, too, comprised of young men and women who gazed with awe at even the inductees. That felt odd.

By the Feast of the Longest Night, they’d gone on Specials a dozen times, and seen twenty inductees sworn in as full Blackguards.

But not all the changes had been instituted by Commander Ironfist. As promachos, Andross Guile had immediately set most of the full Blackguards to training the small army the Chromeria kept. In addition, every drafter on the Jaspers, whether enrolled at the school, or doing research there, or even civilians who had long ago left the school, was now required to attend combat classes led by Blackguards.

All of it had been done by Kip’s suggestion to Andross—and he kept that a complete secret. The Blackguards would lynch him for it, though he was still convinced it was the right thing to do.

Though many of the squads experienced turnover, Kip’s squad crystallized with Cruxer, Teia, Big Leo, goofy Ferkudi, mechanical-spectacled Ben-hadad, little Daelos, and Gross Goss, who was currently picking a scab.

“If you put that in your mouth, so help me,” Daelos said.

“I wasn’t gonna,” Goss complained.

“Sure.”

“I don’t see what’s so terrible about it.”

“Form up, nunks,” Cruxer said. He was the undisputed leader of the squad, though challenges could be made every week. Cruxer was the toughest and the best leader. The squad left well enough alone.

“Squad Aleph!” Trainer Fisk barked. “Swear to Orholam, you keep lagging, I’ll bump you down to Yod next week. Asses to your lines. Now!”

Kip’s squad, despite having him in it, was the best squad: they were Aleph—the first letter in the Old Parian alphabet. Kip had asked. Of course, the good squads kept getting members promoted into full Blackguards, so the chaos weakened their teamwork. Cruxer had been offered promotion, which would have made him one of the youngest full Blackguards ever, but he’d turned it down.

Ten squads of six, seven, and eight each lined up. The Specials were different every time, but they were always meant to reinforce some lesson about the Blackguards’ life. Sometimes the special task was simply watching a street corner—where nothing happened. The squads that got those tasks always complained bitterly, of course, because the other tasks were usually a lot more fun.

“Squad Yod! There’s a jeweler off the embassies called Master Athanossos. He has received a ruby worth twenty thousand danars. Bring it here. Go! On the double!”

When they were out of earshot, already jogging up the ramp, he said, “Squad Teth! Steal that ruby from Squad Yod before they get back. If they’re not successful lifting it in the first place, I expect you to do it. No one injured. Use your wits. Go!”