The Blinding Knife (62 page)

“That’s a lot of interpretation you’re layering onto a simple document,” the White said. She didn’t, Gavin thought, necessarily disagree with him, but she didn’t like at all how he’d done it.

“Yes. But it is the Prism’s prerogative to define satrapies, and I have already done so. I settled the refugees of Garriston onto Seers Island—a place where they will not be flooding
your
cities with their destitute tens of thousands, for which I hope all your satraps thank you endlessly. And me. And I declared Seers Island a new satrapy. The new satrap, I’m afraid to say, could only be Corvan Danavis.”

They knew he hated Corvan. They knew he’d fought against him, and had lost friends in those fights. That Corvan might be the new satrap was at least one thing that undercut Gavin’s personal power—so they thought.

“By endorsing that we are indeed still seven satrapies, you’ve endorsed my new creation.”

“This is an outrage,” Carver Black said.

“I think we can all agree that what you’ve just tried to do is, is, is unacceptable,” Klytos Blue said.

“Surely he doesn’t have the power to establish new satrapies on his own,” Tisis said. “High Lady Pullawr?”

The White shrugged. “Look at any history, it will tell you the Prism established the Seven Satrapies. Of course, things have changed greatly since those times, but it clearly
was
in the Prism’s purview, of old.”

“And has never been removed from the Prism’s purview, as you put it, High Lady,” Gavin said. Of course it hadn’t. There wasn’t anywhere else to put another satrapy, and no one would ever agree to splitting their own.

“Let’s just vote to undo this,” Tisis said.

Several other Colors voiced their approval.

“I agree,” Gavin said, “but pardon me, I’m still presiding here today, and we’ll still follow the proper procedure. You wish to dissolve Seers Island as a satrapy?”

“Yes!” Tisis said.

“Then you’ll need a supermajority to pass your resolution. As we’ve just said, dissolving a satrapy requires a supermajority.”

“Fine.” He could see others looking around the table, sliding the beads. Would anyone hold out on this?

They brought the resolution. Several of the Colors looked at Gavin like he was insane. Why would he pull such a thing, and then allow it to be rescinded immediately?

The White knew. He could see it in the tightness of her face. And Andross knew. He was rubbing the bridge of his nose, where his heavy dark spectacles had worn lines into his skin.

Tisis, furious, dictated the resolution. Gavin made no objection. When the head scribe brought it to him for his inspection, he nodded and handed the document to Tisis first.

“And on whose behalf are you signing, Tisis?” Gavin asked.

“My own,” she said, as if it were a trap.

“Our service on the Spectrum is never on our own behalf, child,” the White said. She sounded tired.

Tisis sneered. Unwise. She was mad at Gavin, not the White, and it never paid to sneer at the White. “So be it. I sign on behalf of…” All the blood drained out of her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper. She was Ruthgari and her seat was used for Ruthgar’s benefit, but it was a seat held in protectorship. “I sign for Tyrea,” she whispered.

“There is no satrapy of Tyrea,” Gavin said. “Your position no longer exists. As this meeting is a closed meeting of the Spectrum, you’re excused.”

Dead silence fell on the room.

“You can’t do this,” Tisis said.

“Not alone. We did it together. You helped.”

Gavin’s Blackguards were at his side, somehow sensitive to the imminent threats.

Tisis looked around the table in disbelief.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be right back,” Klytos said. “We’ll have the vote immediately. It’ll be five minutes.”

Tisis sneered. “You idiot, you think he took it this far without a plan?” She stood sharply and strode out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

“As the satrap of Seers Island hasn’t yet appointed his Color, the Prism holds his vote in trust,” Gavin said. “And believe me, he wouldn’t want me to use his vote to disband his satrapy.”

Two votes then for him. He gave them a second to finish the arithmetic. Tisis was gone. They needed a supermajority of five, so Gavin only needed four to stop them. No tie was possible, so the White couldn’t vote. The Black could never vote. They knew Delara would vote with him because she needed his help on the war. Jia Tolver always voted with him. Four.

And that was if
all
the others broke Andross Guile’s way.

“Is there anyone who wishes to call the vote?” Gavin asked. Daring them. Supremely self-confident.

“I do,” Klytos said immediately, finding his courage somewhere.

“Is there a second?”

“
Raka
,” Andross Guile said to Klytos. It was a heavy insult. “You want to put a loss in the records and establish precedent?”

Klytos paled, then stared around the room, looking for allies. Even those who might have voted with him turned away.

“I—I—wish—”

Rather than let him withdraw the motion, Gavin said quickly, “The motion fails for lack of a second.”

“I move we adjourn,” Arys said. “I’ve a babe to nurse, and I think all of us have messengers to send.”

Gavin had expected as much. “One moment. I want to say one
thing,” he said as the Colors were scooting their seats back, getting ready to leave. “You did this. It didn’t have to be this way. If you’d listened to me, Tyrea would still exist, and the Color Prince wouldn’t be rampaging across Atash. If you’d sent a bare thousand soldiers or a hundred drafters, we could have defeated King Garadul. But you, you sent a delegation to
study
the problem.”

“Peace should be maintained at almost any cost,” Klytos interrupted. “As the blessed Adraea Coran—”

“War is a horror, yes. I know.
I
know. And pacifism, which you claim to value so highly? Pacifism is a virtue indistinguishable from cowardice.” He sneered. “This war could have been ended before it began in half a dozen ways. If you’d taken your boot off the throat of Tyrea one second before it got strong enough to throw you off, this wouldn’t have happened. I tell you this, if you won’t do what’s right,
I will
. Things are going to change around here.”

Andross Guile yawned.

“Starting with this,” Gavin snapped. “Father, you’ve treated Kip like a bastard. He’s not. His mother was a free woman that I elevated to a ladyship during the war. As promachos, that was my right. We married in secret because I was young and I was afraid of what you would say. But we did marry. That’s why I’ve never married since. She’s dead now, but she deserves this of me: Kip is my son, not a bastard, a full son. That you’ve cast aspersions on this, that you’ve doubted my own word is, I’m afraid, further evidence of your advancing senility. You’ll join the Freeing this year,
my son
. If you don’t feel you can hold out for another eight months I will be at your disposal for a more private ceremony sooner.”

No one moved. No one even breathed. A small, detached part of Gavin marveled. He could dissolve an entire satrapy and unseat one of the Colors, and they were perturbed—but see him cross his father and they were flabbergasted.

“Senility?” Barely more than a whisper. Dangerously amused.

And now we find out how far gone to red he is.

But Andross Guile was as cold as an old red could be. He saw the trap. If he screamed, if he lost his temper, he’d be making Gavin’s case.

“If that is what my Lord Prism believes, I shall of course go to the Freeing at the time you appoint. As must surely we all. I only wonder what I have done to offend you? Why do you lash out at me, my son?”

A nice seed to plant, father. Well played.
Yes, the Prism can send me to my grave. He can send any of us to our graves. Think about that.
Turn it so that
I
look unreasonable instead.

“No,” Gavin said. “No. You endangered my son. On purpose. No more lies. Grinwoody, take him out.”

“Son,” Andross Guile said, and now his voice was tight. “You will show me the proper reverence.”

“Ignoring you when you act the fool and removing you from the public eye when you disgrace yourself
is
the proper reverence. Grinwoody!”

Andross Guile’s fingers trembled. His jowls quivered. But he controlled himself. After a long moment, he turned and left, led by Grinwoody.

No one said anything. No one met Gavin’s eyes.

“It would behoove us,” Gavin said, “to begin considering who may be the next Red. I will be amenable to suggestions.” I know I’ve pushed things; I know that I’ve frightened you, and to make up for it, I’ll let one of you have what you want. I’ll let one of you place your woman or man on the Red seat, and not try to place my own. Tit for tat.

You want to plant seeds, father? Let’s do.

“Now, before we adjourn this meeting,” Gavin said, “unless there are any other motions?”

No one said anything.

“Delara?” Gavin prompted.

Her eyes widened as she caught his implication. “I move we declare war,” she said.

“Seconded,” Arys said.

“Seers Island votes for war,” Gavin said. “The Prism votes for war.”

“Atash votes for war,” Delara Orange said.

“Blood Forest votes for war,” Arys Sub-red said.

“But the Red is—” Klytos Blue said.

“You wish to leave the room during a vote to fetch him?” Gavin said. “If you go, your vote won’t be recorded.”

“You can’t!” Klytos said.

Gavin spoke instantly, but slowly, enunciating each word, seizing control of even the speed of the conversation. “Those are very dangerous words to say to me.”

Pregnant silence. Cowards sometimes find their spines at inconvenient moments. But then Klytos withered.

“Your vote and his are entered as no votes,” Gavin said. Truth was, he couldn’t let this vote be challenged after the fact. That would tangle things up for weeks more.

“Abornea votes no, with great personal regret,” Jia Tolver said. Gavin expected as much. She was doubtless under strict orders.

Gavin needed either Sadah Superviolet or the White. He was certain the White would vote with him.

Apparently Sadah thought the same. She was looking at the White.

“Paria votes for war,” Sadah said. And that was the win.

Klytos blinked. “High Lord Prism, Ruthgar wishes to stand in unity with her neighbors. Ruthgar votes yes.”

“Of course,” Gavin said. He sent the declaration around the room, and everyone signed it. They allowed Andross an abstention, and the White signed it.

The room slowly emptied. No one said a word.

Oddly enough, Jia Tolver stayed behind. Gavin would have expected the White. Jia’s single dark eyebrow was wrinkled. When the last person other than Gavin’s Blackguards had left the room, she leaned over. “My Lord Prism, so you know, if they’d called the vote on your own personal satrapy, I would’ve voted against you. They’d have had their supermajority. Your arrogance always treads the line. Today, you overstepped. You won. You won everything. But don’t count on me as a safe vote ever again.”

She left. Gavin scrubbed his hands through his hair. He needed a drink. He looked at his Blackguards. They looked impassive. He wondered how they did that. They were the crazy ones around here.

He stood and went to the door. They said nothing, but one of the Blackguards preceded him, not a precaution they always took.

The White was waiting for him in the hall.

He didn’t stop, and she motioned to her Blackguard to wheel her along at the same speed Gavin was walking.

“What have you done, Gavin?”

Gavin got onto the lift. “I’m going down,” he said, turning to face her, trying to forestall her from joining him.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. She held him by the force of her personality, let her question hang in the air, demanding an answer.

“I lied and cheated and manipulated, and I won. And I did it all for good reasons. For once.”

“
All
good reasons?” she asked.

He said nothing. Threw the brake open and dropped from sight.

“I’ve got something to say. It’s not going to be easy,” Samite said.

Karris had barely finished washing up and getting dressed when Samite came into the Archers’ side of the barracks. Samite was one of Karris’s best friends in the Blackguard: squat, tough, smart, and unfailingly awkward when she tried to be tender. Karris paused, comb in hand. “What’s going on?”

Samite sat heavily on the edge of Karris’s bed. “K, you know how the lords and ladies of the great houses are always trying to get to us Blackguards and make us spies or deserters?”

“I—What does that have to do with anything?”

“One of them got to me. Years ago.”

“What?! Sami, stop! What are you doing?”

“What I should have done a long time ago.” Samite’s face was grim but stubborn. She sat with her elbows on her thighs, hands clasped across each other.