The point is, out of my five great purposes left, the only purely altruistic one is to free Garriston. Those people are suffering because of me, and you bastards have stopped every attempt I've made to help them.

"The point is," Gavin said, "that the Tyreans have as much reason to hate us as we have to hate them. We've been punishing them for the war for sixteen years. Most of the people paying the price now were children when the war started. They see no reason they should continue paying for what their dead fathers did or didn't do. They hate us, and the fact is, none of us-none of the Seven Satrapies-want to go back there with an army."

"What are you saying?" Luxlord Black asked. "Do you have specific intelligence of a threat?"

"I'm saying if we don't pull out of Garriston and end the tribute on our terms, King Garadul is going to take Garriston by force and end it on his." That's what King Garadul had meant when he'd told Gavin, "We're going to take back what you stole from us." But Gavin couldn't tell them about that without revealing more secrets, and they wouldn't believe it anyway.

"I'm failing to see the humor here," Klytos Blue said nervously. He was a coward in a dozen ways, but Ruthgar wasn't going to give up Garriston easily, Gavin knew. "We've got a thousand soldiers and fifty drafters there. The drafters alone could hold off whatever army this 'King' Garadul could raise."

"Knuckling under to a rebel, a man who declares himself a king-it's unthinkable," the Orange said. "He deserves death."

Oh, father, it's too bad you never come anymore. You would enjoy this. I can do one thing that you never could.

"First," Gavin said, "us leaving is the right thing to do. We're punishing people who have suffered too much already, and they hate us for it. We've been planting the seeds of another war for the last sixteen years. They started the war, yes. General Delmarta was born in Garriston, yes. But that doesn't excuse us from what we've done, which is not just wrong, but also stupid."

"Excuse me?" Delara Orange said. Her predecessor to the Orange-her mother-had been the architect of the rotating occupation scheme.

"You heard me," Gavin said. "We get almost no Tyrean drafters. You think that's because none are born there anymore? Ha! What if, instead of training here, where they are poor and reviled and suspected as traitors, what if someone decided to train them closer to home? A new school, a Chromeria dedicated to vengeance, started because of our pettiness and stupidity."

"Nonsense," Delara said. "We would have heard of such a thing."

"But what if you hadn't?" Gavin asked. "The quality of instruction might not be as good as ours. I hope it wouldn't be. But even with a few rudimentary fire spells, how long could your fifty drafters stationed in Garriston hold out against several hundred? How long could your soldiers hold out against thousands of rebels who could hide in plain sight among the locals? The fact is, King Garadul will take Garriston. He will demand it, on terms that he knows are insufferable, and then he will seize it. The only question is, will we lose and lose face and make King Garadul seem like a winner, and finally get drawn into a war your satrapies don't have the stomach for, or will we forgo a tribute which-after it's divided six ways-is insignificant, and give away that which we can't keep? If we give Garriston to King Garadul before he even asks, we look magnanimous. If we give him an apology, we look moral, and if we do both before he asks, we deprive him of a victory and a cause."

"Do you have evidence of all this?" Delara asked. She was slippery, as oranges tended to be, but drafting red luxin made a drafter more aggressive and reckless over time, too. "Because it seems to me that you would like us to give away an entire city for little reason otherwise. We don't know this new King Garadul. He has only recently taken power. He hasn't sent us a single emissary, much less made demands."

"You're telling me none of you have spies at Garadul's side?" Gavin shot back.

A few sardonic smiles and silence. No one was going to admit that, of course. They didn't trust each other enough. There had been no wars in the last sixteen years, but that didn't mean that everyone's interests were aligned. The Chromeria and every capital was as full of spies as it had ever been.

"If you don't," Gavin said in an imperious tone sure to needle them, "get some."

"High Luxlord, we take your advice to the satrapies very seriously, of course-" Klytos Blue started to say. The Ruthgari hated Gavin, and had since he'd ended the war with the Blood Forest.

Gavin cut him off. Time to play the hothead. "Listen, you morons. I don't know how you didn't see this coming. Or maybe some of you did. Your loyalty is noted. The fact remains, this is rebellion and it's heresy. King Garadul is talking about overthrowing the satrapies and the worship of Orholam himself. I would have thought Orholam would command better service from his Colors."

"Enough! Enough, Lord Prism!" the White barked. She looked at Gavin like she couldn't believe what he'd said.

Nothing like calling powerful men and women idiots, ingrates, disloyal, and impious all at once. Looking around the room, Gavin saw shock on some faces and hatred on others.

In the silence, Klytos Blue spoke first. He was a blue. It was only natural he should think things through faster than anyone else. "I believe that we should take the Lord Prism seriously. It's only prudent that we serve the satrapies and Orholam as zealously as he does every day." The words were delivered straight, but the malice couldn't have been more evident. "I move that we send a delegation to Garriston, to assess the threat from the alleged rebel Garadul and report back to us directly."

"A delegation?! Are you blind or stupid or corrupt?" Gavin demanded. "By the time they-"

"Gavin!" the White said. "Enough!"

She took the vote for a delegation to be sent and report back in two months' time. It passed, five to zero, with two abstentions.

Gavin sat back in his chair, as if stunned, defeated. In the silence before anyone stood to leave, he shook his head. Said grimly, "I ceded power after the war, gave up the promachia. I became an adviser, when many wanted me to be an emperor in truth. And now you ignore me. Very well. But tell your satraps and satrapahs this: Prepare for war. King Garadul won't stop at taking Garriston. I guarantee it."

You see, father, this is the one thing I can do that you never could: I can handle appearing to lose.

Chapter 41

Liv had barely seen her new apartments in the yellow tower before she'd gone out. Not to celebrate, not because she was impulsive, but because her courage had been fading with every passing second. She'd been to half the moneylenders on the islands before she found one willing to do business with her.

Stepping inside her new room, she found that the tower's slaves had brought all her meager belongings over from the closet she'd called home for the last three years. And there was a woman sitting on her bed.

"Salve, Liv, been out celebrating?" Aglaia Crassos asked.

"What are you doing in my apartments?" Liv asked. "How'd you get in here?"

"It's not good to forget your friends, Aliviana." Aglaia stood and came to stand a hand's breadth from Liv's face.

"What? You're here to threaten me? I'm shaking."

Something ugly crossed Aglaia's face, but then was replaced by that smooth mask again, and that disingenuous laugh. "Careful with that sharp tongue, girl. You may cut your own throat."

"I'm done," Liv said. "Gavin Guile has-"

"Bought you to be his bed slave. I heard."

"Go to hell!" Liv said.

"You're the one who'll do that, seeing how you're throwing yourself at the man who murdered your mother and destroyed your country."