The Burning White (Lightbringer #5) - Brent Weeks Page 0,297

maybe someone might realize they shouldn’t be.

“Subtle . . . T,” he continued. “I think you’ve got a new nickname! Subtle T!”

“Is this the door?” she asked. Subtle T was exactly the kind of name that could stick. It sounded laudatory to outsiders, but could either be praise or a quiet mock among comrades.

It made her miss the Mighty. These damn boys. It made her miss her old life.

Patch or no patch, she could never be part of the Mighty now. It was a fantasy to think she could ever pick up where she’d left off.

She’d never stopped to think what would happen after she took down the Order, had she? It had seemed such an impossibility, her mind had simply refused to go further.

There was no further.

But enough of that now. Teia had to be present, had to be sharp. Enough of thinking about that girl—that poor, innocent girl who would tire in a few minutes as her heart was slowly starved of blood, who would go lie down to nap and never rise.

“Yeah, this should be it,” Ben-hadad said.

Silently, Quentin was staring at Teia. She hadn’t told Quentin about everything she could do now, but Quentin knew.

Ben knocked on a door.

“What are you going to do if someone answers?” Teia asked.

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he said. But he flicked down his blue lenses, and his hand filled with a blob of blue luxin.

The dread sat heavier and heavier in Teia’s stomach.

Ben-hadad shrugged, deciding no one was coming, and jammed the blob of open blue luxin he’d drafted into the lock, solidified it, and turned. “I’m not really sure why the Chromeria even bothers to have locks,” he said.

“Hold on,” Teia said, feeling ill. “I’ve just made a terrible mistake.”

She fled down the hall after the girl.

She was lucky. The girl had reached the slaves’ stairs and realized she’d left her mop and bucket. She’d be in big trouble if she lost them. But the girl was still shocked when Teia approached on silent feet. She held her hands up in front of her face defensively, like Teia was going to hurt her.

“What’s your name?” Teia asked quietly. She started working instantly to unravel what she’d done. Orholam have mercy, she’d gotten good at laying death traps, but not so good at removing them.

“Clara.”

“What do they have you mopping for?” Teia asked.

Clara gulped. “Atarah called me a slatte—ahem, a name. So I tried to slap her, but I sort of missed? and I broke her nose instead. Two months I’ve been mopping after lectures every day.”

“Ha,” Teia said. “In the Blackguard, you’d not be mopping for that slap.”

“I know! Why are the magisters so—”

“You’d be mopping for the miss,” Teia said.

The girl’s brow wrinkled and her mouth pursed.

“Look,” Teia said. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“I wasn’t scared!”

“Truth is, Clara, you scared me.”

Clara looked incredulous.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Teia said. “Well, I sort of am. It’s complicated.”

Orholam, I can’t kill her. You’re the god who spares the innocent. Can You keep this girl’s mouth shut? Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t kill the innocent anymore, not to justify a hundred other murders. Not to justify saving a thousand lives someday, maybe.

“I’m working for the White,” Teia said very quietly. “It’s a secret mission. I’m not supposed to be on the Jaspers at all. If you tell anyone you saw me, people will die. Me among them. Can you . . . can you not tell anyone you saw me for one week? I’ll probably be dead by then anyway. It’ll be a juicier story if I turn up dead, and then you can tell everyone. But if you tell anyone now—even your friends—Clara, I can’t even tell you how bad it could go. A lot of people will die. Good people.”

Clara shrugged, offended. “I can keep a secret!”

Right, and how many fourteen-year-olds will admit they can’t? “One week,” Teia said. “Two if you can. Unless I turn up dead, then tell whoever you want.”

Her duty had become like that old little flask of olive oil that she’d gripped so hard in her fist that her fingers cramped. Holding on to it had meant everything, everything. Now she prised her fingers open one by one.

Orholam, this is Your war. If You want us to win, You’re going to have to handle this little girl. I’m done killing innocents.

“You’re serious,” Clara said. “I thought you were just going to make love with that boy and were looking