“Ha! Punning!” the dead man said.

What? Oh. “Bugger off.”

Dazen blinked, rubbed his eyes, studied the floor, tested every step. He couldn’t go at this pace for long or he’d never get out. But it was worth it here. No matter that the dead man was mocking him, he did have a point.

Whatever the shiny was, it was etched into the rock. Perhaps a natural vein of some ore? Gold? Dazen knew nothing about mining, but he was deep under the earth somewhere. The distribution looked random at first, but as he got closer—

“Trap. I’m telling you. Trap,” the dead man said.

“I’m not touching it, you asshole. Stop distracting me.” Trap it might be, but Dazen wasn’t going to put his head right underneath that thing to step into the tunnel beyond it if it was going to snap down without a moment’s notice.

Keeping his distance, he stood up on tiptoe and held the lux torch high. Whatever it was, it sat deep in grooves, and only fell full under the torch’s light when he lifted it. He heard a little hiss and he froze.

This was the trap. He needed to do something immediately, but he didn’t know what.

In an instant, the luxin—for it was luxin—in the grooves ignited and glowed a dull, infernal red. Dazen remembered the formulation. Gavin’s work, a blend of yellow and red so unstable that even being hit with light would cause it to combust. He felt a stab of fury—and then the whole design bloomed with light, ignited by the light of his lux torch.

It was a single, roughly shaped word, two paces across, drawn with a jaunty, cocky hand. It unfurled in yellow-red fire: Almost.

Dazen’s feet became unstuck and he leapt backward and ran for the tunnel behind him.

The light of his lux torch, which had been directed solely forward as he’d entered the chamber, now cut into deep grooves in the wall back behind him that he hadn’t even seen. These flashed to fire, the fires cut ropes, and the floor dropped out from under him.

He tumbled head over heels into the darkness down a tube, then abruptly dropped straight onto a flat surface. He impaled himself on several tiny spikes, not longer than his first knuckle. It took his breath—and his luxin. Hellstone!

Then that floor swung open and he tumbled down farther, farther. He smashed into a door that swung open and then shut behind him.

Dizzy, back and arms bleeding from tiny stab wounds and disoriented, Dazen nonetheless immediately knew where he was by the light that stabbed through his eyelids, mocking him.

He rolled over, opened his eyes. The room was shaped like a squashed ball, one hole above for food and water, one hole below for his waste. And in the round, curving wall of his new yellow cell sat the dead man.

In a mad falsetto, he said, “Told you so.”

Chapter 84

The shimmercloak made it easy for Gavin to get back to his room. Indeed, he passed only a single Blackguard who glanced toward the door to the roof when a bit of wind gusted in, but Gavin closed it quickly behind him.

The young woman looked up the stairs but dismissed it. Gavin made it past her, and when she finally decided to go check, he used the opportunity to slip into his room.

Clearly, they’d searched the room for him, but it had been a cursory search. What had he been thinking, inviting a search of his room? They could have found the door in his closet.

Not that it mattered now. Gavin went to the picture of the blue colossus and pulled it open. He almost laughed. The alarm panel was glowing yellow.

His brother had broken out of green, last night. Insanely, Gavin felt proud of him. He was a fighter. Maybe enough of one.

Well, at least the second alarm worked. Gavin swung the painting shut and went to his closet and began moving his clothes.

“My lord, may I help?”

Gavin wheeled around to find Marissia. She was kneeling beside the bed, head down. Apparently waiting for him, paying some sort of penance by making her vigil here. Her face was drawn, haggard.

He felt a rush of warmth for the woman. She’d been more than his room slave. She’d served with her whole heart, and in difficult circumstances.

“Marissia, there’s a letter in my desk drawer. I’m sure you’ve seen it. Please get it for me.”

She got it for him while he continued piling his clothes out of the way in the closet. She brought it back, wooden. It was her letter of manumission. Instead of having the standard thing written up and then signing it, Gavin had written it all in his own hand. He’d heard tales of room slaves being accused of forging their own manumission papers and kept in slavery because of it. Marissia was beautiful and valuable for a dozen reasons. Gavin wasn’t going to let them have her.

He looked it over, though he had the contents memorized. It was not only manumission, but also a grant of ten thousand danars. A fortune, enough to start a business and marry, or just to live off for the rest of her life. He signed it. Then he grabbed another scrap of paper and wrote down a series of letters and numbers. “My father might seize this money through some pretext or another. They know I care about you, so they’ll suspect that I’d leave you something. This code will open another account to you. Speak to the Ilytian banker Prestor Onesto at Varig and Green.”

“My lord, why are you speaking this way?” She sounded on the verge of tears.

“Please give five thousand of what’s in that account to Karris and five thousand to Kip. The rest is for you.” He handed the writ to her. “Memorize that sequence and then burn that; Onesto will release the money to anyone who has that number.”

“Lord Prism…” She held the papers limply. She looked bereaved.

“I’ve freed you. You’re supposed to be happy.” Gavin looked away. Of course it stroked his ego that his slave didn’t seem delighted to be free, but perhaps that was simply because she knew to cover her delight for his sake. In case it was a lie, he didn’t want to see through it, so he looked away.

“This is my fault, isn’t it, my lord?” she said. “I did something wrong, didn’t I? I missed the alarm somehow.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not your fault. My alarm failed. It was my work. Everything had to go right, for too long. Something happened. But it wasn’t you.”

“I should have been here for you. That Ana girl… I should never have left. I’m so sorry, my lord.” She was right; if Marissia had been in his bed where Gavin wanted her, things would have been very different. But he was the master of his own fate. No one had forced him to throw that girl out onto his balcony.

What had he been thinking, anyway? Just that he wanted her out of his room? Just that he wanted to frighten her? Or had his rage been murderous all along?

Maybe intent didn’t matter. She was dead. It was all finished.

“It’s not your fault, Marissia. It’s mine. You have been a good servant, a good companion, a good friend. I want you to go now so you don’t get sucked down by the wreckage.”

Her eyebrows tented in dismay. “My lord, you are a good man. Please don’t—”

He snorted. “A good man would have freed you long ago. I was afraid of how you’d use your freedom, so I withheld it from you. I’ve a small and mean spirit. The master who fears the choices his people will make enough to take those choices away isn’t worth serving. You’ve served me well, despite my shortcomings. Thank you, Marissia. Please take these two cloaks down to my secret room. Then go. I may not come back up alone. I may not come back up at all, but someone else will. You oughtn’t be here when he does.”