The Adorned (16 page)

He judged there was no need for a bath; he had Doiran bring up a basin of warm water and washed me with a soft cloth. I took my place upon the chair, watching him lay out his inks and needles. I closed my eyes.

The feel of the needles piercing my skin, when it came, was almost a relief. Here, I was in the hands of a master. Here, I needn’t worry or pose or make an impression. I was his canvas and he my artist, and all was, for the moment, as simple as that.

Chapter Twenty-Three

From my perch on the palace balcony, the city was spread out below me in a shadowy sprawl. Here and there in the foggy night, I could pick out familiar landmarks—the moonlit glitter of a lake, the domed roofs of the temples—but I could see nothing of Nightwell Street.

Behind me, I heard the fading susurrus of laughter, the sharp bell-like tones of glasses clinking together. In front of me were wind and darkness, and the low-burning lights of the sleeping city. I breathed in; the wind was cold and clean, coming down from the northern forests.

“What do you think of it?”

Lord Loren had stepped out onto the balcony, two glasses in hand. He held one out to me. I caught the aroma of almond liqueur, sharp and sweet.

I took the glass. “Of the palace, my lord, or the city?”

He smiled. “Of both.”

“They are beautiful,” I said, and I meant it. At the foot of the palace, the city was a puzzle of purple shadows and golden lights; I had never thought I would see it from such a vantage point.

Once, the palace had been the seat of the Blood Kings, and more a fortress than anything else, glaring down on the land below. Now the bones of that fortress formed the skeleton of a beautiful jewel box, still high on a hill above the rest of Peretim, and the Council ruled in place of ancient kings. All of the Blood had apartments here. A few among the nobles of the Sword had old armories and storehouses upholstered with plush carpets and tapestries, as well.

Lord Loren had been given a prince’s tower. I felt the Count’s hand behind this, doling out a treat for his favorites. When the palace apartments were full with Council business or feasting, the Count himself took the old royal quarters, which usually stood deserted.

Lord Loren stepped forward and put his own glass on the stone railing. “Where I was born, there is nothing such as this. No city as large, no tower so high. There are few of the Blood in the south. Few with the power to make their ambitions real on such a scale.” He turned to me and half smiled, showing an edge of teeth. “Of course, some might say this is no bad thing.”

I took a sip to cover my silence, remembering Isadel’s advice: remaining quiet, she had said, did not detract from beauty, but speech could if one was not well-spoken. The liqueur was strong and sweet, with a heady almond taste; it burned pleasantly on my lips. I had not drunk it pure before, but the taste was familiar; a long time ago, my father had sometimes poured some into a glass of spiced milk, to soothe me before bedtime.

“When the Blood Kings still ruled from this palace, this tower belonged to their young heirs, their princes. This would have been their first glimpse of the city. Of the world, all spread out below their feet.”

“It seems a long way down from here,” I said.

“Yes.” He grinned. “Too far to fall and live.”

I shivered, and Lord Loren’s grin faded to a solicitous smile.

“I am sorry; you will be getting cold in those garments. Let us go inside.”

I followed him; he shut the door to the balcony. It was stained glass, showing a full moon high over a ragged mountain. I thought it must look beautiful with the sunlight blazing through, but in the foggy night the effect was almost eerie.

The soft laughter and the clink of glass on glass had quieted. I had not marked how long I’d been on the balcony, but it seemed it had been long enough for Lord Loren’s guests to disperse. The doors to his chambers were closed, and a single manservant busied with clearing the table, vanishing too quickly for me to mark his face.

It had been a small feast, at least compared to the revelry in Count Karan’s gardens. The Count had been there, of course, first among the guests: a gathering of Blooded and the aging Sword-nobles they had raised to lordships during the Bandit Wars. I had sat at their table, charming centerpiece, and Lord Loren had invited everyone to guess at the growing theme of my Adornment.

Tallisk had tattooed a single acorn on my left shoulder, twined into ivy; oaks were a Northern tree, seldom seen near the Grey City. The nobles puzzled over my ink, as if I were a parlor game. The Count had hovered over me with keen interest, and when his cool fingers brushed my new ink, I had shivered. Afterward, when the feast dwindled, I was invited to simply lounge about and decorate the room. That had been the hardest part of the evening, to look lovely and be still, save when a glass was offered me, and to keep myself from falling into a slumber. I had wished ardently for a book to read.

“What’s on your mind, Etan?”

Loren’s voice came unexpected, and I started. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“You looked so thoughtful, there.”

I looked down at the plush carpet. “I was only thinking that being Adorned is different from what I expected.”

“What
had
you expected?”

I laughed softly. “Truly, I do not know. Only that it is not this.” I wonder if it was the liqueur that loosened my tongue.

He gave me a curious look. “Do you know how it began? The tradition of Adornment?”

I shook my head. It was not something that Tallisk had seen fit to share with me, if indeed he cared for such history at all.

“It was a mark the Blood Kings put on those they cherished.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed me his own tattoo, his mark of distinction. “Like mine, you could say, as well as yours, but multiplied exponentially. It was a sacred bond, equal parts of ink and Blood—a contract, and a vow.”

I sucked in a breath. One drop of the Count’s blood mixed with the ink of my Adornment had sufficed to make the very lines come alive on my skin—and to make me feel his heartbeat as my own when he had touched me. What had it done to the Blood Kings’ chosen to be so blessed, so claimed?

Lord Loren rolled his sleeve back down. “Now, of course, we nobles of the Sword must make do with ordinary ink, and the Adorned are cherished for the mark rather than the marked. The Council does not make blood-vows; that was the privilege of kings.” He subsided and smiled. “But that is all the dusty past, isn’t it? As so much is.”

For a moment, all was quiet. A soft rain had started to fall, pattering on the tower roof.

“Come here a moment,” he said, beckoning me to follow.

He went into his bedroom, where a fire was burning, low and dim. I halted in my tracks for a moment, unsure, but Lord Loren laughed.

“I am not going to throw you atop my blankets like a battlefield catamite, Etan. I only want to show you something.”

I went. He lit the lamps; Loren preferred to do things with his own hands, I had noticed. He’d cut the roast suckling pig and poured wine for his guests, of Blood and Sword both. Now he carefully trimmed the wicks where it was needful, and made sure each lamp glowed bright and golden.

“There,” he said when he had finished. Then he pointed to a tapestry hung above his bed. “Do you know what that is?”

I stepped closer. The tapestry showed a valley, gently sloping, carved by the track of a wide, white river. In the valley there was a castle in the ancient style, low and fortress walled. A town surrounded it, clinging to the castle walls like a nest of cubs nursing at their mother’s side. The sun wheeled yellow-white overhead, crossed by a dark flock of birds.

“Is it a Southern city, my lord?”

He nodded. “Perayan. Where I was born. Where my family still lives.”

It was a beautiful place, though it seemed small compared to the Grey City. That thought sent a little shock through me. All of Lun could have fit inside the palace courtyard; I had no right to call Perayan small.

“I should be there,” he said.

I said nothing, only watching him. He half reached toward the tapestry, as if he could step inside it, as if it was a gate to his home. Then his hand dropped, and he shook his head.

“Do you know why we went to war with Suramm, Etan?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it without speaking. The war had been far away from us, in Lun; there had been vague rumors of broken promises and border raids, but that was all. I did the most honest thing I could and shook my head.

Lord Loren chuckled. “You know, neither do I. And even now that we have laid down our swords, I find that I cannot go home. There is the long business of peacemaking to be done—who gets what parcel of contested land, who owes blood debt to whom. War might be a bloody business, but at least it is always simple.” He sighed. “I imagine Suramm will send an ambassador to pick at our treaties, soon. And for that, I must remain here.”

“An ambassador?”

He nodded. “You will be called for that as well, I imagine. If not by Count Karan, then by one of his cronies.”

Like you.
I bit my lip on the unflattering thought.

He turned away from the tapestry, frowning. For a brief, mad moment I thought that he had caught my unspoken words, but his eyes were distant, and I realized he was not truly looking at me at all. Was it still Perayan he saw, in his mind’s eye? I wondered.

“If you could do some good...” he said slowly. “If you could make a change for better in the world...how much would you risk?”

I blinked at him, uncomprehending. “I don’t know, sir. I—I suppose it would depend.”

“Ah. A diplomat’s answer. I wish I could master the art of them.” Seeing the look on my face, he snorted a laugh. “Never mind my rambling. Let us get you home, hmm?”

At that, we left his bedroom, and he doused the lights behind us.

Chapter Twenty-Four

It was a grey, oppressive afternoon, the sky a steel dome marbled with the shadows of lightning. For once, I was glad to remain indoors. Isadel and I sat opposite each other in the library, playing a game of Conquest. She was glaring at the results of my last move, and constantly tapping one of her pieces against the edge of the board, faster than the tick of a clock.

After a few minutes had passed, I sighed. “The board won’t change if you stare at it any longer.”

She flashed me a rapid smile. “There’s no rule on how long one can take contemplating one’s moves.”

Since Lord Loren’s feast, three weeks gone now, neither of us had been called for display again. Isadel had seemed unconcerned with the lull, at first. “This will happen,” she had said. “Sometimes for no reason at all. Give it time, and you will be so busy with displays you’ll long for the quiet.” Still, it had started to wear on her now: the quiet, and the inconstant weather, which promised summer sun or storms and never quite delivered either.

Finally she made her move, a clever capture. I was sure she was about to gloat when I caught her eyes flickering to the door.

Tallisk was standing there, leaning against the frame. He held a piece of paper in his hand—a letter, I thought—and his eyes slid from me to the letter and back again, with a sort of curious skepticism. It was as if he could not quite reconcile the two.

“Etan,” he said, and I stood, bowing slightly. He made a face at the gesture. “I need to speak to you.”

“What is it, sir?”

He glanced at Isadel. “In private. Come.”

She looked up. “You’ll finish our game later, Etan?”

“Of course.” I smiled at her. “I can’t let you get the upper hand, can I?”

Rolling his eyes at us, Tallisk left the library. I trailed behind him. To my surprise, he took me not into his atelier, but into his private rooms. I’d not entered them before. They were smaller than I had thought, and they smelled of cotton and cigar smoke, dim and warm. I glimpsed his bed, wide and white, through a door half ajar. He closed that door; we were left in his office.

There was a desk, smaller by far than the one upstairs. He leaned against it. I took my place on a small pillow chair, looking up at him. His gaze slid over me, not quite meeting mine. It was if he were avoiding my eyes.

“So.” He had rolled the letter into a tube, and was twirling it between his fingers like a thin cigar. “There’s finally been a request for your services.” He unrolled the letter on the desktop, placing a finger atop it to keep it in place. “More than one request, actually.”

I could not stop myself from glancing at the letter, under my lashes. I could not make out sense in the tight-packed scrawl of it, and there was neither seal nor device to be seen.

“It seems you’ve sparked a bidding war,” he said.

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The Queen of Suramm is sending her ambassador to finalize the terms of our treaty.” It was strange to hear him speak of such things; politics were not often discussed in Tallisk’s house. “The war will be over in truth, at last.”

“There will be a feast,” I said; it was not quite a question.

His smile was one-sided. “Of
course
there’ll be a feast. And every Blooded lordling is scrambling to outdo the others. Which means that you are...in demand.”

“And the Count allows it?”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t he? A hundred years ago, an Adorned might have been for their patron alone, but Karan has never cared much for tradition.” He breathed out sharply and tapped his fingertips on the desk. “There is a request from a Sword-noble, as well.”

I frowned up at him, waiting for more. There was a moment of silence.

At last, he sighed and tossed me the letter. “Read this.”

I took it and scanned the tight lines of it. Halfway through, I felt the blood drain from me. Lord Loren’s signature at the bottom was a looping scrawl. “He means this?”

“He does not seem the sort to jest.”

I read the letter again, to make sure I had grasped its meaning: Loren had requested my display to coincide with the ambassador’s visit to Count Karan’s estate in Fevrewood, where the negotiations would be taking place. I would be leaving the city for the first time since I had arrived there.