Andross had granted it, saying the scholars could use the extra time anyway.
In the meantime, the Blood Robe drafters were held in mirrored cells or darkness or in rooms carefully draped with colors they couldn’t draft. Andross hadn’t even suggested utilizing the dungeons Dazen had crafted and been held in, and Dazen certainly didn’t want to think of them ever again.
Surprisingly enough, Dazen rather enjoyed all the pageantry, though most of his enjoyment came from the fact that he wasn’t the person on whom the entire ceremony depended for once.
Then Andross stood and spoke. “We have endured much, and we have many labors before us. Changes are coming. I shall not restore to us some mythical golden age from the past. The only golden age open to us lies before us. If these satrapies are to endure, they must rest upon a foundation of justice. This will be hard, for many of us have suffered such grievous injustices that we’ve allowed ourselves to inflict injustices on others, as if we each were impartial judges who happen to rule in our own favor, always. This coming age will bear great fruit, but we will have to till the rocky soil of our own hearts to plant that fruit so that our ch—so that our children and our children’s children may enjoy it.”
He pursed his lips, and then, in a less practiced voice that suggested he was diverging from the speech he’d memorized, he said, “Some of us have done things in this war . . . even done things to win this war for which we must repent. I foremost among us.”
Dazen had more than a merely healthy cynicism for his father’s every act and word, but this hit like a right cross. Confession? Contrition? From Andross Guile? Was this another put-on? Another trap?
But from where Dazen was seated behind the old man, he hadn’t been able to see his face, couldn’t tell if this was just another game, another manipulation, and already Andross was back to his scripted remarks.
“This is the project we begin. As we fought together, we will work together, all of us: luxiat and noble and drafter and farmer and fisherman and smith. We will mourn together, and we will celebrate our victories and Orholam’s. We will bind up the wounds of these Seven Satrapies, and we will make them stronger, and more just and more honorable than they were before. By the grace of Orholam, despite our many losses, the list of our allies and friends has grown in these dark hours, and those who sacrificed to serve in our darkest hours shall not go unrecognized in the light.”
Andross was a plain speaker, given to sentences too long for many people to follow, and it wasn’t the kind of speech designed to draw forth applause, but it did anyway. These people needed it.
“Oh. There is one other matter,” Andross said with obvious relish and a smile. “The much-delayed official wedding of my son to Karris White Oak. This will begin tomorrow. The party will continue for a week. And as a special additional pleasure, my grandson, Kip, will soon celebrate his own long-delayed official wedding to Tisis Malargos as soon as her family arrives. As we’ll be celebrating already, I’d like to join my ascension celebration to their parties. Naturally,” Andross Guile said, “you are all invited.”
He smiled, and the years sloughed off him as the people roared their applause. He actually looked more than surprised; he looked delighted, as if the acclamation was soaking long-dry soil in his heart.
Dazen, obedient token and good son, stood and waved, to even louder applause. Kip copied him from across the aisle and got his own applause—just as loud.
Then Karris stood, and then Tisis, and the applause grew louder still.
Dazen grinned at Kip, and saw his son had the same fool grin he did.
Must run in the family.
“Not a bad speech, old man,” Dazen said after all those on the platform had recessed off to one of the side rooms.
“Felia wrote it,” Andross said. “ Thirty-eight years ago. Not all of it, of course. But she told me to give them some reason to cheer at the end.” He pursed his lips. “She should be here.”
“She did all she could to make it so the rest of us are,” Dazen said.
Andross expelled a slow breath at that. He seemed different. They walked together out a rear exit of the hall. They were about to go separate ways, but now they paused.
The new Lightbringer said, “Kip was right, you know: I’m the right person for this time. I know the personalities, the old feuds, the true stories behind family myths, the economies and the familial ties. With help from more handsome and tactful faces, I can bind up these satrapies as no one else could hope to. I know what can be broken and what can only be bent slowly. I can make these lands better—safer, stronger, richer, fairer, more just, more open, more free. I have perhaps ten years left to my mortal span, twenty if I’m disciplined and fortunate, and I will make this land endure—not fall apart under a weaker personality or less capable hands.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Dazen asked.
“Son, you know how I view vows.”
“Yes.”
“This office? I vow to do my best to be worthy of it.”
Dazen nodded his thanks and turned to go.
“Oh, and one last thing. Not that it will mean anything to you,” Andross said to his back. His voice lowered. “Not that it should. It shouldn’t. But I’m grateful for both of you. Proud of you.”
Fists tightening, Dazen barely suppressed the urge to spin and punch his old man in the face.
You dare?!
He wanted to scream Sevastian’s name in the old murderer’s face for an hour. And then Gavin’s name for just as long.
He wanted to shout, ‘I gave you my empire; I gave you my victory; you don’t get to have my family, too!’
But . . . it was a step. A tenuous step, beginning a long climb toward wholeness for this broken, quarrelsome, ravaged family. Dazen could sabotage it now—and goddam but Andross deserved to be pushed into the abyss—or he could help. They weren’t going to complete it today or this year. Maybe they never would. Maybe they were too broken. Maybe forgiveness was too hard.
But he could take one tiny step. Couldn’t he?
“Well, then—” Andross said, turning away.
“Thank you,” Dazen said. He couldn’t look back, couldn’t risk meeting the old man’s eyes. That was too much, for today. “Thank you . . . father.”
Chapter 150
After the ceremony, Kip went to the infirmary and spent some time with his old Nightbringers who were wounded, bringing comfort and cheer where he could. Not all the living were well, but they were all being tended to admirably.
With that realization, he made to where two more wounded awaited him: Teia and Ironfist.
At the lifts on the way there, Kip was surprised to find Ferkudi, Ben-hadad, Winsen, and Big Leo. They’d been waiting for him.
“Where’s Tisis?” Big Leo asked.
“Taking care of the real work so I can goof off with you layabouts,” Kip said. He smiled. “It’s good to have all of us together again. Most of us, I should say. Dammit. Sorry.”
“No, you’re right. Cruxer should be here,” Ben-hadad said. He swallowed.
“And Goss,” Ferkudi said. “And Daelos.”
“And others,” Big Leo said. “Lots of others.”
In the battle, they’d all proven themselves heroes. But Kip hadn’t needed a battle to show him that.