"Yes, and I'm taking Kip with me."

Again she surprised him and didn't protest. "Good," she said. "It will be good for you to learn about a father's love."

Because I sure as the evernight didn't learn about that from my own father. Then Gavin realized that was exactly what she meant, and he bristled. But there was no point fighting over his father again.

"So what was the second time?" he asked instead.

"Second time?"

"The second time you saw the green flash. The second time Orholam winked." He kept the sarcasm out of his voice. Mostly.

She smiled. "I look forward to the day when I tell you that, my Lord Prism, but that day is not today." Then her smile passed. "When you return, we need to talk about Kip's testing."

"You noticed the wall crystals. I thought I stopped it in time."

"Old? Yes. Addled? Not yet."

"You want to hear me admit it? Kip nearly broke the test," Gavin said. "Like Dazen did."

"Or worse, passed it," the White said.

Chapter 52

Karris knew she was even deeper in trouble than she'd feared within five minutes of being captured. King Garadul's Mirrormen walked her at gunpoint over to a wagon. They didn't bind her hands, which she thought was curious and gave her a momentary hope. Then the Mirrormen handed her off to half a dozen drafters, all women. Two Mirrormen stayed, their pistols leveled at her head, barely blinking.

The women-two reds, a green, a blue, and a super-stripped her naked and searched her and her clothes, quickly finding her eye caps. The two Mirrormen barely even glanced at her body, and though men around the camp turned to see whatever they could between all the drafters surrounding her, there wasn't a single ribald comment.

Disciplined. Damn it.

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Karris looked down, feigning embarrassment. Well, maybe not completely feigning.

"Eyes up!" one of the reds commanded.

Karris looked up. They wanted to see her eyes so they would know as soon as she tried to draft. Smart too, damn it twice.

In rapid order, they went through all her clothing, scrunching every seam to look for hidden pockets. Then they went through her bag, one carefully cataloguing all the items in a codex. After they'd found everything, Karris hoped they'd give her back her clothes.

No such luck. Instead, they opened the door of the wagon and threw a violet dress and shift inside.

"Get in," the same red who'd spoken before said.

Karris got in and the door slammed behind her. She heard a bar being lowered and chains pulled into place. The inside of the wagon was fairly spacious. There was a pallet to sleep on, a chamber pot, a cup of water, several blankets and pillows-all violet, the deepest into the blue spectrum they could find. And from the noxious smell, all freshly painted. The windows were fitted with bars and violet glass, draped on the outside with violet cloth. Apparently they were taking her drafting seriously, and from their study of her eyes and the mag torches, they knew she could draft green and red. Rather than risk a color that was between her colors, they'd picked the one farthest to the end of the spectrum she didn't draft.

It was a strange kindness. They could have just blindfolded her, of course, but blindfolds slip. But most captors would have painted the wagon black and made her live in darkness. This was just as effective, but a lot more work. If a drafter couldn't see her color, or didn't have lenses and white light, she couldn't draft. Karris was about as close to helpless as she got. She hated the feeling with a passion.

She threw on the slip and the shapeless violet dress, and immediately scratched the paint. It had been heat-dried by a sub-red. She would be able to chip it eventually, but with the only light coming in through the violet curtains and violet glass, it wasn't going to matter anyway. Still, she tried. She couldn't help herself. Under the layer of violet paint was a layer of black. Under that, the wood was a dark mahogany. No luck.

The wagon began rolling within minutes.

That night, after she was fed a hunk of black bread and given water in a blackened iron cup, two drafters came in, their skin already full of red and blue luxin respectively. Behind them came, of all things, a tailor. She was a tiny woman who barely came up to Karris's shoulder. She took Karris's measurements rapidly, never writing them down, just committing them to memory. Then she stared at Karris's body for a long time, studying her like a farmer studying a rocky sidehill that he needed to plow. She double-checked her measurement of Karris's hips, and then left without a word.

Over the next five days, Karris learned little. Apparently her wagon was close to the cooking wagons, because all she heard all day was the rattle of pots at every bump in the road. The shadowy figures of horsemen, maybe Mirrormen, sometimes passed close enough to her covered windows for her to see their silhouettes. If they spoke, though, she could never make out the words. At night, she was given food in a blackened iron bowl, with a blackened iron spoon and black bread and water, never wine-damn them, they even thought of the red of wine. A Mirrorman accompanied by a drafter took her chamber pot, bowl, spoon, and cup each night after sunset. When she kept the spoon one night, hiding it under a pillow, they didn't say a word. Neither did they give her water the next day. When she surrendered the spoon, she was given water again.

The boredom was the worst. There were only so many push-ups you could do in a day, and anything more strenuous was impossible. There were no musical instruments, no books, and certainly no weapons or drafting to practice.

On the sixth night, two blues came in. "Choose a position that's comfortable," one of them said. Karris sat on her little pallet, hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed, and they bound her arms and legs in about five times the amount of luxin necessary. Then they put violet spectacles over her eyes and left.

King Garadul entered the wagon, carrying a folding camp chair. He wore a loose black shirt over his shirt, which Karris could barely see, and voluminous black pants over his pants. Karris understood being careful around her, but this was ridiculous. The king settled into the camp chair. He stared at her wordlessly.

"I don't suppose you remember me," he said. "I met you once, before the war. Of course, I was just a boy, three years younger than you, and you were already head over heels for… well, one of the Guile boys, I can't remember which. Maybe you can't either. There seemed to be some confusion for a time, wasn't there?"

"You're a real charmer, aren't you?" Karris asked.

"You might be surprised," he said. He shook his head. "I always thought you were a beautiful girl, but the stories of you took on a life of their own. A tragic love triangle between the two most powerful men in the world sort of demands a beautiful girl, doesn't it? I mean, otherwise, why would two men tear the world apart? For her insights about history? Her witty repartee? No. You were a pretty girl made beautiful by the bards' need to make some sense of what you wrought. Don't get me wrong," he said, "I was so in love with you it kept me up nights. You were my first great unrequited love."

"I'm sure you've had many. Or do women pretend to find you attractive, now that you're king?" Karris asked.

Temper, Karris, temper. But the truth was, it wasn't the red that made her say that. She'd always hated to perform for others, to do just what they wanted.

He scowled. "The shrewish tongue somehow was omitted from the panegyrics. Or is that a new addition?"

"I feel a bit freer to speak my mind these days. I already destroyed the world, what's one man's ego?" Karris said.