given his word to anyone before. He supposed he had known that the Queen’s Guard took some vow or other, but in his eagerness to get into the Keep, he had forgotten.
“What reason would I have to harm the Queen?” he asked Carroll. “Or the Princess? I have spent my life killing men.”
“And children,” Carroll said softly.
Christian felt his temper flare. It was not like the Creche, this place. In the Creche, no one judged a man for what he did to survive. Here, Christian could be called to account at any time, even by a smug little bastard half his size. The idea of having to explain himself, to justify himself, was so repugnant that for a moment Christian considered simply clouting Carroll across the face and storming out. But caution ruled. Christian was trying to pass through the eye of a needle, and he needed every millimeter.
“I will not apologize for my past,” he said, gritting out each word. “Had you been born into the tunnels, you would know that there is no choice down there. But these are not the tunnels.”
Carroll absorbed this message quietly, studying Christian with an odd, unreadable gaze. His hands came together on the table: topsider’s hands, tanned and without scars. Christian wondered whether Carroll had ever been in a real fight, anything more than two boys playing silly with toy swords. It was not an empty offer Christian had made; he could teach the Queen’s Guard, teach them how to grapple and close, how to gouge and rend, how to squeeze the life from a man. If Carroll was any indication, they could certainly use the lesson. But now he wondered whether any of them would be capable of learning what he had to teach.
“My father, God rest his soul, used to say that you do not judge a man by what he does in the breach, with all eyes upon him,” Carroll remarked. “You judge him by what he does in the quiet, when no one is looking.”
Christian didn’t know what “in the breach” meant, but he was annoyed to find the rest of Carroll’s meaning coming through clear as day, and even more annoyed to find himself in total agreement. He thought of the priests he had seen creeping through Whore’s Alley, of the furred and jeweled nobles outside the ring, screaming for blood. The Creche, after all, was only one big quiet. Nothing a man might do topside, no matter how good or right, could erase the foulness done down there.
But Christian did not mean to erase it.
“You have a hidden purpose here,” Carroll continued, holding Christian’s gaze. “I am young for the Guard, and inexperienced; Dyer calls me Little Wide-Eyes, and there’s enough truth in that to make me hate it. But I’m no fool. You did not wake up yesterday with a burning desire to become a Queen’s Guard. You’re playing a long game.”
Carroll paused, but it was not a demanding pause; he did not expect a response. He turned away, looking out the window, and Christian saw that he had cut himself shaving. His jaw was nicked in several places, and there was not even a hint of beard growth to hide the cuts.
He told me to run, Christian remembered suddenly. He told me to save myself.
“You have made a brave show here today,” Carroll continued. “And you would be a glittering addition to the Guard, I have no doubt . . . at least to those who care only for brawn and steel. But make no mistake, this is how you will be judged: on what you do in the quiet.”
Judged by who? Christian wanted to ask, but did not, for he found himself strangely mute. The boy’s words reminded him of a story Maura had told him once, something of knights and a magic sword. Dignity seemed to enfold Carroll, clothing him even more tightly than his grey cloak, and in the face of that dignity, Christian found himself compelled to speak.
“I mean no harm to you, or the Princess, or the Queen. My word may be worth shit, but I give it, all the same.”
Carroll stared at him for another minute, and then extended a hand. The gesture made Christian recoil, and it was not until several seconds had passed that he realized that he had been accepted, that Carroll’s hand was offered in friendship, that taking it signified some sort of accord.
He shook, and became a Queen’s Guard.
Chapter 19
THE SEVEN OF SWORDS
Truth