The Parians would be furious, but the profits here aren’t so great that they want to march an army here. Eventually, Rask would offer an exclusive shipping contract on all the citrus from Garriston for a few years, and they’d take it. What do you think? Is it worth it?”
He’s asking me like my opinion is worth something. Kip hadn’t had that many adults care what he thought. “I think King Garadul should die and save us all this trouble.”
Gavin laughed ruefully. “If only. Maybe Karris will work a miracle and do just that.”
“You really miss her, don’t you?” Kip asked before he could stop himself.
Gavin looked at Kip sharply. Then he looked away. Relented. After a minute, he expelled a long breath, and it was like Kip was watching Gavin’s hope leak out of him. “That obvious, huh?” Gavin asked.
“You think they’ll kill her?” Kip asked.
A number of emotions flitted over Gavin’s face, settling in resignation, sorrow too deep for tears. “She’ll live until Rask sees if I’ll trade the city for her. Then he’ll kill her. Either way.”
No. No they won’t, Kip thought. I swear it.
Chapter 65
The empty feeling in Kip’s stomach didn’t go away when they served lunch. Gavin and General Danavis—even though it was weird to think of him as General Danavis rather than Master Danavis, it was too weird for Kip to think of him as just Corvan—and even Liv were poring over the drawings and plans with architects and artists while they ate. Kip sat to one side, out of the way. He had no idea what they were doing, and space around the table was limited. He ate fresh oranges with gusto, and tore into the intriguing spiced fresh javelina. It tasted amazing, but even he couldn’t keep his mind on food for long.
“I’d ask if you’re serious,” General Danavis was saying, “but you have that look.”
“The problem isn’t the drafting,” Gavin said. “I can handle that much luxin easily—”
“Easily?” General Danavis interrupted, dubiously.
“Fine, not easily, but I can do it. The problem is the weight. I can’t lift this much, much less throw it into place.”
Liv cleared her throat gently, as if unsure she really wanted to intrude.
“Aliviana?” Gavin asked.
She colored. “Please, Liv.” She brushed her hair back nervously. “How about this?” She drafted something onto the table. It was, of course, superviolet, and thus invisible to most people.
General Danavis scowled. Apparently, most people included him.
“Sorry, father,” she said. “I can’t control yellow enough to make models with it.”
Kip tried to see what she’d drafted, but the table was obscured by bodies.
Gavin chuckled. “It looks ridiculous,” he said, and Liv blanched. “But it’ll work. Perfect. Fine. What do our architects think of the design?”
For a moment, Kip thought Gavin was being pretty rude. Obviously, General Danavis and everyone else around the table was curious about what Liv had designed. But this was Gavin as leader. All the rest of them didn’t need to know, and there was work to be done. He understood the solution to the problem, and that was all that was necessary. On to the next problem.
Which is what I should be doing. Kip had finished lunch. He could now draft a little bit, and on purpose. He knew what he had to do.
“My Lord Prism, none of us has ever built a wall of this magnitude, or, or—or a wall at all, to tell the truth,” a nervous architect said, “but these old drawings you’ve shown us of Rathcaeson are clearly flawed. Too much fantasy, not enough function.”
“This empty desert doesn’t have enough function,” Gavin said sharply. “Tell me what we need to do to fix it. I need to start building now, today.”
The architect blinked. Swallowed. “Uh, here.” He drew a line with his finger. “This interior passage isn’t wide enough. You’re going to have men rushing back and forth in armor, with guns, cannons being rolled into position, or replaced for repair. This passage must be wide enough for men to run past each other and past carts or cannons.”
“How wide?” Gavin demanded.
“I’d say, uh…” He held his fingers apart on the drawing.
“For Orholam’s sake, write on it,” Gavin said.
“Sir, those drawings are hundreds of years old, priceless relics of—” another man, perhaps an artist, protested.
“Priceless is being alive next week,” Gavin snapped. “Continue.”
Kip didn’t know why he’d been so slow, but it only dawned on him now that Gavin was seriously planning on building a wall, here. Before King Garadul’s army arrived. In four days.