Gavin could see blood trickling down his brother’s chest from a thickly scarred wound, torn open in his fall. He could see another trickle of fresh blood from the little spikes of hellstone he had rigged to take away all of Dazen’s luxin when he fell into yellow.
Dazen was thin, ragged, unhealthy. He was furious, as he had every right to be. Doubtless he was lying about Karris to hurt Gavin. Or exaggerating at the least. But though Karris had never meant anything to him, their mother should have.
I was mother’s favorite? Of course I was. Maybe first she’d lavished more attention on me because she saw how much father’s abandonment hurt me, how much I needed a parent. But we were kindred souls. She’d probably felt guilty that she loved me more. She’d certainly felt relieved when she learned Gavin was actually Dazen. He’d seen that in her face, sixteen years ago, and tried to deny it since.
I’m like the dog with a bone who crossed a low bridge in the fable. I see another dog passing beneath me carrying a bone, and I snap to take his bone-and drop my own into the water, into my reflection.
He looked at the prisoner, who was glancing at one wall of his cell repeatedly, as if in conversation. It might well have been Gavin’s fault that his brother was mad. After all, he was the one who’d kept the man caged, alone, for sixteen years. But it wasn’t the kind of transgression he could fix.
Gavin leaned against his own side of the window, hands pressing the immaculate, unbreakable yellow luxin opposite his big brother’s hands. “I’m sorry, brother. I’m sorry if I drove you mad, and I’m sorry if you were always like this and I never knew it. But I don’t think I can let you out. Not like you are. My world is falling apart. I won’t lie to you about that. I murdered a girl. I’m losing my colors. I’ve lost the woman I love. I… I’m losing everything. But I haven’t lost my mind, and in that, I’m up on you.”
He felt a sudden wave of peace roll through him like a tsunami, obliterating everything in its path, burying his objections, smashing his protests. His brother deserved to be here. Maybe they didn’t get to simply switch places- maybe Gavin didn’t get to be the good brother in his own mind now that he’d determined that the prisoner was the bad brother. But his brother was a bad brother. A bad man. A danger.
If the seed of megalomania had already been sprouting when he was nineteen years old, what would boundless power have done to him if Gavin had let him walk free all those years ago?
Maybe he’d even done the right thing, not just the least bad thing. Maybe locking his brother up had been just.
Maybe not. It didn’t matter. He took a deep breath.
“You started the war on purpose to rally allies around you, didn’t you? You wiped out that village where I’d been hiding and then men flocked to me. Just to oppose you. You could have gotten me to surrender. I would have. And after that first clash where my men won, you killed our messenger. Why’d you do that? All you had to do was grant clemency to my men, and you could have had me. Was that father’s idea, or yours?”
Dazen shot a quick sneer over at the wall. “Look, brother, as nice as this little scam that Lucidonius pulled together is, it doesn’t work for some kinds of threats. Take Ilyta. Which satrapies are going to vote to go to war to bring Ilyta back into the fold? None. But a promachos could do it. The Aborneans have been cheating their tributes for decades. The Parians barely pay attention to the Chromeria. The Ruthgari openly manipulate and dominate with their wealth and their lies. The Tyreans-well, I suppose I’m not in much of a place to say what’s happened to Tyrea since the war changed everything. Am I right?”
“Yes,” Gavin said. His stomach was churning. His joints felt weak.
“You think the Everdark Gates are going to stay closed forever?”
“Ah, the amorphous threat from beyond the Everdark Gates,” Gavin said. “You’re a student of history, at least. Wasn’t it Prism Sayid Talim who nearly got himself named promachos to face the ‘armada’ that waited beyond the gates? That was forty-seven years ago. Long time for an armada to wait around.”
“You look around, Gavin, and you tell me if what we have is working.”
Gavin couldn’t even get the Spectrum to declare war even after Tyrea had been lost and Atash invaded. How was that possible? His brother was right. Their system was broken, and it would take a man of will to make something new.
“War is the only way to be named promachos,” Dazen said. “You need a great crisis. You were our perfect opportunity. We could look reluctant going after you. You were my brother. You were Andross Guile’s son. No one would think it was a ploy. But you kept trying to end our war before it could really begin.”
Gavin felt sick. “And General Delmarta. Was he your man all along?” It had been the general’s slaughter of the Atashian royal family that not only mobilized the satrapies against Gavin but also got rid of one of the families that had opposed Andross Guile.
“It was fifty-seven people. You killed more than that in the skirmish at Tanner Creek.”
“It’s different when it’s in cold blood.”
“Is it?” the prisoner asked. “Do they end up less dead?” He blinked, looked over at the wall, as if someone was speaking to him.
Gavin didn’t answer.
“You tell me, brother,” the prisoner said. “Honest question, because I have no way of knowing the answer: how much trouble have you had from Atash since our war?”
It was a body blow. Before the war, the Atashian royals-last remnant of the orders that had existed before Lucidonius-had caused problems and small wars constantly. If the royal family had still been around with their money and influence, their safe havens and their smuggling ships, the Red Cliff Uprising would have been horrendous. As it was, the uprising had failed almost as soon as it began. The slaughter had worked.
“Let me out, brother,” Dazen said. “You’re finished, and you know it. Forgive me for what I said before. Threats and vileness. I didn’t mean it. I just fell into this cell hours ago. I’d thought I was out, and you beat me again. You’ve got an excellent mind, little brother. But your time is done. I can see it in your eyes, and not just in the colors that you’ve lost. You have the smarts, but I have the will, and now the world needs will. There is a threat out there, and it is growing, and only I can save the Seven Satrapies.”
“You were always willing to do what needed to be done,” Gavin said. “That was the difference between us, wasn’t it?” His breath escaped in a long sigh. “It’s all coming apart. There’s no way I can save it. Gavin,” he said, and it was a relief to call his older brother by his real name. “Gavin, I want assurances. Swear to me, swear before Orholam that you won’t take any vengeance on Karris. I don’t know how she’ll react, and I know you may have to exile her, but swear to me you’ll see she’s provided for. And Kip. Same terms.”
Gavin-the real Gavin-squinted, as if considering the terms and the implications they would have on his reign, moving seamlessly from the mad prisoner to the earnest emperor. “In the sight of Orholam, I so swear.”
Gavin the false reached his hand up to the node on the yellow window.
“Wait,” the prisoner said. “Before you let me out. We’ve unfinished business, brother. What do I do with you?” He glanced quickly over at the wall again, a quick crinkle of irritation, instantly smoothed away.
Gavin hesitated. His brother really was magnificent. “I figured you’d kill me. While I’m alive, I’m a threat, aren’t I?”
“You’ve only got a year or so left. Killing you isn’t necessary. Father owns a little island off Melos that would be perfect for an exile. Used to keep a mistress there.”
“That is… quite kind,” Gavin said. “I, I’ve missed you, big brother.” He raised his hand to the node and dissolved the window between them. Then he drew the dagger-pistols from his belt and pulled both triggers. The roar filled the little space as the lead balls blasted through the prisoner’s body. One punched a perfect hole in his sternum. The other smashed through his teeth and blew out the back of his head. The prisoner’s body dropped. Didn’t even twitch. The acrid, comforting aroma of gunpowder followed.
Both pistols had fired. Ilytian handiwork. Gavin could admire that. The Ilytians made fine pistols.
He looked over at the wall, where the prisoner had been glancing repeatedly, but he saw nothing but the reflection of a dead man.
Chapter 85
Waiting was part of life for a Blackguard. It was service as much as throwing yourself in front of a musket or magic. But like most of the Blackguards, Karris hated waiting. She’d come upstairs and heard nothing, then had
