Gavin was still hurling magic and deflecting magic. Everyone was either watching him or had crowded to the side of the barge and was watching Ironfist and Kip come in. Ironfist was looking down at the path he was drafting, intent on the magic. Kip was the only person who saw a gleaming knife come out of that box.
Kip’s next step missed the narrow luxin platform. He plunged hard into the water. Clumsy Kip. Stupid Kip. His huge splash would make even more of a distraction for Zymun to take advantage of.
Lord Omnichrome had sent Zymun to assassinate Gavin. Kip had seen it—and he’d decided to go somewhere else. He’d had a dozen chances to do the right thing, and he’d missed them all. Even five minutes ago, if he hadn’t gone after Ironfist, he would have been on the barge. He could have stopped Zymun.
Kip wouldn’t fail again. He refused. He threw his hands down, opened his eyes despite the water, and starting sucking in light. It hurt like hell. He didn’t care. He sucked it in like he was the mouth of one of Gavin’s great skimmer engines. And threw it down.
He shot out of the water. By Orholam’s own hand, or by all the luck that had gone against him for his whole life now finally reversing course, he shot in the right direction. He flew onto the barge’s deck, blasting through half a dozen people gathered at the railing looking for him—and he kept his feet, though he was at a crazy angle and had to run as fast as he could just to not fall down.
He burst into the opening around Gavin just as Zymun closed on the Prism. Zymun sank the great white dagger into Gavin’s back an instant before Kip collided with him, the top of Kip’s head smashing Zymun’s nose. His momentum carried them both off the opposite side of the barge.
They landed with a great splash. Kip got a breath before they went under and immediately began tearing at Zymun, punching him, ripping at the dagger in his one hand and the sheath in the other. Zymun hadn’t taken a breath. He let both go and flailed, trying to get away from Kip with panicky motions. Kip tried to slash the other boy, still underwater, and missed.
With a gasp, Kip surfaced. Zymun surfaced five paces away, blood streaming from his broken nose, staining the water.
Kip heard screams beyond Zymun. The sharks had come and were turning the water between Zymun and the docks to white froth in the frenzy.
“Kip! Grab the rope! Grab the rope!” someone shouted. A coil hit the water close to him.
Zymun gave Kip one hateful glance and started swimming for shore. He was a good swimmer, too. Faster than Kip. It would be madness to go after him. And he was bleeding.
“Kip!”
Kip felt the first tremor of lightsickness hitting him. Oh shit.
But he’d lost his dagger before. It was everything. He wouldn’t lose it again. Bobbing in the waves, trying to ignore at least another score of triangular fins cutting the water headed for the dock, he sheathed the blade and tucked it inside his pants, and only then did he grab the rope.
Good thing there was a loop on the end. Kip managed to pull it over his head before he threw up the first time. There was nothing in his stomach, so he dry heaved as the barge towed him along for a way until the men on deck could haul him out of the water.
“Let go of the rest of the luxin, Kip,” someone was saying to him.
“I can’t, I can’t.” He knew it was going to be bad. He couldn’t take any more pain. He couldn’t even open his eyes.
“Come on, Kip, do it for me,” Gavin said gently.
Kip let go of the last of the luxin. The last thing he was aware of was pain shooting through his head, lances of light blotting out darkness, only to leave more behind.
Chapter 92
The prisoner was full in the fever’s grip. The gash he’d cut across his chest and the foul hair he’d packed into the cut had done their work. Death or freedom. It was time.
He tried to stand, but couldn’t. He was shaking too hard. Maybe he’d waited too long. He’d wanted—needed—to wait until the fever was at its hottest in order to have any chance at all. If he’d miscalculated, he would simply die, and end all of Dazen’s