She couldn’t even look at him. She was furious with herself. He’d seemed so different after the war. His breaking their betrothal had left her with nothing. She’d left for a year, and he’d seemed overjoyed when she came back. He’d respected her distance, never said anything when she had a few affairs to try to purge him from her mind. That had somehow made her more furious. But eventually, she’d been drawn back to the mystery of him, and slowly won over by this man who seemed so completely changed by the war.
How many men come back from war better?
None, apparently.
And how many women come back smarter?
Not this one.
The river was joined by another tributary and widened considerably and Karris’s place at the prow, looking out for rocks, became unnecessary. It was a beautiful day. She took off the cloak and felt the sun’s rays—Orholam’s caress, her mother had told her when she was a little girl. Right.
“They say there are bandits on this river who rob anyone who comes through,” Gavin said lightly. “So maybe we’ll find someone for you to kill.”
“I don’t want to kill someone,” Karris said quietly, not meeting his gaze.
“Oh, you had that look in your eye—”
She looked up and smiled sweetly. “Not someone. I want to kill you.”
Chapter 19
“Ah.” Gavin cleared his throat.
The boy twitched, and then sat bolt upright. Maybe hearing “I want to kill you” wasn’t the best way to be awakened after your village had been massacred. Gavin raised an eyebrow at Karris. You really need to do this now?
She huffed out a breath and turned away while the boy rubbed his head and moaned. The boy squinted at her, but she kept her back to him. She busied herself unstringing her bow and stowing it. The boy turned his royal blue eyes to Gavin. Interesting, with his light brown skin and kinky hair. Blue eyes were blue because they were the deepest, and thus the most light-sensitive and best light-collecting. It was far from the only criterion, but people with blue eyes were disproportionately represented among the most powerful drafters. More light to use, more power to burn.
Right now, those deep eyes were narrowed in pain. Apparently Gavin’s swat had left the boy with a nice headache.
“You saved me,” Kip said.
Gavin nodded.
“Who are you?” the boy asked.
Straight to the gut, huh? Karris turned to see what Gavin would say. She folded her arms.
Gavin stopped rowing. “This is Lady Karris White Oak, who, despite the sometimes humorously juxtaposed conjunctions of name and skin color and title, is a member of the Blackguard.” Karris’s look of fury didn’t shift in the slightest. Apparently the old jokes still weren’t funny. “And I…” He’d introduced Karris first to give himself a moment to think. It hadn’t worked. Five years and five purposes left, Gavin. This might be your last chance.
The boy had been unconscious when Gavin had claimed his patrimony. He didn’t know. He didn’t have to know. Better for him not to know, in many ways. But better still for him not to hear it from Karris first, in a burst of rage. This boy was not his son, but without Gavin and Dazen’s war—the Prisms’ War or the False Prism’s War, depending on which side you’d fought—none of the children of Rekton or a hundred other villages would be fatherless now. Gavin fantasized again for a moment about telling Karris everything she didn’t know, and letting the chips fall where they may. But Karris wouldn’t believe a partial truth and couldn’t handle it whole.
At least this lie would give an orphan a father. It would give a child who’d lost everything one thing back. Gavin shouldn’t care, but he did.
“I’m Prism Gavin Guile. I’m… you’re my natural son.”
The boy looked at him like he didn’t understand what Gavin had said.
“Perfect,” Karris said. “Why don’t you just drop everything on him at once? Why don’t you think, Gavin? I swear you’re as impulsive as Dazen ever was.”
Impulsive? Pot, meet kettle. Gavin ignored Karris, looking only at the boy. He’d just admitted to cheating on her years ago, lying to her about it afterward, and then—just an hour ago—lying to her again. She was doing cold rage, and it didn’t fit her. Hot rage was more her style.
The boy glanced at her, confused by her anger, then glanced back. He was still squinting, though Gavin couldn’t tell how much of that was from his headache from being cracked across the back of the