Free The Broken Eye by Brent Weeks

forward. Kip drafted the reeds to brace under his armpits, took a deep gulp of air, and pointed his head for shore.
    Best of all, Zymun had never seen it.
    He moved far more slowly than Gavin Guile had when he’d fought the sea demon. Kip knew he was doing something wrong, but he didn’t know what. But the speed was still three or four times faster than he would have been able to swim. And soon, he realized his relative lack of speed was a blessing. He wasn’t cutting a wake in the water that would mark his location for the pirates.
    An hour later—or maybe it only felt so long—Kip staggered onto shore. He had to get to the cover of the trees. If he collapsed in sight of the galley and fell asleep, it would all be for nothing. So he walked, shoeless feet making the sun-bright sand squeak. The Atashian coast was littered with beautiful beaches like this. Palm trees swayed silently. He made his way to the shade and finally turned to look back for Zymun.
    The burning boat was gone, sunk, even the black smoke dissipating. The galley had reached the spot where it had been, though. Kip didn’t know much about galleys, but this one was small. Perhaps thirty paces long. Hard to tell at this distance, though. They flew no flag. Not Gunner’s galley.
    They had stopped, though, and Kip saw men throwing a line into the water on the far side of the boat.
    So Zymun was alive. Kip’s heart sank. If Kip had been captured by pirates—or even regular sailors—he would have been worried about being pressed into slavery. He would have thought he only had the slimmest of chances. For Zymun, he had no such fears or hopes. Zymun would probably be captain of that galley before the week was out.
    Orholam strike him. Orholam blind him. Orholam take the light from him in life and in death.
    Kip was safe, though, for the moment. He needed water. Then food. Then a way home. But nothing would stand in his way. These were trifles. His life was a trifle. But his message was not. The men and women on the ship that night had seen Gavin Guile plunge overboard after being run through with a sword. They had to believe him dead. Kip knew better, and only Kip knew that Gunner had him.
    And should the gods themselves stand against him, Kip was going to get his father back.

Chapter 7
    The pistol was useless. Worse, Zymun had thrown it away in a fit of pique in the water. He floated, watching the pirate ship bear down on him. They thought they’d make him a slave, no doubt. They’d try, no doubt.
    He couldn’t help but smile. There are so few real chances in life to kill without consequences.
    He would have liked to have access to more colors, but blue would have to suffice. He packed the blue luxin into his shoulders and back where it would be covered by the sleeves of his tunic. He wasn’t good at packing luxin. It was uncomfortable, and he never fully cleared his skin; he always retained a pale blue hue, like he was freezing to death. He could do a thousand things excellently, but hiding his excellence wasn’t one of them.
    The burning rowboat finally had enough of its hull consumed that it dipped the last smoldering beam in the waves with a hiss. He hoped the pirates wouldn’t wonder how a rowboat could produce so much smoke. Maybe they’d think he’d been carrying tar or black powder.
    At least it looked like Kip was dead. Zymun had never heard or seen him after the boat exploded, and he didn’t think the boy had gotten clear. He himself had ducked under the water to avoid the force and shrapnel from the blast. Sad to have lost his boat. He should have known Kip would try something. Slippery, and quicker than you’d think a blindfolded big kid could move.
    It didn’t matter. The pirates would scoop him out of the water, and would have whether he’d been in the boat or not. He had only to wait. The swimming was no problem; in Apple Grove where he’d grown up, every boy and girl swam for fun, jumping off the big rope swing or riding the