Gavin trembled, swallowed, mastered himself. "Understood, father."

Andross Guile's chin lifted as if he was sifting Gavin's tone for anything displeasing. Then, as if nothing had happened, he continued. "Garadul covets Garriston, so even if it's a tower of feces built on a plain of ordure, giving it to him is weakness. The right course would be to raze the city, enslave the inhabitants, and sow the fields with salt-and leave before he arrived. But you've destroyed that option with your incompetence. And once King Garadul holds Garriston with twenty thousand men, you'll find it a lot harder to take back than he's going to find it to take when only a thousand are holding it."

"The Ruthgari only have a thousand men holding Garriston?" Gavin asked. It was less than a skeleton crew. If he hadn't been in such a hurry when he sculled through Garriston, he surely would have noticed.

"Troubles with the Aborneans hiking the tariff to travel through the Narrows again. The Ruthgari are making a statement with a show of force. They pulled the ships and most of the soldiers from Garriston."

"That's moronic. They have to know Garadul is massing troops."

"I agree. I think the Ruthgari foreign minister has been suborned. She's smart, she must know what she's doing. Regardless, you must go to Garriston. Save the city, kill Rask Garadul, but even if you fail those, get that dagger. Everything rests on that."

What "everything"? Here was the problem with pretending to know secrets you didn't know. Secrets, especially big, dangerous secrets, tended to be referred to obliquely. Especially when the conspirators knew spies were frequently eavesdropping on them.

Maybe I should have taken my chances with claiming to have forgotten what the dagger was.

There had been a time when Dazen had known all of Gavin's secrets, even those that were supposed to be just between Gavin and their father. Dazen and Gavin hadn't just been brothers. They'd been best friends. Though Dazen was two years younger, Gavin treated him like an equal. Sevastian was younger; they made him stay home. Gavin and Dazen had the same friends. Together, they won and lost fistfights against the White Oak brothers. Gavin missed the simplicity of those fights. Two sides, lots of fists, and once one side started bleeding or crying, the fight was over.

But Gavin had changed on the day he turned thirteen. Dazen was not yet eleven at the time. Andross Guile had come in his dress robes, looming, impressive in red-gold brocade and red-gold chains around his neck. Even then, after having been a member of the Spectrum for a decade, Andross Guile had always been referred to as Andross Guile, never Andross Red. Everyone had always known which was the more important. Andross had taken Gavin away.

When Gavin came back the next morning, his eyes were swollen like he had been crying, though he angrily denied it when Dazen asked. Whatever had happened, Gavin was never the same. He was a man now, he told Dazen, and he refused to play with him. When the White Oak brothers tried to pick a fight, Gavin filled himself with such deep sub-red that the heat emanated from him in waves, and he quietly told the brothers that if they attacked him, the result would be on their own heads.

In that moment, Dazen knew Gavin really would have killed them, too.

From then on, Gavin had spoken to their father as a confidant. Dazen had been left to fall by the wayside. For a time, he'd played with Sevastian. Then Sevastian was taken too, and he'd been alone. Dazen had hoped when he turned thirteen he'd be welcomed back into their graces, but his father had barely acknowledged the date. When it came time for it to be divined whom Orholam had chosen to be his next Prism, all of Big Jasper and Little Jasper was a whirl of speculation, but Dazen knew his older brother was the one. How it happened didn't matter. Andross had been grooming Gavin to be Prism for his whole life.

And I was groomed to be nothing. A castoff to marry Karris White Oak or some other girl to deflect some other father's ambitions. Until Gavin tried to take even that from me.

The hardest part of maintaining his disguise was here-not in pretending to be Gavin, but in being reminded of all Gavin had had and that Dazen never would.

"So, go to Garriston, save it or burn it, kill Garadul, and get the dagger. Sounds simple enough." If Gavin did things right, that would fulfill one of his purposes, and set the stage for another.

Andross said, "I'll give you letters to the Ruthgari to make sure they'll obey you."

"You're going to make me the governor of Garriston?" Every time Gavin forgot how powerful his father was-even from this little room-Andross did something to remind him.

"Not officially. If you fail it would besmirch our name. But I'm making sure that the governor does whatever you tell him."

"But the Spectrum-"

"Can, on occasion, be ignored. It's so not easy to depose a Prism, you know. When you return, we'll talk about getting you married. It's time you start making heirs. You showing up with a bastard presses the issue."

"Father, I'm not-"

"If you crush one of the satraps, even a rebel one, you're going to need to buy off one of the others. It's time. You will obey me in this. We'll talk about the bastard problem later."

Chapter 48

Liv had gone to the light garden high in the yellow tower to think, but it seemed she couldn't walk ten paces without stumbling over some young couple kissing. As the sun went down, the light garden became spectacular-and a favorite of couples. Liv should have remembered. There was something particularly jarring in the sight of young lovers when she was feeling so isolated.

She left, her emotions tumbling over each other, sorry she'd been so rude to Kip, certain she was right that her father was still alive, and scared to death she was wrong. Lonely, scared of her future, and now-hit in the face with how easy everyone else seemed to find it to find someone who liked her-lonely for a boy. Any boy. Well, practically. Liv had been at the Chromeria for three years, and the best she'd done was have a few near-misses at relationships. Being Tyrean, being the daughter of a general on the losing side, and being poor had ended most interest before it began. The one boy she'd thought really cared for her had invited her to the Luxlords' Ball and then had stood her up and gone with another girl. Apparently it had been a prank. The next year she'd briefly become the object of a competition between some of the most popular boys. For two weeks, it was glorious to be the center of attention. She'd felt like she'd finally broken through, that people were finally accepting her. One of them invited her to the Luxlords' Ball.

Then she overheard one of the others talking about a wager they had to see who could swive her first. Her revenge had been swift and terrible. She'd promised the boy escorting her to the ball-the leader of the group, a young noble named Parshan Payam-her maidenhead if he helped her fulfill a naughty dream of hers. He'd practically drooled.

At the Luxlords' Ball, they'd met in a darkened nook just off the main hall. She'd convinced Parshan to remove all of his clothes first, despite the proximity of practically the entire Chromeria dancing, talking, and drinking mere paces away. Then, pausing from kissing him while his loathsome hands wandered over her body, she asked how much he was going to win for winning the contest.

"You know? You're not mad?" he asked.

"Why would I be mad?" she asked. "Close your eyes. I've got a surprise for you."

"A good surprise?" he asked.

She trailed her fingernails down his belly. Looked down. Licked her lips. "It'll take your breath away. Promise."

He closed his eyes. She grabbed all of his clothes and stormed out into the party. He came after her with a yelp, rushing naked into the party. "This is what you get for your contest, Parsham Payam!" Liv shouted, just so that anyone who hadn't immediately seen the naked young man would notice and know who it was.

The dancers stopped. The musicians quit playing. A hundred conversations ceased. "Wagering with your friends on who can take my virginity?! You're despicable. A cad and a liar. You disgust me. You're not smart enough to fool me, you're not clever enough to deceive me, and you're not man enough to take me." She plunged his priceless clothes into the punch bowl.

Nervous titters broke out everywhere. Parshan froze. With his clothes soaking in punch, it was pointless to retrieve them to cover himself. He did his best to cover himself with his hands.

Amid silence punctuated with scattered applause, Liv stormed out of the hall and straight into Chromeria legend. Unfortunately, passing into tower lore for wreaking vengeance on a boy who'd taken a romantic interest in you-regardless of how ignoble that interest was-was not a good way to encourage interest from others. All the other boys were terrified of her.

Why am I thinking about boys? My father's dead dead.

No, he's not. Father's gotten out of worse things. He wouldn't allow himself to be trapped. He's smarter than that.

Still, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Honestly, a good cry would make her feel a lot better.

Liv trudged down to Vena's room, but when she got there, Vena Vena was crying. It broke Liv out of her own self-pity instantly. Vena wasn't just crying; she was bawling. Vena's usually artfully disheveled boyishly short hair was smashed down on her head as if she'd been holding her head in her hands. Her eyes were swollen. was crying. It broke Liv out of her own self-pity instantly. Vena wasn't just crying; she was bawling. Vena's usually artfully disheveled boyishly short hair was smashed down on her head as if she'd been holding her head in her hands. Her eyes were swollen.

"I can't believe it, Liv! I've been looking for you everywhere. Liv!" Vena said. "It's a disaster. Orholam, Liv, I'm being sent home!"

Looking around the room, Liv saw that all of Vena's stuff was already packed up and in large trunks. With how much stuff Vena owned and all the decorations she'd strewn over every open space in her little room, Liv knew she couldn't have packed it all herself.

"What's going on?"

It took a few minutes to get it all out in some sort of sensible order, even though the story was simple: Vena had lost her sponsorship. The Abornean lord who held her contract had lost a fortune in some business venture and needed to cut his expenses. Apparently he'd shopped Vena's contract around and found no buyers. Some other, younger drafter's lord had bought Vena's room from him, though. She was to vacate it immediately. Vena had been purchased passage home, tonight. She would have to meet with her sponsor to determine how he could best make back his investment from her.

Vena could end up as a serving girl, but she feared her lord might sell her to slavers. It was illegal-a drafter's indenture was a far cry from slavery-but there were always stories of such things.

"Liv, could you loan me some money? I could run away."

"I can't-"

"Please, Liv, I'm begging you. I know it's not a loan. I'll never be able to pay you back, but I can't face going back. Please."

Liv's heart dropped. If she'd waited just one week to meet the moneylenders, she'd have drawn one more installment of her allowance, and she'd have ample money to help out her friend. "I just paid off a debt, Vena. I've got nothing left. It cost me everything."

Vena wilted.

"Wait, we could sell some of my dresses. If you can wait until morning-"

"No, forget it. They'll be looking for me by then. And they know you're my only friend. They'll be watching you. It was a stupid idea. I need to go face this."

A knock on the door. "Miss?" a man's voice called out.

Vena opened the door and four men in slaves' clothes came in and picked up the trunks. Vena picked up her own bag. "Walk me to the docks?" she asked Liv, putting on a brave face.

Still horrified, disbelieving, Liv nodded.

They walked slowly, as if they could postpone the inevitable forever.

"This really is a great place," Vena said, as they crossed the bridge for the last time together. "It's a marvel. And I was here. For a while. My father was a servant; my mother was a servant. There's nothing wrong with going home and serving. I'm not better than they are. And you know what? I met the Prism!" Her eyes were gleaming. "He called me marvelous! He complimented my dress. Me. He noticed me me, Liv, with all those beautiful girls there. No one can take that away from me. How many people-how many drafters never get that much in their whole lives? The Prism himself!"

Her bravery made Liv tear up. She studiously avoided looking at Vena, sure she'd lose control if she did.

But all too soon, they were at the docks. They said their goodbyes tearfully, promising to write, Liv promising that she would use any connections she could make to get Vena reinstated. Vena smiled sadly, resigned.

"Come on, ladies," the captain said. "Time and the tide wait for no man, nor for blubbering girls, neither."

Liv hugged Vena one more time and left. She'd barely stepped off the wood of the dock when she saw a familiar figure lurking in the shadows like a spider. Aglaia Crassos.

"You!" Liv said. "This is your work!"

Aglaia smiled. "I wonder, Liv, do you think we owe a debt to our friends? A debt of love, or duty?"

"Of course we do."

"But apparently your duty to your friend isn't as important as your need to defy me."

"You bitch," Liv said, quivering.

"I'm not the one who's letting her friend pay for my pride. It can stop, Liv, or it can get worse."

"You still want me to spy on the Prism."

"Vena's not going home, just so you know. I own her contract already. And I've got a deal with a rather... dubious Ilytian. He's willing to give me a good price for Vena. Most people have scruples about selling drafters. Of course, she's not a full drafter, so she won't be entitled to any of a drafter's normal privileges. But, hey, Vena loves sailing, right? Not many women on the galleys. They don't usually last very long, nor do the other slaves treat them well, so owners usually put women to other work. But I can arrange it."

Not just a slave. A galley slave. The worst of the worst. Liv wanted to vomit. She wanted to murder Aglaia. Orholam save her.

"Or..." Aglaia said, "you give me the word." She nodded toward a messenger standing across the street. "And he runs to the captain with a message, saying it's all a mistake, Vena's been reinstated, and so forth. Wonder of wonders. You are my own special project, Liv. You have my full attention."

Liv looked at the boat, despairing. It was true. She had no friends, no options, no choices. How could she fight Aglaia Crassos, with all her wealth and power? If she asked the Prism for help, he'd ask questions. He'd think she'd been spying all along. Every part of the Chromeria and the satrapies was corrupt; they were all turned against her.

"Hurry, Liv, the tide's turning," Aglaia said.

There was no way out, no time to try to come up with a third way. Maybe her father would have said no and spat in Aglaia's ugly face and held on to his honor. Liv wasn't that strong. The sharks and sea demons had her. "Fine," she said, her heart failing within her. "You win. What do I have to do?"

Chapter 49

Gavin hadn't even gotten fully out of his father's apartments when he saw trouble coming. His mother's apartments were right beside his father's, and there was no way he could leave without passing in front of her doors-and her doors were open.

Every time. Every burning time. If his father's windows hadn't all been bolted shut and covered with layers of fabric, Gavin would have jumped out of a window. In fact, it was just during one of these sorts of situations that he'd first drafted a bonnet. Every time he came back from even the shortest trip, it seemed he spent all day meeting with one important person after another. All he did was meet with people-and every one of them had demands of him.

Nonetheless, Gavin turned in as he went past his mother's open doors. The room slave was a young Tyrean girl, judging from her dark eyes and hair and kopi-colored skin. Gavin motioned to her as he passed that she could close the doors behind him. His mother had a talent for training slaves: even a girl barely in her teens like this one would wait attentively and respond to the smallest signal. Of course, Gavin wasn't so much different, was he?

"Mother," Gavin said. She stood as he came close. He kissed her many-ringed fingers, and she laughed and embraced him, as she always did.

"My son," she said. Felia Guile was a handsome woman in her early fifties. She had been a cousin of the Atashian royal family, and in her youth the Atashian noble families rarely married foreigners. Andross Guile, of course, had been a special case. He always was. She had the classic, striking Atashian pairing of olive skin and cornflower blue eyes, though her blue eyes bore a wide halo of dull orange around the iris. She had been an orange drafter-though she wasn't greatly talented, Andross would never have married a woman who couldn't draft. Slim despite her age, Felia was regal, fashionable, comfortable in herself, commanding without being domineering, beautiful, and warm.

He had no idea how she could stand being married to his father.

She flicked two fingers of her left hand, dismissing the room slave without taking her eyes off Gavin. "So, I hear a rumor that you have a... nephew."

Gavin cleared his throat. How fast did word travel in this place, anyway? He looked around the room. The slave was gone. "That's correct."

"A natural son," Felia Guile said, her lips pulling taut momentarily. She would never say "bastard." With her huge palette of facial expressions, she didn't have to. Over the years, orange had made her both more empathetic and more suspicious. With her natural intuition and intelligence, it made her quite formidable.

"That's right. He's a good young man. His name's Kip."

"Fifteen years old?" She didn't say, So you cheated on your fiancee, whom I've been urging you to marry for the last sixteen years. Felia loved Karris. Andross Guile had been dead set against Gavin marrying a woman whose family had nothing, like Karris's, after the war. It was one of the few areas where Gavin's mother had continued to defy his father. Usually when they disagreed, she would let her objections be known with force and eloquence, and then concede to whatever Andross decided. Not a few times, Gavin had seen Andross change his mind after his mother so artfully surrendered. The disagreement over Karris White Oak, however, had involved screaming, shattered porcelain, and tears. Gavin thought sometimes that if he hadn't been present during that fight, Andross would have given in, but the man couldn't lose face in front of anyone, much less his boundary-pushing son.

"He is," Gavin said.

Felia folded her hands and studied his face. "So, is his existence as much of a surprise to you as it is to everyone else, or more?"

A shiver shot down Gavin's spine. His mother was no fool. She was as careful to guard against eavesdroppers as anyone, but she had ways of getting to exactly what she meant. After Sundered Rock, when Gavin had staggered alone out of the magical conflagration, wearing his brother's clothing and his brother's crown and his brother's scars under layers of soot and blood, everyone else had taken him to be Gavin unquestioningly. Despite the age difference, the brothers had been mistaken for twins dozens of times, and their mannerisms were uncannily similar. And Gavin had been careful to emulate his brother's idiosyncrasies of vocabulary and expression. Any differences that had emerged after the war ended had been written off as Gavin having been changed by having to kill his own brother.

But Gavin woke the morning of his first night back at the Chromeria to find his mother sitting on the foot of his bed. Her eyes were red and puffy from weeping, though her cheeks were dry. She'd been careful to do her weeping before he woke.

"Did you think I wouldn't know my own boy?" she had asked. "You're the blood of my blood. Did you think you could deceive even me?"

"I didn't think it would work this long, mother. I expected any of a hundred people to see through this farce, but what else can I do?"