“What? What? What?” Then Kip couldn’t help it; he started laughing.

His grandfather had been right—infuriatingly right—about Tisis. And he’d been right for all the wrong reasons. He’d thought she would ask Kip to rescue her because she was subtle; she’d done it because she thought Kip was homosexual.

“I’m so sorry,” Tisis said. “You mean you’re not…”

“No,” Kip said, still grinning. “I mean, I’m not homosexual and not, er, well, I am asexual, I guess, but not by choice. I mean, I’m a virgin, but…” He slammed his eyes shut. Had he really just said that out loud? Orholam, let the floor open and swallow me. He opened one eye. Tisis’s mouth was hanging open, shocked.

Kip the Lip, use it, turn it out. “Which is to say, I find you very beautiful, Tisis, and not just in some abstract sense. And my earlier disinterested attraction to you—understandably dampened by the fact I thought you wanted to kill me—is strangely getting more intense and more personal all the time.”

He could tell the convoluted compliment warmed her. She blushed faintly, and looked at him with new eyes.

Before she could speak, Kip said, “But that attraction—whether it’s the simple infatuation of the boy you seem to think I am, or something more robust and worthy of consideration—is not the point. It’s moot.”

He could see her digesting that, and he could tell that she was impressed. But her regard was not, now, the kind you’d have when you think a child is being mature for his age. In her eyes little green shoots of respect broke the ground. “So,” she said, “if that’s not the point, what is?”

“If I do this, I’m crossing my grandfather. He’s not just the Red anymore. He’s the promachos, and he was scary enough when he was only the Red. He does not forgive insults. I’ll need your protection and your sister Eirene’s protection, at least for a few years.” It was partly true, but it was mostly a lie, and Kip felt embarrassed at how easily it passed his lips. But she mistook his embarrassment, thinking it was for needing the protection of women. After the time Kip had spent with the White and with Karris, nothing could be further from his mind.

“Kip, your grandfather’s not going to come after you during the war. If he did, he’d risk losing not just my family, but all of Ruthgar. And after the war … who even can think that far ahead?”

It was true. As a political marriage, the union was actually far better for the Guiles than it was for the Malargos family. Though Tisis felt that her position was tenuous—and Andross had deliberately isolated her so she would feel it more keenly—he needed to know that Ruthgar was firmly on the Chromeria’s side. War was here, and the bottomless coffers of the Malargos family would be necessary to fund the fight.

Andross would strengthen his flank and get Kip away from the Chromeria, where he might cause problems. If Kip betrayed him, Andross would still achieve those things. If Kip obeyed him, on the other hand, Andross would put a spy directly into the heart of the Malargos family.

Who could plan for what would happen after the war? Andross Guile.

And what did Kip get for his participation? A wife set to inherit a fortune, a place next to power, and a reputation for defying his grandfather—which would be seen as being incredibly brave when he got away with it. After the war, they could ‘reconcile’ and all would be well. As far as political marriages went, Kip could do far worse.

In fact, he probably couldn’t do better.

With Zymun in play, Kip was expendable.

“What are you thinking there, little storm cloud?” Tisis asked, teasing.

That there’s no way out.

But maybe that’s the wrong way to think about this. I want to defy my grandfather because he’s an asshole, because he’s been cruel and insulted me, because he tried to have me killed.

That was before he knew me, though.

He tried to kill Gavin.

No, he tried to get the Knife. Gavin got in the way. As long as you understood that you couldn’t oppose him, Andross was remarkably logical.

Andross Guile didn’t have friends. He had useful allies, and he had enemies.

Then Kip had an insight into the man, an intuition stark and clear and true. Life was a game of Nine Kings to Andross. He had opponents, and he would do all he could to destroy them. His opponents had cards, and he would destroy or suborn them. But he himself was simply the Master. His own cards were to be preserved while they were of use, but destroyed without thought if that achieved his ends, and pursued with vengeance if they attempted to play against him. It was that cold and that effective. Kip had tried to figure out what the old man wanted. What motivated Andross Guile to work so hard, to plan so deeply? It didn’t seem to be money, though he had plenty of that. It didn’t seem to be women, though he had room slaves. It didn’t seem to be homeland, or Orholam, or even power as others understood it. A man motivated by lust for power would surely want to be seen as the master of others. Andross Guile had simply been one of the Spectrum, for many years.

Perhaps to Andross it was subtler but also simpler: he wanted to win. He didn’t care if everyone knew about his winning; those who mattered would know. He didn’t care about anyone else: who is flattered by the praise of insects? Becoming an emperor in name was unnecessary. If one can wield imperial power, if one can make one’s name synonymous with emperor, was that not the greater achievement?

And when Kip thought of it that way, at least one more fact bared its teeth: Kip’s status as an apparent enemy of Andross Guile wouldn’t necessarily in the fullness of time be discarded. If, after seven years, Andross had other cards better than Kip to play, he might destroy Kip rather than reward him.

And that is the deal for me. Take it or reject it. Eyes open.

And yet … doing what Andross Guile wanted? Everything in Kip rebelled against that.

But whereas Kip might have blithely risked destroying himself in the past, now his actions would affect people he cared about. This wasn’t a matter of right and wrong, but of smart and stupid.

There was nothing to gain by defying Andross Guile, and no way to win if Kip did so. Why then was it so hard?

“Just thinking about my grandfather,” Kip said, finally answering Tisis. “He’s not a good man to make an enemy.”

“But he’s not a good friend, either, is he?” Tisis asked.

“He doesn’t have friends.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ve been caught in his schemes twice, and each time, I’ve come away hating myself almost as much as I hate him.”

“He has that effect,” Kip said. “But … how do I know that putting myself in your sister’s hands won’t be just as big a mistake? Andross may be here, but so are my friends, what few of them I have, anyway.”

“My sister will know I made the best move in a bad situation—but even if she doesn’t, she’s my sister. She loves me, and she’d never turn her back on me.”

Must be nice.

Kip had that kind of friendship, with the squad. But it was already slipping away. Whatever he did, they were passing inexorably from his life.

The one good thing I have is fading already.

“Let’s do it,” Kip said. He looked at her, looked down at his shoes, looked back up at her. “Uh, how do we do it?”