Following Grinwoody, Kip walked toward Andross Guile’s apartments with a familiar sense of foreboding. Whenever Kip had tangled with the old man, it seemed he’d gotten the worst of the bargain.

Grinwoody took them past where the entry hall to the Guiles’ apartments used to be. Now that hallway was walled over. Andross Guile had incorporated his wife’s apartments into his own, making one, much larger set of rooms. For some reason, Kip had thought that Andross would keep Felia’s rooms as a shrine to her, untouched.

Apparently he’d given the old spider too much credit.

They walked past Blackguards keeping watch outside the outer doors—and looking none too pleased to be kept so far away—and went inside. Felia Guile’s main room had been converted into an antechamber for supplicants to wait for the promachos to see them.

There were eight noble drafters seated around the room, some chatting, others eyeing the rest with open hostility. Kip recognized them as some of the foremost drafters of each color, though he could only put names to a few. The oldest was gray-haired Lord Spreading Oak, who was calmly reading a scroll of prayers—or, knowing the Chromeria, pretending to read prayers while concealing notes from spies. The rest were in their thirties. There was a dwarf woman whom he’d heard was the new Color for Tyrea. He recognized a Crassos—sister or cousin to the disgraced and executed governor of Garriston—and Akensis Azmith and Jason Jorvis, whose sister had leapt to her death from Gavin’s balcony in scandalous circumstances the night Gavin had married Karris. The Jorvises were alleging that Gavin was somehow responsible for Ana’s death and were demanding recompense. Kip thought they were disgusting. Denial was understandable, but using a suicide to advance your family?

Kip only knew one of the others: Tisis Malargos, the beautiful young fiery Green who’d tried to make him believe failing the Threshing would mean dying, and then had made him fail by handing him back the rope. Not his favorite person. Kip had rejoiced none too quietly when he’d heard his father had fooled her into voting herself off the Spectrum.

Once when Kip had come out of Andross Guile’s presence nearly throwing up, Ironfist had told him that he’d seen satraps coming out of that room looking worse.

No matter how bad Kip’s interactions with Andross Guile, at least Tisis was going to have to interact with him, too. Enjoy that, darling.

He nodded to her pleasantly.

She looked perplexed, and that, too, was sweetness to him.

Grinwoody had already disappeared in front of him, and another slave, dismissed, came out. Kip paused, his bravado leaking out like urine down a coward’s leg.

He braced himself for the smell in that room. And the darkness.

He glanced back at Tisis—because she was easy on the eyes, not because he was worried what she thought of him—and saw a nasty little smile on her face at his fear.

Kip blew out, puffing his cheeks. He’d deserved that. He drafted a torch of superviolet light. Grinwoody opened the way with his perpetual sneer, and Kip stepped forward through the heavy curtains.

Into light.

For a moment, Kip thought Grinwoody must have led them to the wrong place. But as soon as he thought that, he knew he was wrong. He remembered this room, albeit dimly. Literally dimly. That chair, that table, that painting over the mantel, they’d all looked different in the harsh, superfine light of the superviolet torches Kip had drafted, but they were the same ones. That lush carpet, that was where Kip had fallen when the old man slapped the hell out of him in the darkness.

Andross Guile was propped on the edge of his desk, half sitting on it, half standing. It was the pose of a much younger man, but it seemed to fit Andross now. Kip stood, dumbstruck.

Andross looked like he’d lost a decade or two. He looked like, perhaps, a tough old farmer or carpenter. He still had a bit of the paunch Kip had noted long ago, but it looked like it was shrinking fast. He looked powerful, his broad Guile shoulders and strong Guile chin no longer hidden under layer upon layer of clothing. He smiled pleasantly, but though that face was Gavin’s face, just older, the smile wasn’t the same. There was some warmth lacking there. Gavin would grin recklessly, knowing he was getting away with things because he was handsome and powerful, but you always got the sense that he was amused by it all. You got the sense that underneath it, Gavin really liked people. Andross Guile saw through you, to his objective.

“When they told me you were back,” Andross said, “they didn’t tell me how little of you had returned.” He smirked. Of course he’d seen Kip at the meeting of the Spectrum. He must have meant his spies had told him Kip was back before that.

“I see I’m not the only one who’s lost something,” Kip said.

“I meant that as a compliment.”

“Me, too. You were a wight.”

“Kip, a man only gets so many chances to start over in a life, or in a conversation. Don’t miss an important one.”

Beast or not, it was good advice. Kip held his tongue.

Hey! Second time in my life!

“Nine Kings?” Andross asked.

“I’d be glad to, but I don’t have my decks.” Wait, had Andross just asked that as a question? As if Kip could say no?

“I’m short a couple myself,” Andross said. “But I’ve got plenty. You can borrow whichever you like.”

“What are the stakes this time?” Kip asked. He was a little rusty on the game, but if he had enough time to look through decks, he could at least still tell a strong deck from a weak one.

“So you didn’t steal it,” Andross said.

“Huh?”

“Someone broke into my apartments and stole a few valuables. They also grabbed one of my favorite decks. It seemed like the kind of thing you might do.”

And he’d learned from Kip’s expression alone that Kip wasn’t the culprit.

They sat, and Andross put forward two pairs of decks. “I thought we might try one of the old duels: the Twins, or Gods and Beasts.” They were classic pairings. In such games, the decks had equal relative strengths, though very different strategies. Each player was expected to have memorized all the cards in each deck. Luck still played a part, but a player with a sharp head for numbers could judge the probabilities that their opponent would draw a card to counter any particular strategy. It was the kind of game where Kip would get slaughtered, even though he knew most of the cards in each.

“Gods and Beasts,” Kip said.

“Interesting choice,” Andross said. And Kip saw that Andross thought Kip was making a comment even in this. Of course, they had just faced both gods and beasts.

Kip had chosen it because he thought it was more fun.

Now I’m being overestimated.

He wasn’t sure if that was better, or worse.

“Which deck do you want, grandson?” Andross asked.

Now that Kip knew his grandfather thought Kip was making a point by which one he chose, he thought about it differently. “Odd that they’re on opposite sides, isn’t it? In my experience, the gods and beasts have fought together.”

“Not odd at all,” Andross said. “What can oppose a god but a beast?”

“Is that how you justify it?” Kip asked. No filter.

“When soft men sit in peace and criticize my choices ages hence, that they live to do so will be all the proof necessary that I did right,” Andross said. He picked up a deck. “A man who hesitates could never become a god, so you’ll be beasts.” He shuffled each deck as Kip watched, then dealt the cards. “No timers. I wish to have a leisurely match, and we’ve seen what mistakes you make under pressure.”