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Prologue

It’s funny, Vasher thought, howthrown into prison

The guards laughed to one another, sla Vasher stood and dusted hi While the bottom half of his cell door was solid wood, the top half was barred, and he could see the three guards open his large duffel and riffle through his possessions

One of theuard was an oversized beast of a man with a shaved head and a dirty unifor of the T’Telir city guard

Bright colors, Vasher thought I’ll have to get used to those again In any other nation, the vibrant blues and yelloould have been ridiculous on soldiers This, however, was Hallandren: land of Returned gods, Lifeless servants, BioChromatic research, and—of course—color

The large guard sauntered up to the cell door, leaving his friends to as “They say you’re pretty tough,” theup Vasher

Vasher did not respond

“The bartender says you beat down souard rubbed his chin “You don’t look that tough to me Either way, you should have known better than to strike a priest The others, they’ll spend a night locked up You, thoughyou’ll hang Colorless fool”

Vasher turned away His cell was functional, if unoriginal A thin slit at the top of one wall let in light, the stone walls dripped ater and moss, and a pile of dirty straw decomposed in the corner

“You ignoringcloser to the door The colors of his uniforht The change was slight Vasher didn’t have , and so his aura didn’t do uard didn’t notice the change in color—just as he hadn’t noticed back in the bar, when he and his buddies had picked Vasher up off the floor and thrown hiht to the unaided eye that it would have been nearly impossible to pick out

“Here, now,” said one of the h Vasher’s duffel “What’s this?” Vasher had always found it interesting that the eons tended to be as bad as, or worse than, the uarded Perhaps that was deliberate Society didn’t seem to care if suchas they were kept away from more honest men

Assu existed

Fro object wrapped in white linen The , thin-bladed sword in a silver sheath The hilt was pure black “Who do you suppose he stole this from?”

The lead guard eyed Vasher, likely wondering if Vasher was soh Hallandren had no aristocracy, doms had their lords and ladies Yet what lord would wear a drab brown cloak, ripped in several places? What lord would sport bruises frorown beard, and boots worn frouard turned away, apparently convinced that Vasher was no lord

He was right And he rong

“Let runted, obviously surprised by its weight He turned it about, noting the clasp that tied sheath to hilt, keeping the blade fro drawn He undid the clasp

The colors in the roouard’s vest had when he approached Vasher Instead, they grew stronger Darker Reds becaold Blues approached navy

“Be careful, friend,” Vasher said softly, “that sword can be dangerous”

The guard looked up All was still Then the guard snorted and walked away fro the sword The other two followed, bearing Vasher’s duffel, entering the guard room at the end of the hallway

The door thumped shut Vasher i a handful of sturdy lengths He pulled threads fro to fray at the bottom—and tied the straw into the shape of a sh, with bushy ars He plucked a hair froure’s head, then reached into his boot and pulled out a brilliant red scarf

Then Vasher Breathed

It flowed out of hi into the air, translucent yet radiant, like the color of oil on water in the sun Vasher felt it leave: BioChromatic Breath, scholars called it Most people just called it Breath Each person had one Or, at least, that was how it usually went One person, one Breath

Vasher had around fifty Breaths, just enough to reach the First Heightening Having so few made him feel poor compared hat he’d once held, but reat treasure Unfortunately, even Awakening a s a piece of his own body as a focus—drained away some half of his Breaths

The little straw figure jerked, sucking in the Breath In Vasher’s hand, half of the brilliant red scarf faded to grey Vasher leaned down—iure to do—and coave the Command

“Fetch keys,” he said

The straw figure stood and raised its single eyebroard Vasher