The Burning White (Lightbringer #5) - Brent Weeks Page 0,69

to make sure the men were recognized for what they did rather than just being handed a ribbon, but if we take even half a minute for each citation, the army will be standing there all morning.”

Tisis, I could kiss you. The subtext was perfect: we give out plenty of valor citations.

Each of Daragh’s men would later think, If they give out so many valor citations, how hard will it be to earn one myself?

“Very well,” Kip said. “That first, then the embargo, and then breakfast, I suppose.”

Daragh the Coward had finally gotten Kip’s silent if unsubtle message—I have many other things to do, most of them far more important than you—and was striding, fuming, out of the audience chamber.

“Darling,” Kip said out of the side of his mouth, but not turning toward her. “Are we giving out valor citations?”

“Of course we are,” she said quietly. She cleared her throat. “Now.”

“You just came up with that?” he asked.

“Yes?” she said.

“I love the hell out of you,” he said.

“You better,” she said.

He glanced over at her. She was still facing forward, regal, but she was beaming.

His next thought was less joyous: Citations. Great. Something else to add to the list.

As Daragh the Coward passed through the doors of the audience chamber, he stopped. He turned back, defiant.

Drawing up, his jaw jutting and his scarified chest puffed out, oiled muscles tensed, he roared from the vestibule, “Guile! You never asked about my name!”

Kip gave him a puzzled glance. Making a little motion to the soldiers to close the doors, he said, “Why would I give two shits what people call a dead man?”

Chapter 18

The rudeness of murder had always bothered him. That was how he knew he wasn’t a monster, yet. It still bothered him.

Facing the predawn sun, praying alone, her husband having departed after a long night of lovemaking and tears, the Third Eye now sat up straight, her sunburnt arms saluting the rising light.

She had to be dead before the sun’s disk broke the horizon. Those were his orders. Most likely, that was from the old, empty superstition that Orholam could see the Shadows once His Eye, the sun, rose. Regardless, there was no reason to take the chance of being interrupted by more mundane figures, either, so he moved forward.

It was always a mystical moment, ushering a soul unwillingly through the Great Gate into death. He already regretted how this job had to go: he wouldn’t face her. He wouldn’t feast on her fear or explore the fathomless mystery of watching a life cross over, hoping even after all these years to catch a glimpse of the soul in flight to . . . elsewhere.

He couldn’t afford such consolations, not with a woman of this power. She was a Seer, the greatest Seer of them all, the Third Eye. She would die at her prayers, unafraid. He thought that, at least, was very decent of him.

But then suddenly she spoke—and not in prayer.

Clearly, but not loudly, not like someone calling for help, she said, “There is one thing that you cannot do, you who were once—but shall not henceforth be—Elijah ben-Kaleb. There is one thing you cannot do, despite all your awesome power.”

It was as if he’d been sprinting and the earth dropped into an abyss beneath his feet. His true name. He froze. For the first time in years, he felt the squeeze of fear’s heavy fist around his neck. She couldn’t know his name. The shimmercloaks hid Shadows from mystical as well as mundane sight.

So was it a guess?

Ludicrous!

She knew Elijah Sharp was here, so she knew the Order hunted her and knew that they’d sent their best. That went beyond unnerving. What could a Seer in her position do with such knowledge?

But she knew more. She knew his father’s name. She knew everything.

It was a trap, meant to make him flee!

Or delay! Or . . .

She was a Seer. Anything he did now could be playing straight into her schemes.

But he’d extended paryl webs across every entrance, and none had been tripped. He checked them again.

They were still alone.

What was that bit about him not being Elijah ben-Kaleb after today? What did she mean?

But the sun must surely be touching the horizon any moment. There was no time to sort out the muddle in his head.

“There is one thing you cannot do,” she said. Her voice was quiet, her mien unthreatening, but there was no mistaking the strong steel in her. “You, son of Kaleb, son