The Blinding Knife

Chapter 76

Gavin had almost forgotten the visceral effect his father had on people. Andross Guile had sequestered himself by degrees starting almost a decade ago. Most men would be diminished by their absence. Andross had grown in people’s minds, in their dread. He’d become the bloated spider at the center of the web. And now, returning, weak, near blind, somehow he was still a titan. He was old. Drafters never got old. Becoming old meant you’d done the impossible. The casual destructions of age-the sagging translucent skin, the liver spots, the frailty-these had become badges of honor, proof of godlike will, self-discipline, power.

With the assistance of his lapdog slave Grinwoody, Andross Guile sat. He ignored the greetings of the other Colors and lifted his chin as if staring in the direction of the White, who alone seemed unmoved.

Well, if Andross Guile’s presence swayed everyone else in the room against Gavin’s proposal, at least it swayed the White toward it. But though her instinct would be to oppose anything Andross wanted, she wouldn’t let that override her concern for what was right, what was best for the Seven Satrapies and the Chromeria. Even she couldn’t be counted on.

Trying not to let how utterly furious he was show on his face, Gavin looked at his father. The bastard sat there, basking in his own excellence. The rules didn’t apply to Andross Guile. He was above them. The world bent to his will. Ridiculous.

Gavin chuckled.

“Is something funny, Lord Prism?” Tisis Malargos asked.

“Just had a small personal revelation.” He smiled indulgently, and didn’t tell her more, just to infuriate her. You’re playing with the big guns now, Tisis, are you sure you’re ready?

“And that is?” she asked, insincerity oozing down her chin.

“Why you don’t like me. Which isn’t the reason you shouldn’t like me.”

“Perhaps we should get started,” the White said quickly. Ever the peacekeeper, if not always a peacemaker. “Andross, it is so good to see you. It’s been too long. Would you like to lead the invocation?”

“No,” the old man said. He didn’t elaborate, excuse, or apologize.

The White tented her fingers. Waited a long moment.

Klytos Blue couldn’t handle the tension. “I–I would be happy to-”

“Are you feeling unwell, Andross? Too feeble for a prayer?” the White asked.

Gavin saw where that was going. Implied weakness, implied unfitness to remain on the Spectrum. It was unusually blunt for the White, who preferred a gentler hand. But she also didn’t suffer rudeness.

Andross cocked his head, as if admitting a point scored by his opponent. “Of course not,” he rasped. “My voice is no longer a thing of beauty. The ravages of many years in Orholam’s service. I thought perhaps the mellifluous tones of Tisis Green’s voice might be more uplifting for us all.”

“Orholam judges the hearts of men, not their voices,” the White said. “He hears any prayer lifted to him in humility.”

So my father might as well save his breath.

Gavin let his bemusement show on his face. His father, his eyes shuttered even beneath his blacked-out spectacles, was literally playing blind. Taking on the whole Spectrum, without being able to see anyone’s facial expressions? Balls.

Perhaps it was handicap enough to help Gavin.

But his father’s words actually cast doubt into Gavin’s mind. Why would Andross point to the new Green? Of course she was young and beautiful, and she did have a pretty voice, all things that Andross did appreciate, Gavin knew. But by singling her out, Andross suggested that Tisis was his.

Gavin had assumed she was. But why would Andross need to point it out to everyone, unless perhaps she wasn’t? Or wasn’t fully.

The tightness around Tisis’s eyes, above her phony smile, told Gavin his father was pushing it. Greens hated to be bound, hated to be controlled. Careful, father. I might just pull that jewel away from you. Despite everything.

Relaxing his eyes into sub-red, Gavin looked at each member of the Spectrum in turn, doing his best to be subtle about it. In sub-red, the nuances of a person’s facial expressions couldn’t be seen: that spectrum of light was too fuzzy for fine details. What he could see was the temperature of each person’s skin. It varied from woman to woman, of course, depending on their natural temperature and how close their blood vessels were to the surface of the skin, but if you could establish and remember a baseline for each person-and Gavin had very carefully done that over the years for everyone here except Tisis-you could tell when someone was feeling unusual stress. As their heart pounded faster, even if they were able to control more overt signs like swallowing, fidgeting, or clenching their jaws, they would glow hotter in sub-red.

Of course, a person could be nervous for dozens of reasons, and their temperature could be affected by any number of factors from drinking a glass of wine to wearing heavy clothes, but every once in a while it would give him a clue that nothing else would. With this group, he needed every advantage.

Andross Guile prayed. “Father of Lights, we humbly beseech you attend our supplication.” Andross despised prayer, Gavin knew. He could do what he had to do, of course. He knew all the rituals backward and forward, and in front of the common folk was capable of all apparent sincerity. Here, among those he could almost consider peers, he had more trouble hiding his contempt. To him, the entire religion was a con, but a con on which all their power rested. Thus the faux-archaisms, delivered deadpan enough that one couldn’t quite be sure if he was devout and old, or mocking them all: “Prostrate before you, we fall, O Lord. May our pretensions wither in the heat of your glory, may our presumptions fade in the light of your truth. May you bestow upon us clarity in counsel, obscurity in obfuscation, ocular acuity in action. Thus, in our wretchedness do we implore. May our young defer to old and our old defer to the grave. May our labors flower in your sight, with peace and truth and long-suffering.”

Crotchety old bastard.

“Thus be it,” Andross ended.

They all made the sign of the four and three. “So may it be,” each murmured.

The White looked furious. But the sledge of her gaze had no effect on a blind man.

“Gavin,” she said, “your meeting.” You want to sow the wind? she was asking Andross.

His father’s hatred of the White and his contempt had pushed her too far. Presiding was a huge advantage, enough of one to give Gavin a fighting chance. He took a deep breath. “Clearly some things have changed in the time I was gone.” He stared at Tisis Green. “For all of us.”

“I was rightly appointed to this body-” Tisis said, bristling.

“Tisis!” the White said. “Gavin is presiding. All Colors will be recognized in due course and heard fully, but we are a collegial body, and interruptions shall not be tolerated.”

“As you are no doubt aware,” Gavin said, as if the interruption and counterinterruption hadn’t happened, “when last I met with you-that is, those who were present at that time, and those who were not have doubtless read the minutes of that meeting pursuant to diligent fulfillment of their duties-” That is, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’re lazy and bad at your job, Tisis. Gavin had no doubt that his father had memorized the minutes from the last meeting. He’d gotten his memory from the old man, after all. He continued: “When last I met with you, I warned you that King Garadul had rebelled, and would doubtless seize Garriston. I urged us to prevent war, though in a way that proved too painful for this council to countenance. This august body rejected my proposal, and war did indeed follow.”

Klytos raised a forefinger, asking for recognition to speak. Gavin extended his hands out and downward, as if smoothing away the problem. “I don’t come to refight old debates. I understand that there were excellent reasons to be skeptical of what King Garadul intended and what he would be able to do. I have no intention of dwelling on the past.” Except to remind you all that I was right. “Merely summarizing for those who might not have noticed the nuances of the minutes.” He looked at Tisis, as though this last comment were directed at her, and indeed, she flushed.

In truth, his summary was for everyone else, framing the old conversation for his own purposes. He who controls the past, and all that. Gavin could do all this with his brain handing over control of the ship to the first mate. He was thinking furiously. Orholam, Lunna. After all the work I did cultivating her.

Andross Guile moistened his lips. If anything, he looked perversely proud of his son.

Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t yank the rug out from under Gavin as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

For a moment, Gavin wondered. What if Lunna Green had been murdered, but not by the Order? What if his father had done it?

No, that wasn’t Andross Guile’s way. He would bribe a Color, or blackmail her, but not murder. On the other hand, it would be vintage Andross Guile to have a plan to replace each and every one of them, in case they did break the halo or resign. Andross would be ready. That didn’t mean he would get an ideal candidate in place each time, only that he could steer the nomination. Perhaps that was why Tisis wasn’t fully his.

If Andross really was willing to murder a Color, he would have made sure that he murdered one whose replacement was fully his. Right? Otherwise, why risk murder?

Gavin was taking too long. Take the facts as they are, and work with them. Move forward. Figuring out the past can wait. What advantages did having Tisis on the council give him?

The Spectrum expected Gavin to head straight for the discussion of a declaration of war. Then they thought he’d ask to be made promachos again. So Gavin said, “In truth, I don’t think the first thing we should discuss today is the war raging in Tyrea and eastern Atash.”

Klytos raised his finger again. Gavin motioned for him to speak. “We’ve not established that the troubles in Tyrea and eastern Atash are war, Lord Prism,” Klytos said.

He was about to go on, but Gavin knuckled his forehead and said, as if mystified by Klytos’s stupidity, “Precisely. Which is why I said we wouldn’t be talking about it first. We are a deliberative council; such matters should be discussed, but not necessarily first. Like I just said.”

Delara’s orange/red-haloed eyes narrowed. She wanted to talk about war, too, immediately. She clearly hoped Gavin would be the last vote she needed. She never had been very good at the arithmetic of these situations.

“The satrapy of Tyrea was a place of dishonor and war,” Gavin said. “Since Satrap Ruy Gonzalo sided with my brother Dazen, his satrapy was doomed. It waged war, and destruction was visited by its sons on others, and by others’ sons on it. After the war, Tyrea was stripped of her representation on this council and looted-” Seeing Delara’s raised finger, Gavin amended, “-forced to pay reparations that left her destitute. For many good reasons and a few ill, Tyrea became a husk. Satrap Garadul doomed that husk. He made war on Garriston and the Seven Satrapies and this council thereby, and declared himself king. I fought him in Garriston, and I lost. Of course, the good news is that the so-called king was also killed in the last battle.

“There are many things we need to do today and I apologize for the many hours we’re going to spend here-I’ve arranged for refreshments to be brought up in two hours-but the first item is very simple.” Every one of them hated these meetings, and every one of them except Blue and Superviolet hated the formal order to them that made even the simplest resolution take half an hour. By raising the specter of being stuck in the meeting all day, Gavin hoped to make them a little careless. It would especially needle a green. He also did have a history when the White let him preside of tackling whatever business was before them in a logical manner-first agreeing on what everyone could agree on, and then moving forward as efficiently as possible while letting everyone have their say.

“There are people in Tyrea who have now been deprived of their leader-people who didn’t care if he called himself satrap or king. They followed Rask’s father and most of them liked the old man. In the course of a life that is rarely touched by politics, most common folk will simply go along with whoever is giving the orders. They had no reason to think Rask Garadul was illegitimate, and no reason to think his successor is, especially if we who divine Orholam’s will say nothing against the new king-as this Color Prince will no doubt declare himself. So, before we get to the meat of today’s proposals, I suggest we draft a simple resolution, condemning King Rask Garadul for waging war on the Seven Satrapies.” Gavin opened the floor for comments and debate, as if he wanted to get this out of the way.

He stared at Tisis. Beautiful girl.

“It would certainly strike a blow against the legitimacy of this Color Prince,” Delara said. The woman had drafted enough red in her life that her rage was overpowering. Anything that hurt the Color Prince was something she would vote for.

“And the man we’re condemning is dead,” Sadah said. “So we wouldn’t be further alienating a man with whom we might need to make peace in the near future. If we’re able to settle things down in eastern Atash with this man, it would put us in a better negotiating position. We would visibly have to move farther to meet him in the middle, making the halfway point effectively closer to our side of things.” Ah, Sadah, seeing political problems as if they were points to be plotted on a graph. Orholam love her, the fool.

“No, no, no,” Klytos Blue said. “I see what you’re doing here, Lord Prism.”

Gavin lifted an eyebrow, like, What is this moron doing? “Yes, I’m trying to weaken a rebellion before it sweeps up half the lands in the Seven Satrapies,” he said.

“Which is a noble goal that I share,” Klytos said. He glanced over at Andross, but without eyes, Andross couldn’t give him subtle cues of whether Klytos was on the tack Andross wanted him to take. “But even if the man called himself a king, I think that gives him too much prestige.”

“It is what he called himself,” Jia Tolver said impatiently.

“We needn’t give him that moral high ground; he was rebel, nothing more,” Klytos said. In sub-red, he was clearly warmer than before. But Klytos always got nervous when he spoke, even in front of a group this small.

“What would you prefer, then?” Gavin said. “Illegitimate king, so-called king? Illegitimate satrap?”

“Clearly,” Sadah Superviolet said, scratching at one psoriatic arm, “declaring oneself to be a rebel would vacate one’s legitimacy, thus ‘illegitimate satrap’ would be an accurate descriptor.” She clearly intended this as an olive branch to Klytos Blue.

Gavin turned his hands palm up toward Klytos, as if surrendering the issue to him. “Very well, we can back up further. Would you like to dictate the document, Klytos?” Gavin asked.

Klytos hated public speaking. As the Blue, he felt that he should get all the technicalities exactly right on the first try-and he never did. “No, please, go ahead,” he said, as if he were being polite.

Gavin turned to the chief scribe in the room. “By order of the Color Spectrum, with the full imprimatur of the Prism, blessed by Orholam’s radiance, etcetera.”

The woman scribbled in a few lines, skipping space to fill in the official lines.

“I must confess,” Gavin said to the Spectrum as she scribbled, “I’m disappointed something so simple wasn’t done during my absence. Surely such a condemnation would seem pro forma-never mind. Please interject if you have any suggestions.”

There was still some niggling done over the word “war.” Gavin and Delara championed it, but eventually it was stricken in favor of a condemnation of “visiting violence upon the innocent peoples of the Seven Satrapies” and the illegitimate Satrap Garadul condemned, though the word “traitor” was also stricken. Gavin grimaced briefly, as if this were a setback, but not a huge one. It was a brief document, and he took care not to feign too much boredom.

The “war” bit was the canard. Let them think that he was angling subtly toward declaring war later in the meeting. But don’t overplay your hand.

As soon as the scribe finished, Gavin signed the document and sent it around the table for signatures.

“Now,” Gavin said, not waiting for the signatures, not giving them any weight. “The urgent matter. The reason we’ve come here today: refugees, and war. The fact of the matter is, I do have some personal investment in this issue. I’ll put that on the table. I failed to stop Garadul, and Garriston was lost because of that. I went to fight-perhaps rashly-without the full weight of the Spectrum behind me, and I lost. In losing, I lost face, and some of the people for whom I was fighting lost faith in the Chromeria. Obviously, the former isn’t a problem for this body, but the latter is. I feel a responsibility for the people who have fled. I would like to see this council make some efforts to provide for them. So, again, easy issues first: I’d like to draft another resolution that our satrapies send food, clothing, and supplies to those who’ve been displaced.”

He recognized Delara. “And arms!” she said. “Those refugees will join the fight-at least some of them will-against the Color Prince.”

“I agree with you,” Gavin said. “But I would suggest we put the more contentious issues into a separate resolution, so that we can do the sane and humane thing in providing for those who’ve been attacked by the late Rask Garadul as soon as possible. Will the Spectrum agree to address these issues separately?”

“Let’s agree to what’s immediately obvious to all of us,” Arys Sub-red said. “These refugees are doubtless starving. We can agree that we must send them help. Later we can argue about exactly how much of a share of that burden each of us should send.” Ah, the brass tacks. Arys was ruthlessly practical, even in her charity. Gavin liked that about her.

They agreed by acclaim to consider the issues separately. The first resolution had made it halfway around the room. Gavin had passed it to Klytos, who’d signed it. The White had passed it on. Because she only voted in the case of ties, she never signed any resolution until at least a majority had. Delara signed it and passed it on to Sadah Superviolet. She paused, and Gavin couldn’t tell if it was because she was thinking about the second resolution, or if she had some sudden qualm about the first.

Sadah Superviolet stared at Gavin. She didn’t say anything, but she handed on the resolution without signing it. Arys did, Delara did, and she slid it to Tisis. Tisis gave one more glance to Andross, got nothing, and signed it.

And Gavin had his supermajority. Oh, Tisis. Lunna Green was almost a friend. I never could have done this to her. Do you know what you can do to an enemy but not to a friend? Stab her in the back.

Carver Black slid the paper over in front of Andross. Carver had a voice on the Spectrum, but no vote. Andross whispered to Grinwoody, who responded. Andross asked him another question in a whisper.

Gavin narrowed his eyes to sub-red. And instantly, he saw his father getting hotter, though the man’s expression didn’t alter in any other perceptible way.

Andross started laughing suddenly, and signed his name. Given his blindness, his signature was only in approximately the right place.

The discussion stopped instantly. It was rare to hear Andross Guile laugh.

Andross turned to Tisis. “Do you know what you’ve done, girl?”

“What?” she asked, suddenly worried.

Gavin leaned over and quickly took the parchment from in front of his father and cocked an eyebrow at Sadah. “Will you make it unanimous?” Gavin asked.

“Of course,” she said. It was a moot point now. She signed it, handed it to the White, who sighed, and signed.

“What?” Tisis asked, more insistent.

“Why don’t you explain, son?” Andross Guile suggested.

The head scribe brought the resolution to Gavin, who brought his stick of official sealing wax up to his finger, drafted sub-red directly to it, and pressed his seal on the document, making it official. “Of course, father,” Gavin said. He handed the document to the head scribe, who handed it off to a secretary who would enter it in the annals and publish it.

When the door closed behind the man, Gavin said, “The fact is, we are at war. None of us wants this. I don’t want it. You don’t want to admit it because you’re afraid I’ll press you to declare me promachos again. I understand that fear. Surrendering power is terrifying, though Orholam knows I’ve not given you any reason to distrust me. Tyrea is gone. I suppose that’s just as well. We can fight about what to do next. We can fight about how we fight. But while we bicker, the people who fled Garriston have lost everything. I’m sure you know by now that they’ve found refuge upon Seers Island, and I will report on that fully later today, but winter is upon us. There’s no time for them to plant a harvest. If we don’t provide for them, they’ll die. We brought this on them, and even if you reject that, they are still the subjects of the Seven Satrapies. It is our duty.”

“The point being…” Andross growled.

“The point, dear father, dear friends, is that I won’t stand for these people to suffer any more than absolutely necessary to make their new lives. In the resolution we just signed unanimously, this council has declared Satrap Garadul’s satrapy illegitimate. Rask Garadul was installed legitimately, was corresponded with as a legitimate satrap for a time. If he became illegitimate, but not through his personal treason, it is because his satrapy itself is illegitimate. Which is a simple acknowledgment of truth. Tyrea has not been a real satrapy in sixteen years. It had caretakers in its former capital, and its seat on this council was seized by another satrapy. So this is as it should be. However, a satrapy can only be dissolved by a supermajority vote of this council. We have so voted.”

“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.