The Burning White (Lightbringer #5) - Brent Weeks Page 0,341

going to die before he could do anything about them.

Andross gave Ben-hadad a coat that was similar to Ferkudi’s.

Ben felt it and said, “What’s layered underneath this?”

“Mirrored steel scale, like all of them,” Andross said. “It’s not as strong as plate, but not nearly as heavy, either. Try not to test its effectiveness too much.”

Beneath the coat there wasn’t a weapon. Instead, there was a pair knee braces.

“I, uh, am actually almost finished with my backup brace,” Ben-hadad said, gesturing to his current, solid brace. Kip had broken the other when he’d raised the Great Mirror. “Parallel discovery, I guess? But thank you? Definitely will save me some hours tonight.”

“These are Commander Finer’s own knee braces,” Andross said. “Before he went wight and tried to kill his Prism, he developed these. Instead of using open luxin, he reinforced the joints with sea-demon bone. I think you’ll also find that wearing two of them, you can do much, much more than you did with one.”

“Two? And sea-demon . . . ?” Ben-hadad’s eyes widened. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? This is—thank you! Thank you very, very much!”

“While you’re at it, you may also take the sharana ru I’d intended for Cruxer,” Andross said.

“No, I can’t,” Ben said, though the curiosity in his eyes was plain. A tygre striper?

“It’s not going to do him any good,” Andross said.

An uneasy silence descended on them.

“I can’t,” Ben-hadad said finally.

“Don’t be a damned fool. Cruxer died because he couldn’t adjust to realities shifting under his feet. Don’t follow his example in this.” Andross drew a tygre striper shaped like a white spear from Cruxer’s box and veritably threw it at Ben-hadad. “Kill a god for me.”

Looking to the rest of the Mighty, who nodded their approval, Ben-hadad kept the thing. The spear was long and thin, with a steel spike at the foot and a graceful steel blade at the top, below which were embedded jagged obsidian teeth in the haft.

Turning to Kip, Andross said, “We’ll have the appropriate funerals, if we live so long. Now, where is your stubborn bride?”

Kip said, “I guess she’s not that eager to see you again. Strangely enough.”

“Strangely enough, I’m tempted not to give her her gift, then. But whatever. Take it.”

Kip stepped forward and opened Tisis’s chest. Inside was a red dress, high-necked and long-sleeved and heavy and adorned with the Mighty’s sigil as well. “Armored?” Kip asked.

“As much as possible without being obvious. I figured that her duties wouldn’t be martial, but that she may well not stay away from harm, either. The Guile women seem to hold in common a lack of an aversion to danger.”

“This is Felia’s dress, isn’t it?” Kip asked. Andross had merely had a tailor add the Mighty’s sigil to it.

Andross pursed his lips. “I hate how you do that.”

“So, do I get anything?” Kip said flippantly.

“Oh yes,” Andross said, his eyes twinkling. “I spent a long time pondering if I should give you armor so fine you couldn’t turn it down but that would make you look like a raging asshole.”

“Nice,” Kip said. Though I kind of do that on my own.

“But I figured you already do that on your own.”

I hate how he does that.

Andross gestured and a slave brought out another box. In it was armor to match the Mighty, albeit with the colors reversed, the armor entirely white, with the figure of the man in black, head bowed, silhouette suspiciously like Kip’s own these days. “White, huh? That’s a little raging-assholey,” Kip said.

“I couldn’t give up the idea altogether.”

“By which I mean, thank you, grandfather.”

“Stop. I’m getting weepy.”

“Is there a weapon for me?”

“I thought you’d enjoy going into battle armed with your wit,” Andross said.

“But you’d not want me to go into battle defenseless.”

Andross didn’t smile. He simply held out his hand. In it was a single Nine Kings card.

In a flash, Kip remembered the other cards, but the memories were fragmentary: Andross the Red, and The Master. Now this, a third card for Andross Guile, called simply The Guile. In Janus Borig’s exquisite style, it showed an old man seated in darkness, eyes glowing red-gold. The faintest glow outlined his head against the darkness. His fingers were colored claws, in each color.

One of each color, because Andross was a full-spectrum polychrome. Well, that would have been nice to remember before now. Or maybe Kip would have guessed it was merely symbolic of having the other Colors on the Spectrum under his fingers.

“Cute,” Kip said.

“Not