“Everything,” Gavin said.

“Liar.”

“I remember enough.”

“Really? I doubt that. How much truth are you ready for, ‘Gavin’ Guile?”

“I have no illusions left.”

The dead man barked a laugh. “Odd indeed that I am the fragment of you, when you are the one who is so thin and hollow. Gavin, Gavin. Do you remember meeting the Mirror Janus Borig when you were a child?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what she said?”

Vaguely. “Yes. What does it matter? Mirrors don’t see everything.”

“You don’t remember.”

“No,” Gavin admitted. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, that is fortunate. Because I was not created to torment your brother, no. Sadly, you created me to torment a prisoner. Which now is you!” Gleeful, irritating little ass. Had Gavin ever been like that? Oh yes, he had. He’d honed his skills against his big brother when they were children. “And,” the dead man said, “I’ve got nothing but time, and you have nowhere to go.”

“Make your point and be done with it,” Gavin said. But his stomach turned. How long could he last with a twin self mocking himself in his hell? This apparition would know all of his weaknesses, all his secret self-loathings. The dead man would be a better tormentor for Dazen himself than he could possibly have been for the real Gavin.

“Janus Borig told you, Dazen. She told you that you could draft black.”

“Yes, so what?” Gavin had recovered the memories of that much.

“She told you that you could only draft black. You were a black monochrome, Dazen. You told your brother. You, who had been powerless, the one son in a powerful family who couldn’t draft. You could feel father’s embarrassment, his keenness that no one else know, his hope that he could fix you eventually. So when you heard that you had black, you bragged about it, and Gavin feared you. Rightly. When you began to evince your powers, your brother knew how you were doing it, because you told him. And gradually, Gavin came to understand that he had to stop you.”

“No, this isn’t true.”

“Do you remember why you went to the White Oak estate, to face Karris’s brothers?”

“I went there to see her. We were going to elope.”

“No, you knew she was already gone. You cared for her, somewhat, at least enough you didn’t want her to die. But you never planned to marry her. You yourself leaked that you were coming to take her away.”

“No.”

But the dead man went on, heedless. “So if you knew she was gone, why did you go to the White Oak estate? Why would you knowingly face seven brothers, seven drafters?”

“I wouldn’t. That’s not how it happened.” But it was so long ago now. So foggy.

“You went for the same reason that you’ve hunted down wights yourself. Why would a Prism himself hunt wights? When Orea Pullawr tried to stop you, it should have been a small fight—Gavin, you’ll get yourself killed, she said. But you fought for the right to hunt wights as if your very life depended on it. Why would a Prism do such a thing?”

“I could hunt them safely. There was no reason for other men to die. So many had died already. It wasn’t dangerous for me.”

“No, those are the lies you’ve told others to make yourself look good. The truth, Gavin, was that it was dangerous for you not to.”

“What does this have to do with the White Oaks?” Gavin demanded.

“Because between them, her brothers included drafters of every color. Because black is emptiness, but emptiness can be filled. Darkness may be filled with light. Black can hold every color. You went to the White Oak estate to murder those young men, to steal their powers. Because that’s what black drafters do.”

“No.” But it came out a whisper.

“And that’s why you had to hunt wights. You’ve been running out of power from the very first day, and it had to be replenished with the blood of drafters. In her weakness and her love, your mother denied it. Your father and brother knew the truth. They held off as long as they could, but when you murdered all those people at the White Oak estate, they knew you were a monster. They knew you had to be stopped. You, Dazen, are the Black Prism.”

Dazen had crafted his Gavin persona like a goblet of blown glass. Molten glass given shape with hot air, hardening to a fine, beautiful, brittle finish. Seeing the gold leaf twining down the delicate stem and the rich imperial purples of the wine, and hearing the melodious chime of fine crystal, the world had been blinded to the palsied hands cupping the bowl.

Now, wine sipped down to the lees, the glass slipped from drunken fingers, spun from control, and shattered—an explosion of lies, glimmering now in the light, sharp, dangerous. He stooped to pick them up, ashamed.

He picked up the shards with tremulous fingers, and they cut him. Gifted ingrate. Liar. Impostor. Murderer. Thief. Filicide. Betrayer. Villain. Blood and wine were watered with tears on the broken flagstones of his mind. False teacher, false prophet, false king. Bloody-minded, benighted, black hearted, black drafter, black Prism. Black Prism.

Chapter 20

“So, uh, Your Ladyship, what’s this town called?” Winsen asked.

The Mighty were skimming up the Great River as they had been for more than a week. Winsen had been peppering Tisis with seemingly innocuous questions since they’d shot past the harbormasters at Rath.

“I don’t know what this one’s called, but we should be getting to a town called Verit soon. It’s right at the base of Thundering Falls,” she said. “It’s where the Great River and the Akomi Nero come together—or, well, for us—split as we go upriver beyond the falls. The Akomi Nero originates in the Ruthgari Highlands.”

“Huge landmark, huh?” Winsen said.

“Huge,” she said. She was trying to play it off like Winsen’s questions didn’t bother her, but it was obvious to Kip that they did.

“Good to know our guide knows the big landmarks at least, I guess,” he said, not quite under his breath.

She flushed, her pale skin doing her no favors as she seethed. But she never said a rude word. Kip had asked her, awkwardly, if he was supposed to do something to defend his wife from his own friends, and she’d said no, that she had to win certain battles on her own.