But dilating the eyes wouldn’t help her in a test where her eyes were covered, and though she might be of use, there was no telling if they thought she would be of enough use to counterbalance the danger she posed for them. Orholam have mercy.

Orholam, I’m sorry for talking about your gemsack. I’m sorry for my terrible attitude toward—

A chime rang.

Teia’s first thought was that now she was standing in her underthings in full light, with at least two older men staring at her. Not helpful.

Put it out of your head, T. Vengeance later. Store it up, hold it back, buckle down, take care of the now first. Feel first.

She tried to drop all her awareness into her body. The room was cool, and gooseflesh covered her from toes to nose. Her legs were clamped together so tight she could have cracked a walnut between her knees, as much for warmth as for modesty.

Modesty’s a distraction right now, T. Battlefield rules. Feel your skin. You’re a survivor.

The chime rang again.

“Color?” a voice asked. It could only be Murder Sharp.

Those bastards had wanted to see her stripped, right? What better for that than full light? “White,” Teia said with a conviction she didn’t feel.

A silence.

“Correct,” he said. “A good guess, I think. We’ll proceed.”

The chime rang.

Nine hells! Not even a break in between? Fine, let’s go, T. We can do this. Hell, it’s possible I actually am a lightsplitter, after all, right? It must follow logically that I could pass this test legitimately, right?

The chime rang again, before she was even ready to start sinking into her body again.

“Fuck!” she said aloud.

“Not a color,” the man said. “Your answer?”

There were only seven choices, right? Eight if you counted white. “Blue.”

A brief silence. “Very good.”

She got it right? What the hell?

A chime.

Dammit! These assholes! How many times could she get lucky? Of course, if they only tested all the colors once, her chances should get better every time. One in eight, one in seven, one in six, one in five. Right?

Stop thinking and feel, T!

Nothing. She felt nothing.

Ding!

“Yellow?” she said.

“Correct.” Murder Sharp didn’t sound pleased.

Ding.

Oh, come on. How long could her luck hold? They were just going to keep going until they had an excuse to kill her. She was trapped. She needed to get free. She needed to tear this damned hood off and draft paryl and kill them all. She had to—

Ding!

“Green!” she shouted.

He didn’t even answer.

Ding.

She was going to kill every last Orholam-damned son-of-a-bitch out there.

“Red!” she screamed, not even waiting for the chime.

“Correct,” the voice said in her ear. “And this?”

The chime rang.

Something in that chilly voice brought Teia back to herself. What was she doing? Flailing blindly? She had to think about this, put herself outside the situation. There was no reason they had to exhaust all the colors before they repeated new ones, was there? Surely they would understand that it made guessing easier. She didn’t have only three colors left, she had all of them, or none.

Ding.

“Superviolet,” she said.

Ding.

And suddenly, she felt warmth in her skin. This one wasn’t a guess. She nearly burst into tears. Ding.

“Sub-red,” she said.

He didn’t even bother to tell her she was correct. She knew she was.

Ding.

That left her only with orange, but she felt nothing. After the physical, tangible obvious warmth of sub-red, the contrast was even more stark. Orange would feel cold after that warmth, wouldn’t it? The room itself was quite cool. But …

Ding.

“Darkness,” Teia said. “Black, whatever.”

Ding.

“Orange,” Teia said, “but I’m just guessing now, because you’ve hit everything else.” Then she immediately thought, Not very sneaky, T.

Ding.

She wasn’t done. Oh, Orholam have mercy. They’d seen right through her. Luck could only get you so far. Unless … feel it, Teia, feel it.

Ding.

“Paryl.”

A long, long silence. The room felt lighter.

“We don’t have a chi drafter, so you’re finished,” the man said. “You passed. Perfect score. Get dressed and get out. We’ll contact you when it’s time.”

After Teia dressed, someone helped her remove the hood and pushed her out the door. Before it closed behind her, she heard the man say, “Brothers, sisters, we have much to discuss.”

She’d passed? She’d passed?

More than that, she’d done it perfectly? Even with red and green? How was that even possible? Was it luck? The mathematical chances of guessing ten colors right had to be—what was it?—one in ten times one in nine times one in eight times one in seven times one in six, and so forth? Even with the gimme that was sub-red … No, it couldn’t be luck. It hadn’t been luck.

Or maybe, maybe they were trying to fool her. Maybe they were playing some long confidence game because they thought she could be useful to them in some other way.

But Teia didn’t think that was it. There had been something a little different each time. A slight but appreciable difference in how she’d thought, how she’d felt. But if that was true, Teia was a …

Sweet Orholam have mercy. She didn’t know what it meant, or why it was important, but … I’m not a slave. I’m a lightsplitter.

Chapter 50

Even sitting in the library, outwaiting possible tails, Karris was finding that she enjoyed spycraft far more than she had any right to. For all that she’d thought that sixteen years of being a bodyguard and warrior would have no transferable skills, it turned out she was wrong. Eyes honed to razor sharpness looking for the suspicious could still look for the suspicious. Looking for weapons was less important, but differentiating between the people looking with interest at the powerful and those who looked like hunters out for prey, that was the same.

And now she had toys. It turned out that generations of Whites had created or confiscated certain items that they didn’t share with anyone. But she’d never had to use this one.

She fingered the spiky choker in her lap, concealed behind a heavy manuscript on Atashian royalty in the previous century that someone had left in a pile. It was a forbidden magic, but in a very limited way that had been tested for safety by every White for a hundred years at least. You had to wear it tight enough for two little spikes to reach blood, then—if you were a drafter, of course—your own magic empowered the choker to alter your voice lower or higher.

All the best things I learn, I can’t tell anyone.

She twisted the big ruby ring on her finger. Sometimes it felt like the only thing in her life that averred that her marriage was real. But even looking at it was too painful.

Maybe it’s time to come to grips with the possibility that he’s dead.

The hot-cold feeling that shot through her was so strong it took her breath. She blinked, slamming the lid down hard. None of that. None of that. Kip said he was alive.

Kip wants him to be alive. There hasn’t been so much as a whisper. Of the Prism. You think drunk sailors coming in to ports are going to keep such a thing quiet? This quiet?