The Blinding Knife Read Free Page B

thighs, he mopped his brow, made the sign of the seven to the new-risen sun, breathed a short prayer, and put his ghotra on his shaven head.
    “You want something,” he said.
    He picked up another cloth and threw it to her. Of course he’d brought two. He was conscientious like that. It also told her that he’d not joined her morning calisthenics by accident. He’d come to talk.
    Classic Ironfist. Comes to talk, and says five words in the course of an hour.
    Still, he was right. So Karris said, “The Lord Prism is going to leave the fleet. He’ll either try to do so without your knowledge or he’ll at least try to get you to agree not to send any Blackguards with him. I want you to send me.”
    “He told you this?”
    “He didn’t have to tell me. He’s a coward; he always runs away.” Karris thought she’d worked out the rage in her calisthenics, but there it was, hot and crisp, ready to fling her skyward in an instant.
    “Coward?” Ironfist leaned against the railing. He looked at it. “Hmm.” Not a pace from where they stood, the railing was broken. Had been broken by a rampaging sea demon.
    A rampaging sea demon that Gavin had faced down.
    She grunted. “That last part wasn’t supposed to come out.”
    Ironfist wasn’t amused. “Come here. Eyes.”
    He took her face in his big hands and stared at her eyes in the rising sunlight, measuring, intense. He said, “Karris, you’re the quickest drafter I have, but you’re also the quickest
to
draft. Uncontrollable rage? Saying things aloud you didn’t intend? Those are the hallmarks of a red or green who is
dying
. Half my Blackguard is dead, and if you keep on drafting like you have, you’ll break the halo in—”
    “Hope I’m not interrupting,” a voice intruded. Gavin.
    Ironfist was still holding Karris’s face in both hands, staring into her eyes. Standing on the deck in the soft warm light of dawn, they both realized at the same time what it probably looked like.
    Commander Ironfist dropped his hands, cleared his throat. Karris thought it was the first time she’d ever seen him embarrassed. “Lord Prism,” Ironfist said. “Orholam’s eye grace you.”
    “And a good morning to you, Commander. Karris. Commander,I’d like to meet with you in an hour. Please summon Kip as well; I’ll require him after our conversation. I believe he’s on the first barge.” Gavin’s white tunic, accented with gold embroidery, was actually clean—on a ship, in the middle of fleeing from a battle, someone had laundered his clothes. He mattered that much to people. Things just magically worked out for Gavin without his even trying. It was infuriating. At least his face looked drawn. Gavin never slept well.
    Ironfist looked like he wanted to say more, but he simply nodded and walked away.
    Which left Karris alone with Gavin for the first time since she’d thrown a fit after learning he’d sired a bastard during their betrothal. She had jumped out of their boat then. It was the first time they’d even been face-to-face since she’d slapped his smiling face—in the middle of the Battle of Garriston, in full view of his entire army.
    Maybe she
had
been drafting too much red and green. Anger and impulsivity shouldn’t be a Blackguard’s most prominent traits. Or a lady’s. “Lord Prism,” she said, determined to be civil.
    He looked at her silently, that restless intelligence in his eyes weighing, always weighing. He looked at her almost mournfully, eyes touching her hair, her eyes, pausing at her lips, traveling quickly down her curves and back up to her eyes again, maybe flicking just for a moment to the sides of her eyes, where the wrinkles were starting.
    He spoke softly: “Karris, you look better when you’re a sweaty mess than most women look in their Sun Day best.” Gavin was handsome, charming, and willful in all senses of the word, but something people often forgot was that he was smart, too.
    He didn’t want to talk. He was stalling.