The Burning White (Lightbringer #5) - Brent Weeks Page 0,44

screening his mouth against lipreading with a lifted cup.

Winsen hissed, ‘Unlike our pal whose name rhymes with Jerkudi.’

After the meeting adjourned on more empty promises and stalling, Kip had listened to his wife’s idea.

So today, they met the Divines in one of the side gardens, where Tisis made much of the flowers. Then Kip suggested she see some of the exotics the people had been bringing. In no hurry, they made their way to the front of the palace. Kip split his time between pleasantries to the old Divines and greeting people waiting in the long queue to see Túsaíonn Domhan that wrapped around the building, more and more spending his time on the people, much to the Divines’ consternation.

Finally, on the way to the front of the palace, they picked up the hundreds of admirers to whom Kip had waved yesterday. Cruxer had not been a fan of this part of the plan, but the people kept a respectful distance once the Mighty demonstrated what that was. They themselves weren’t quite certain what they wanted of Kip.

The Divines looked more and more uncomfortable, but when Lord Aodán Appleton suggested reconvening inside, Kip pretended not to hear. And finally, they made it to the mound of flowers that had been piled out in front of the palace, partly in thanks to Kip’s Nightbringers for liberating the city and partly to cover the smell of the putrefying and still hanging Divine and conn.

By tradition, the men’s bodies were to stay in place for several days more yet. The stench was nearly intolerable. Kip stopped at the top of the steps as Tisis pretended to admire the flowers here. The Divines were painfully aware of their dead compatriots nearby, though none dared look at them.

Kip said, “You’ve told me we need a full council to have a quorum to vote on certain matters, matters that must be decided immediately. So let’s agree—”

“New councillors! Yes!” Lord Rathcore said. “Just what a conn is for!”

“A conn?” Kip asked as if this were a surprise. It was supposed to be a great honor, and they’d been trying to extract all sorts of concessions from him in return while only hinting it might be possible. In reality, he was being asked to pay for the privilege of eating two slices of warm bread hiding a turd.

Being named conn was an honor, and it would give him legitimacy that wasn’t derived from his father or grandfather. It would be something he’d earned himself. He wanted that, and they obviously sensed that.

But by law and tradition, a conn had significant limits to his power here. By assenting to a defined role and swearing to its oaths, Kip would be assenting to its limits, too. The Divines weren’t offering a gift; they were offering Kip chains decorated with gold filigree.

“No,” Kip said. “I don’t have time for the frippery and delay. I’ll give you my suggestions. You can approve them if you do so unanimously, yes? I suggest Lady Proud Hart and Lady Greenwood.”

Their heads did not literally explode, but several of them turned shades redder.

“My lord,” Lord Appleton said, “we could make you conn within the hour. It would honor our ways, and then perhaps we might even”—he looked like he was trying to swallow a mouthful of salt—“come to an agreement on one of those noble matriarchs.”

“You’re not hearing me,” Kip said. “I don’t want the position.” He was feeling red, and he almost insulted the pointless position itself—which would have been an insult to the whole city.

“Milord,” Lord Spreading Oak said patiently as if trying to counsel reason, “becoming conn is the only way for you to accomplish all you think you need to do.”

“Funny,” Kip said, “the last conn believed that was true, too.” He looked up at the hanged, rotting Conn Hill. “Tell me, Lord Spreading Oak, if a man has as much power as a king but not the name, is he more or less than a king?”

By long tradition and by an explicit oath as he took office, a conn couldn’t become a king. It was one of the stupider things they were trying to keep from Kip’s grasp. King? He didn’t even want to be a mayor!

A thrill went through the crowd at the very word ‘king,’ and the Divines alternately blanched and went purple. It was one nice thing about these northerners’ pallid skin: it made them so easy to read sometimes.

Lord Spreading Oak could find no words.

Kip said, “My