He walked out.
Andross looked at Kip to see how he’d react.
“You’re speaking,” Kip said icily, “as if you’ll be giving out pensions or collecting debts next week, much less next year.”
“Make your demands,” Andross said as if bored. Kip knew it was a put-on.
“I need to figure out the mirror array. So I need unfettered access to it, immediately.”
“You haven’t figured them out yet?”
Kip had already answered that. “I will,” Kip said.
“You haven’t figured out if they do what you claim, much less how,” Andross said, darkly amused, “and yet you ask to be given a privilege that has been reserved to Prisms alone for centuries. I’ll grant you this, you have grown into the Guile arrogance.”
“It’s not arrogance,” Karris interjected. Her eyes were thoughtful. “Is it, Kip?”
“I don’t claim to be free of it,” Kip said. “But I don’t think this is that.”
“What is it, then? You think you can undercut your brother at the last moment?” Andross asked.
“Half brother,” Kip said. “And no. It’s not pride. It’s purpose.” Kip turned his hands up, as if offering himself.
His grandfather’s eyes flicked to Kip’s left wrist momentarily, and narrowed, and Kip saw him sink in thought. For a moment, Kip couldn’t help but think, I just told you there’s an invasion imminent. Shouldn’t you be issuing some orders?
But Andross had shown himself quite willing to jump, once he decided which way. These few moments now, in his estimation, were worth the delay.
“Send a runner to Carver Black,” Andross said to Grinwoody. “I want to meet him here before the Spectrum meeting.”
Grinwoody bobbed and headed out.
Andross turned to Kip. “You would bring light against the bane. You would save the Jaspers and the empire. And it has to be you. Special, special you.”
“Special in that I’m the only full-spectrum polychrome we’ve got who can do it.”
“Nonsense. We’ve got plenty of full-spectrum polychromes.”
“Plenty?” Karris asked. “Half a dozen? Ten, if some have come for Sun Day?”
“The time for the Chromeria to ignore things they don’t like is over,” Kip said. “High Lord Promachos, I’ve got a genius for drafting a lot of different colors not only serially but simultaneously. And I’m almost as Will-full as you are. I’m a Guile, and there’s no one better equipped for this.”
“Are you the Lightbringer?” Andross asked quietly.
It seemed as if history itself pulled sharply at the air through clenched teeth. No one moved.
Kip knew what he needed to say.
Voice firm, level: “I am.”
And everyone breathed differently. The course was set. They were committed. Whether Andross was going to imprison or kill them for blasphemy, or if he’d fall in line behind them, was out of their hands now.
“The most important man in history,” Andross said quietly. “Standing before me. My own . . . grandson.” His tone was impossible to read. Mockery? Thoughtfulness?
But Kip thought he felt a current of grief in Andross’s voice, as if he weren’t mocking Kip but marveling at how the universe was mocking him.
“If it makes you feel better,” Kip said, “the amount of luxin I’m talking about drafting will certainly kill me. Even if I look like the big hero for a moment, you’ll be the most important man in the room again the very next day.”
Kip could feel the Mighty looking at him. He hadn’t talked about that part with them.
“You think that’s what I care about?” Andross asked.
“Yes,” Kip said instantly.
Winsen snorted.
Dammit, Win.
“We should make him Prism,” Karris said. “It solves three problems for us at once.”
“Three?” Andross asked. “What’s the third?”
“Kip dying? Getting killed by all the luxin he drafts?” Karris asked.
“Funny, that sounded more like a solution to me,” Andross said. He seemed to have sunk into a dark place where no one could follow.
Kip wasn’t sure which problems Karris was talking about. That only a Prism was supposed to use the array atop the Prism’s Tower was one.
Karris said, “Zymun will be furious if you let Kip impinge on what he believes to be his rights as Prism-elect, even if he isn’t Prism yet. And we need to talk about that issue anyway. Our time is running out.”
Ah, that was the second problem solved by naming Kip Prism first. Sort of. Zymun would still be furious, of course, just not in a position to do anything about it.
“It’s impossible,” Andross said.
“Displacing Zymun?” Karris asked.
“Making Kip Prism.” As if those weren’t the same thing for some reason.
“Why?” Karris asked.
“Literally impossible,” Andross said.
“Oh, right. Shit,” Karris said. Then she blanched and held her head in both hands and swore again.
“So . . . you figured it out,” Andross said, not even turning to look at her. “Finally.”
Figured what out? Kip thought.
“I wondered if you had,” Andross said. “What with your little holy cadre of faithful young luxiats. Have you told them yet? Or was it they who told you?”
Kip wanted desperately to know what they were talking about, but he knew his best chance to find out was to keep his mouth shut.
Andross seemed amused that she didn’t answer. “You’re one of only two on the Spectrum who know now.”
“You’ve been weeding out everyone else,” Karris said. “Why?”
“Then you haven’t figured it all out, after all. You might want to look into your beloved Orea Pullawr’s legacy more closely. The old White wasn’t quite so blameless as you’ve liked to believe. Her husband even less so.”
“Really? Let’s talk about blame,” Karris said, suddenly fiery. “I think it’s way past time you answered some questions of mine. And let’s talk about my faithful luxiats. You know they say the Lightbringer’s going to purify the faith. To me that sounds like I’m joining in his work. As the Red, much less as promachos, why wouldn’t you?”
“We can talk about that later,” Andross said, waving her to be quiet. “If I get around to it. So much to do.” Dismissive asshole. Then he turned to Grinwoody, who had been holding one finger out, but inconspicuously, to draw his master’s attention when he was ready. “Yes?”
Quietly Grinwoody said, “I’ve an errand. Your leave?”
Andross waved him to go, then stabbed a finger at Kip. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Kip asked.
“On your arm. Is that a tattoo?” Andross asked.
He meant the Turtle-Bear on Kip’s left wrist with its freshly bright luxin lines in every color. Kip had been drafting a lot recently. He hadn’t even thought to cover it up.
“We can talk about that later,” Kip said. “If I get around to it. So much to do. There’s a war coming? Maybe we should talk about that?”