didn’t complete the threat. He didn’t need to.
Soon they were striding onto the docks together. Despite his threats, Ironfist had helped them with some settling of the packs. Mostly, that meant moving things from Liv’s pack to Kip’s. When Kip asked the silent question—why are you making me carry her stuff?—Ironfist had said, “It’s more complicated to be a girl. You got a problem?” Kip shook his head quickly.
As they walked down the docks, past fishermen unloading catches, apprentices of various trades running back and forth, loiterers, merchant women arguing with captains about prices for goods or transit—basically, all the normal business of the day—many people stopped whatever they were doing for a few moments. It wasn’t to watch Kip, of course. It was to watch Commander Ironfist. The man was big, and imposing, and handsome, and he strode with a total self-awareness, but it wasn’t his sheer physical presence that got him so much attention. He was, Kip realized, famous.
As Kip turned to see the faces looking at Commander Ironfist, he could see Gavin walking onto the docks. And if for Commander Ironfist, business slowed, for the Prism, it stopped entirely. Gavin walked through smiling and nodding to people automatically, but they treated him like he was nearly a god. No one tried to touch Gavin himself, but not a few brushed his cloak as it floated past.
What am I doing with these people?
A week ago, Kip had been cleaning puke off his mother’s face and hair while she lay passed out from another binge. In their hovel. With a dirt floor. No one in their backwater town had paid him the least mind. The addict’s boy, that’s all he was. Maybe the fat boy. I don’t belong here.
I’ve never belonged anywhere. Mother told me I ruined her life, and now I’m ruining Gavin’s.
Kip couldn’t help but think of his mother’s last words, and the promise he made as she was dying. He’d sworn to avenge her, and he’d hardly done anything to keep that oath.
They said Orholam himself watched over oaths. Kip hadn’t learned anything, and now they were going back.
“Hey,” Liv said, “why so glum?” She laid a hand on his arm, which tingled from the contact. They’d stopped at an empty place on the dock, down a ramp low to the water, and Commander Ironfist was drafting a luxin platform onto the water, the first building block of a scull.
“I, uh, I don’t know. Thinking about Tyrea makes me think about—” And from somewhere that Kip didn’t even know he had, tears tried to come up at the thought of his mother, dying. He pushed them away, diverted them to someone more worth mourning. “You know, I hope your father’s well, Liv. He was… he was always good to me.” He was the only one.
Yet even with Master Danavis, there had been a wall, a point past which he wouldn’t let Kip in. Was it just because of his own history that he had to keep secret? Or was there something deeper, something wrong with Kip?
“Kip,” Liv said. “It’s going to work out.”
He looked over at her and couldn’t help but smile. Orholam had never made a more beautiful woman. Liv could shame the sunset with her radiance. He fell into her dimples, hopeless. He looked away.
Little brother, he sneered at himself. Fun to joke around with, but not a man. The despair threatened to choke him completely.
“Thanks,” he managed to push past the lump in his throat. “Can I have a snack?” he asked Ironfist.
“Yes, of course,” the big man said.
“Great!”
“When we get back.”
“Hey!”
“Now shut it, the Lord Prism is here.”
All eyes still on him, Gavin stopped in front of Commander Ironfist. He looked at Ironfist’s pack. Neither said anything for a long time.
“You can’t come, I’m not taking a bodyguard,” Gavin said finally.
“I’m not coming with you,” Ironfist said.
“Then get off my scull.”
“I’m coming with Kip. He’s a member of the Prism’s family, and he’s entitled to protection.”
“You’re the commander of the Blackguard, you can’t possibly—”
“I can do what I deem appropriate to discharge the duties of the Blackguard. None may interfere with that. None.”
“You are a wily bastard, aren’t you?” Gavin said.
“It’s why I’m still here,” Ironfist said. “And quite possibly why you are, too.”
Gavin grunted. “You win, but let me remind you of your oaths.”
Ironfist looked offended.
“You’ll understand soon,” Gavin said. “Everyone, load up.”
With a quick, practiced hand, Gavin drafted a set of the special oars he used to propel the scull,