Again.

She cursed under her breath. Neither of them wanted to remember Kip walking in on her stroking Andross Guile under his covers. It had been a scene Andross had set up on purpose to humiliate both of them—and precipitate this marriage, though Tisis still didn’t know that part.

Orholam. No wonder she was tense, if she had to get past her memories of that every time she was with Kip.

“Forget that,” Kip said. “Forget him. For now. Our vengeance on him is being happy with each other. We’ll figure something out about all that other stuff later. For now, we keep doing everything that brings us joy—and that’s a lot!—and we stop doing the one thing that brings us misery.”

“You want to give up,” she said.

“Is it giving up when you stop doing something that hurts us?”

She scowled at first, but then squeezed his leg. “You said ‘us.’”

“How many ways do I need to tell you we’re in this together?” Kip asked.

She put her head on his shoulder. “I want you to know it’s not just for the contract and my sister, or for fear that you’ll drop me later. I want to make love with you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Kip said. But he hadn’t, not really. Didn’t, still. She was being honest, and he trusted her, but he still didn’t believe her, somehow. They weren’t just a boy and a girl, trying to figure something out. They never would be.

But then, if they were just a boy and a girl, Kip never could have caught so much as the eye of a girl this beautiful, so he probably should never complain ever, ever again, so long as he lived.

But she’d said that word, that word that demands response. Though she’d said only ‘make love,’ and that could be part of a phrase, meaningless. It hadn’t been entirely meaningless. Had it? Was that a question? A test. It was still there, prickly as a caltrop for him to step on: ‘love.’

He’d said, Let’s have fun.

She’d said, Let’s make love.

Shit.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “And gracious. I really appreciate you, and I’m really coming to… care for you. Deeply.” Orholam, that sounded so lame. He shouldn’t have said anything at all. “I’m sorry, that’s… all wrong.”

“Teia?” she asked, and hurt echoed harsh and deep into a cave of longing. “You still think of her.” It wasn’t quite a question.

“Sometimes,” he said. “But I don’t dwell on it.”

She sat up and held his face in her hands. “You’re a man who feels deeply. It’s one of your best qualities. I can’t hold that against you.”

“But you do. A little,” he said.

“A little,” she admitted. “I’m getting over that slowly, too.” She took a deep breath, and Kip saw something flit through her eyes.

“I wasn’t thinking about her last night while we were together,” he said. “Not at all. Not at all.”

She expelled her breath and relief washed over her. “I didn’t want to ask. Thank you.”

And she let him off the hook, just like that. She really was kinder than he deserved.

“So if you’re not making a mail coat, what’s this going to be?” she asked, pointing to the length of lambent yellow luxin chain.

“Well, the chain is easy enough if I’m not hooking every link to three or four others, so I thought I’d do something harder, more subtle.”

“More subtle?” she asked.

“I’m still going to have the chain as the core, but I’m trying to make, like… an articulated rope around it. See, rope spears are awesome because you can throw knots over your opponents’ hands and do grappling and all sorts of things, but the rope itself can obviously be cut by any blade if you’re not careful. A chain spear can’t be cut, but it’s much harder to throw loops and knots and whatnot. So I’m trying to get the best of both worlds.”

“But you never trained with a rope spear, have you?”

“No, no, it’s just something to keep my hands busy.”

“Right,” she said suddenly. “That’s great. Oh, look, it’s the Ghosts. I’d better go prepare.” But she’d stiffened, and she suddenly stood and walked away. And Kip had the distinct feeling he’d loused up again.

“What’d I do?” Kip asked Winsen.

Winsen was squinting against the dawn like someone with a serious hangover. “I am asking myself the same question. But my answer is drink way, way too much wine.”

Chapter 40

As she’d arranged, Karris was still at her dawn prayers when Promachos Andross Guile arrived. She lay prostrate before the open window facing the sun, and felt the faint stirring of the wind as the inner door opened behind her.

“Orholam,” she pleaded aloud, “I could try to hide my ignorance, but I won’t. I’m not going to act in darkness. Let it all stand before the light. Orholam, this is your empire; these are your people. You will have to fight for us, or we shall perish. Will you let your name be defamed upon the earth?”

She stayed there prone for some time, praying. She’d arranged this, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real, too. She needed to look like a zealot in order to accomplish what needed doing. It was the zealots in the Magisterium who could give her the most trouble if they allied against her. But by disarming them, she could also make unnecessary the calls for luxors. She had two luxors. She had no desire for there to be any more, by her hand or any other.

But as she said the words for Andross Guile’s benefit—let him think her a little crazy, it might make him careful around her—she realized she meant them, too. She wasn’t fighting for herself. She didn’t want power for its own sake; she wanted only to save the Chromeria and the people of the Seven Satrapies. After that was accomplished she would happily step down.

So it was only right that Orholam should take up his own fight. This war was his problem.

Finally, when she felt emptied, when she felt heard, she stood.

She hadn’t realized that Andross Guile had gotten down on his face next to her.

“A prayer as fierce as you are,” Andross said, dusting his hands off.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting,” she said.