The Black Prism (Lightbringer, #1)

by Brent Weeks

The myth of polite dialogue between disinterested, reasonable neighbors, that myth upon which so much of diplomacy rested, was clearly dead,

Is it better that the guilty should perish, or that the innocent should live?

“When you don’t know what to do, do what’s right and do what’s in front of you. But not necessarily what’s right in front of you.”

His legs decided now would be a good time to cramp, and both did.

You might want to think twice before you try to use a man’s conscience against him. It may turn out he doesn’t have one.”

Of course, Liv thought, the same rules don’t apply to the obscenely rich. Never do. Not here.

“Half-breed” was a mean description, though, and completely unfair. The finest families and all the nobles in the Seven Satrapies intermarried far more often than commoners, and they were never called half-breeds.

“That’s great,” he told the closed door. “I’ll just wait here. I’ve been meaning to catch up on my thumb-twiddling.”

The hidden door closed smoothly behind him. He opened the closet door. A hand’s breadth, then it stopped, blocked. With the light of the lantern only cutting through the little crack, he couldn’t see what the problem was. He reached through the crack into the darkness. Polished wood greeted his fingertips, smooth and straight, then more, right on top of it. Chairs. Well, that was the problem of a super-secret door hidden in a disused storage room, wasn’t it? Sometimes people saw a disused storage room and thought it should be used to store things.

But aside from a glance or two, or maybe three—Kip glanced again. Ah! Four. Aside from that, he didn’t look at her the way he’d look at some other beautiful woman. It just didn’t seem respectful. Oops, five.

He felt that familiar tightness in his chest again at the thought. He wasn’t afraid of death, but he was afraid of dying before he accomplished his purposes.

“I always thought you were a beautiful girl, but the stories of you took on a life of their own. A tragic love triangle between the two most powerful men in the world sort of demands a beautiful girl, doesn’t it? I mean, otherwise, why would two men tear the world apart? For her insights about history? Her witty repartee? No. You were a pretty girl made beautiful by the bards’ need to make some sense of what you wrought. Don’t get me wrong,”

“I feel a bit freer to speak my mind these days. I already destroyed the world, what’s one man’s ego?” Karris said.

All eyes still on him, Gavin stopped in front of Commander Ironfist. He looked at Ironfist’s pack. Neither said anything for a long time. “You can’t come, I’m not taking a bodyguard,” Gavin said finally. “I’m not coming with you,” Ironfist said. “Then get off my scull.” “I’m coming with Kip. He’s a member of the Prism’s family, and he’s entitled to protection.” “You’re the commander of the Blackguard, you can’t possibly—” “I can do what I deem appropriate to discharge the duties of the Blackguard. None may interfere with that. None.” “You are a wily bastard, aren’t you?” Gavin said. “It’s why I’m still here,” Ironfist said. “And quite possibly why you are, too.” Gavin grunted. “You win, but let me remind you of your oaths.” Ironfist looked offended. “You’ll understand soon,” Gavin said. “Everyone, load up.”

‘Luck’ is not dropping your father’s priceless, one-of-a-kind pistols in the sea,” Gavin said. “I dropped your pistols?” Kip asked, heart dropping. “Whereas ‘slick’ is catching said pistols at the last moment,” Gavin said, producing the weapons from behind his back. He grinned.

“I’m sure whatever you heard was much exaggerated,” Gavin said. “No,” Ironfist said. “It wasn’t.” Gavin shrugged. “I was a bad child. Fortunately, I’ve come a long way since then. Now I’m a bad man.”

“Your turn. You can have lunch—or dinner or possibly breakfast—when you make a green luxin ball of your own. You’ve got the spectacles, a white reflector, plenty of sun, and an example. I couldn’t make it easier if I tried.” “But I need Skill, Will, Source, and Still. I don’t have skill. Any skill. At all.” Gavin looked at him sardonically. “And how do you think you get skilled? Skill is the most overrated of the requisites. Will covers a multitude of flaws.”

“Moments of beauty sustain us through hours of ugliness,”

What you behold, what you believe, how you behave.

That’s what we’re doing, Aliviana. We’re killing people. Right here, right now. We’re using Orholam’s gift to kill Orholam’s children. Most of whom are fools who could be our friends at any other time. It’s a hard world. You want me to lie about it? You want to be protected after all?”

It was like nothing had happened, except for the memories clinging to her like hellstone eating her soul.

When the sands were running out of the glass, delayed justice was as bad as injustice.

“The Philosopher said that a man alone is either a god or a monster,” Gavin said. “I’m no god.”

“Kip, a woman is the mystery you’ll never stop investigating.”

“Not bad for a defeat,” said Corvan Danavis, coming into Gavin’s cabin. Gavin sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. His “quick nap” after talking to Kip had left him wooly. But he’d drafted so much over the past week, it was no wonder he felt off. He said, “We lost a city, three-quarters of the Blackguard, and hundreds if not thousands of soldiers. My natural son—whom I just acknowledged—publicly murdered a rightful satrap, which will make the other satraps worry I’m trying to rule the world again. We have thousands of refugees that we have to put Orholam knows where; there’s some pagan army in charge of Garriston; and I’ve built them a damn near unassailable wall, which will now protect my enemies. Oh, and your daughter has joined our foes. If that’s not bad for a defeat, I’m not really sure what is.” “Could be worse,” Corvan said.

they laughed together. It felt good. Food for a hungry soul.