The Burning White (Lightbringer #5) - Brent Weeks Page 0,334

room until after the walls come down. You have to die. Just one more soul on my tally when you could have been so much more.”

“ ‘After the walls come down’?” she asked.

“The Order’s made a treaty with the White King. Our people mob the gates, a few Shadows take down the cannon crews, and they reward us beyond our wildest dreams.”

“But that’ s—that’s, you haven’t even explained—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said sadly. He seemed back in control now. Himself again.

“Well, sure it matters—” Teia said.

“It doesn’t matter for you. Your part ends here. I’m sorry.”

“Please,” Teia said, fear gripping her throat. She’d been testing her bonds. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t even move her extremities.

She’d missed her chance. Drafting now was impossible.

She tried it anyway, her eyes flaring wide.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Murder Sharp scolded. He tore the bag off her head, gripped her hair in a fist, and pulled her face up, almost gently. But she had no illusions he would stay gentle if she resisted.

He looked at her, eye to eye, and then he kissed her forehead gently, like a father. “I want to ask you a favor,” he said.

“I want to ask you one back,” Teia said quickly.

He laughed. “Not really in the position, are you?”

“I’ll do anything you want if you hear me out.”

“That’s not how this works,” Murder Sharp said.

“My father. They’ll kill him if they learn I betrayed them,” Teia said. “He doesn’t know anything about this. You know that. He’s just a merchant. Can you have them let him go?”

She was actually surprised at how level and calm her voice came out. Sharp seemed to be surprised, too.

“I’ve got no reason to help you,” Sharp said.

“No . . . no, you don’t. But maybe, maybe a little redemption is better than none. Maybe that’s how you close a little bit of separation, Elijah ben-Zoheth.”

He snorted. “You got balls,” Sharp said with a little smile that showed his everyday dentures: plain, white, but not so perfect as to draw attention. “I wish we didn’t have to do this.”

“Me, too,” Teia said lightly.

He laughed. Then he looked down at her body and shook his head. “I can’t believe I put you in my mother’s dress. What the hell was I thinking? Anyway . . . about my request.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward.

“Anything,” Teia said.

He cleared his throat. “You’ve got a beautiful lower left dogtooth. Immaculate. Gorgeously, flawlessly formed, from all I can tell. Its only defect, I think, is that it’s a bit large for your mouth—but that makes it perfect for mine. I would like your permission to . . . um, add it to my best pair of diplomatic dentures. You know the ones. I find a beautiful smile cuts right through people’s defenses. Melts them inside. It’s magical, really. But I shouldn’t like for my best smile to be tarnished by some shadow of guilt that I’d . . . violated you. You’d be part of something perfect, long after your death. It’s immortality. Of a sort.”

“Orholam have mercy,” Teia whispered.

“Well, clearly not,” Murder Sharp said, laughing suddenly. “But I will. I’ve had poor luck with teeth when I’ve killed the donor in advance—the rot sets into the tooth so, so fast it seems. That’s why you’re still alive, actually. I can’t risk losing your perfection in such a way, so I intend to sedate you before relieving you of it. You’ll feel very little. But you will be alive.” He pulled forward two vials on the table. He cleared his throat again. “Two lovely tinctures here: first, I give you a heavy dose of poppy dissolved in brandy. Tastes wretched, but it’ll give you a total euphoria, and some say visions akin to entering the afterlife, if there is such a thing. This second one is . . . a marvel. A wonder. Very odd. The Braxians were trying to find an opposite to nightshade—you know it?”

Teia did, of course. In drops applied to the eyes, nightshade or belladonna caused the pupils to flare wide, allowing drafters to soak in more light—or women to look more comely. It also made you blind if you used it too often, so the Chromeria frowned on its use, preferring drafters to learn the skill of widening or tightening their pupils at will.

“What would the opposite of belladonna do?” Teia asked. “Constrict pupils? Oh . . . to starve drafters of source light.”

“Yes, yes, I’m always forgetting how sharp you are. Aha. Sharp.