The Burning White (Lightbringer #5) - Brent Weeks Page 0,314

It would add an hour to his night. It was only going to take a few minutes for him to find out.

In a quarter of an hour, the shift changed. At a call from deep inside the passage, the Blackguards outside opened the gate, came inside, closed and locked it behind them—and then walked into the tunnel to meet their replacements, chatting in worried tones about the impending execution and the looming fight.

Good luck, at last!

Ironfist slipped out soon after they passed his hidden room, then slipped out through the gate, locking it behind him.

Thank Orholam. He’d been starting to worry about time.

He walked at a low crouch until he was well out of sight on this cold, drizzly night. The Blackguards might chat with their reinforcements for several minutes, or they might come immediately. He wasn’t going to risk anything. Not tonight.

Only steps away from the boathouse where his objective lay, a voice called out from a shadow, freezing him.

“I never thought you could do this. Not you.”

Cruxer!

Cruxer couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old now, but there was no trace of a boy in his voice or his eyes. His sword was already drawn, tunic dripping with rain. He’d been lying in wait.

“How did you—” Ironfist began. But it was the wrong question. If only he had the Guiles’ golden tongues.

“I went to your rooms to speak with you. Some of your men are still loyal to the Chromeria,” Cruxer said. “They told me you asked one of them to test your old keys on these gates. So I know something’s back here. Perhaps you’re to let in some invaders? Order assassins, maybe?”

“No,” Ironfist said, but he felt a chill down his back at the mention of the Order.

“You’re in the Order,” Cruxer said.

“I . . . was.” Ironfist didn’t consider himself the most emotionally attuned man, but the orange seed crystal against his skin magnified his awareness of currents of feeling—and Cruxer felt as jagged as shattered hellstone, all dark glittery points ready to slice.

“All those years you were commander. They were all a lie.”

“No.”

“You infiltrated the Blackguard for the Order of the Broken Eye,” Cruxer said.

“I thought I could hold them together,” Ironfist said. “That they didn’t need to be opposed. That the old wounds could be healed . . .”

“So you’re a weasel as well as a traitor,” Cruxer said.

And suddenly Ironfist saw that this young man was as hard and unforgiving and as foolish as he himself had been at that age. And as dangerous.

“Cruxer, stop. You’re already in my zone.”

The kill zone was the area inside of which an armed opponent could complete a lethal assault before you could defend yourself. It could be a surprisingly large area, especially for a tall, quick man with a long reach and good training, like Cruxer.

Ironfist wasn’t going to just let him stroll inside the zone, but making a move toward his own ataghan would start them down a path to misery. When blades sing, words fall silent.

“Son, I can tell you everything, but you need to give me time to explain.”

“Time?” Cruxer asked. “How much time does it take for the orange bane to corrupt a man?”

Ironfist was stricken. Shit. He knew about the orange? The seed crystal was barely covered by his tunic’s neckline. If Cruxer saw it, what would he do?

“This isn’t you doing this, is it?” Cruxer said. “The orange bane has changed you, hasn’t it?”

“It has affected me,” Ironfist admitted. “ But—”

“Did it give you the idea to make yourself king?”

“Well . . . maybe. I’m not sure, but—”

“And to demand blood for blood?”

“I—that’s not what you think.”

“Treason and murder aren’t what I think?”

“I’m not going to go through with it! Son, you know me!”

“I know you? Which you? I looked up to you. You were everything to me. Everything I dreamed of becoming. You were the standard I fell short of. And it was all a lie. You’re here opening the gates for the Order,” Cruxer said.

“No, no! This is my vengeance on the Order. They’re the ones who killed my sister.”

“Your sister was insane. A loose cannon in storm-tossed seas. She was trying to kill you. You want me to believe—How about your brother’s death? You don’t blame that on the Guiles?”

Ironfist hesitated. “No. Not—”

“Liar.”

“Fine! I’m furious! But for the greater good, I can let it go,” Ironfist said.

“Like you let your integrity go?”

Ironfist’s chest expanded as he drew in air sharply, his teeth baring.

“Were you serving the