The Adorned (17 page)

“You must have done well with him,” Tallisk said, “to impress him so.”

I looked up. It was the first he’d spoken of my displays. “Thank you, sir.” I handed the letter back. “You said there was...a bidding war. Who else asked for my display?”

He smiled, or made some approximation of one. “Are you eager to see how wanted you are?”

I held his eyes. “I only want to know.”

“A Lord and Lady Arash,” he said. “And Lord Sefer, who is on the Council.”

All three had been guests at Loren’s feast. I nodded. “And the Count?”

He watched me for a moment. “Yes. Yes, he has made a request for your...company. I do not think Loren knows Karan has requested you, or he would not seek to bring you as—” he searched for the word. “As his guest.”

I remembered Lord Loren’s keen eyes, watching the Blooded crowd around me at his feast. Maybe, I thought, and maybe not. “Which offer have you accepted, sir?”

He sucked at his teeth. “None, yet. I thought I would ask you.”

I blinked, surprised. He had no need to. “Ask me?”

“If you had a preference.”

“A preference?” I near-stuttered the word. What should my preference matter to him? But he looked down with serious eyes, as if I were an equal in this, as if my word had as much weight as his. It unbalanced me; I looked away from him and swallowed.

“Well? Do you?”

He rocked back and forth on his heels. At last I looked up. My eyes met his, and for a moment I lost my words. Then I licked my lips and spoke. “I do, sir.”

His voice was soft. “And which will it be?”

“I would accept Lord Loren’s offer, sir.”

“Hah.” He tilted his head. “And risk displeasing the Count?”

I held his eyes. “The choice is yours, in the end.”

He made a disgusted sound and threw up his hands. “I suppose it is, isn’t it? I would be done with all of this frippery, were the choice truly mine.”

To that I had no reply. I was not even sure what he meant.

He frowned and dropped his hands. “I have little patience,” he said, “for business. Or for politics.” He sighed. “Lord Loren’s letter
did
arrive first. I shall tell the Count you have already been scheduled for display, if that is what you wish. He should not take offense to that.” He looked at me, head tilted once more. “Etan...if you feel you cannot do a display as long as a week, then I shall decline.”

“No,” I said, and I shook my head. “I can do it. I will do it.”

“Good,” he said. Some tension seemed to leave him, and he breathed out. “I only regret I will not be able to add to your Adornment before you go.”

There had been a date on Lord Loren’s letter, but in my rush to read it, I had not marked it well. “When do I leave?”

“In two days.”

“Two
days!
” I felt suddenly queasy. “What about display clothes—what about—”

Tallisk fought down a smile. “You will be ready.”

“How will I even
get
there? I—”

Tallisk leaned down and pressed a finger to my lips. “There’s no need for you to worry.”

It was more the sudden touch that silenced me, rather than the shape of the gesture. I stared at him, my skin prickling with gooseflesh. For long seconds he said nothing. Then he drew away. A gloomy look came over his face for a moment, then swept off of it like a wave, leaving him unreadable. He nodded, more to himself than to me.

“You may go.”

I stood and bowed. My steps were not quite steady.

With my hand upon the door, I felt a frown crease my forehead, and I turned back to him. “Sir...will Isadel be coming to the feast?”

“She has not as yet been invited,” he said. “But I am sure that the Count will take her, when I let him know you are unavailable.” He gave me a jaundiced look. “Do a favor for me, and spread no gossip to her yet. I wanted privacy to talk to you for a reason.”

I nodded slowly. It troubled me, to have to keep silent, but I would accede.

I went back into the library. Isadel was still there; when she spotted me, she rose from her couch and returned to the Conquest board. I sat down opposite her, and she smiled. “Well? Will there be more displays for you?”

I laughed, a little. “More than I’d anticipated.”

“Is that so?” She leaned back. “You’re turning into quite the prize, aren’t you?”

Her tone was neutral; still, I thought I sensed an eddy of something darker below the words.
She has not as yet been invited;
the words gnawed at me. I almost wished Tallisk had given me leave to speak to her about it—though I hated to think what she would have said.

Then she smiled, sunny and true, and I could do nothing save return the expression. “It is your turn, Etan,” she said. “I’ve waited long enough for your next move.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Outside the carriage’s windows, the sky was an almost violent blue. A few hours’ ride had sufficed to take us outside the grasp of the sullen storm clouds that hung over the city. Now it was as if we were riding deeper and deeper into summer, with a swollen sun lighting the way ahead.

The land was a tightly woven quilt of black and green, and the wind was sweet and warm. We were passing the vineyards of Thel, whose bottles were found in every wine shop and eatery of the Grey City...not in the Count’s cellars, though, or in Tallisk’s for that matter. I leaned close to the windows, watching the fields roll by. They were emptier than I’d expected. Every now and then figures would rise up among the vines and watch us pass, their faces too distant to be seen, but they were few and far between.

I craned my head, gazing down the road that stretched before us. Fevrewood was two days’ ride from Peretim, the last remnants of an ancient forest; I had checked its shape and boundary in an atlas in Tallisk’s library. The atlas was twice as old as I was, but it seemed little had changed since then: Fevrewood was still a rough circle in the midst of rich farmland, with two great roads cutting a cross into the green.

At the midpoint of that cross stood Fevrewood Lodge, our final destination. Once, the forest had been the Blood Kings’ private garden, and after the hunt it was Fevrewood Lodge they had retired to; why it had been chosen to serve for the negotiations, I was not sure. Perhaps it had been the Surammers’ choice. Perhaps they wanted to stay well out of the Grey City, where men spat and called them dogeaters; I could not blame them for that.

Lord Loren’s retinue rode in two carriages. The rear was a large, plain hire, which held his luggage as well as his cook and his servants. I rode in the front, in his own carriage; it was smaller, and of Southern make, with plush seats and windows of real glass.

Lord Loren sat opposite me. He was dressed, as I was, in plain traveling clothes; so attired, he looked even more like a darker, slighter image of Tallisk. For the few hours we had shared the carriage he had not spoken to me, not looked at me, not seemed to notice I was there at all, and I was beginning to feel the creep of nerves.

We were not alone in the carriage. Sitting beside me was a man who had been introduced to me as Istan, Lord Loren’s valet and scribe. He was near my age, perhaps a little older, slight and dark, with soft features and shrewd eyes.

I had thought he was a Southerner, at first, like Loren himself, but his name and subtle accent proclaimed Surammer heritage. He had the lilting tones of one whose manhood had been taken before his voice fell: in Suramm, I knew, it was not priests who were so altered, but the sons of dissenters, so their lines withered without issue. I wondered what had brought him into Lord Loren’s service.

Istan had not spoken to me either, but at least he had
looked
at me, his eyes hunting for the hidden trails of my tattoos. Some little showed, peeking under my coat: a trailing leaf on my arm, a budded flower near my collarbone, lines moving subtly across the canvas of my skin. I didn’t mind; I preferred such naked curiosity to Loren’s unseeing gaze, which registered me as little as if I were a shape in the clouds, or a gnarled tree by the side of the road. I only wished someone, whether Lord Loren or his valet, would go ahead and
speak
to me as well.

Since that seemed unlikely, I turned away again, leaning my head against the window. The blue of the sky was darkening to twilit mauve, and the city was long out of sight. I wondered if Isadel was close behind us, or already ahead, riding with the Count; as Tallisk had expected, he had called for her display the moment he had learned I had already been reserved.

“My lord, it is getting dark.”

The sudden voice startled me, after so long a silence. Lord Loren blinked slowly, as if he had been sleeping with his eyes open, and unfolded himself into straight-backed dignity. “So it is. Let us stop for the night. I have no desire to spend it trundling through the forest.”

Istan bowed his head. “Very good, my lord.” With catlike grace he clambered out of the still-moving carriage to speak to the driver; soon we were slowing, and the honor guard riding alongside the carriages searched for a place to camp.

The guards were Southerners to a man, in the blue uniforms of soldiers. They were nothing like the ragged veterans of the Grey City, though: they were young and proud and well fed, and each one of them regarded Lord Loren with something approaching awe. Still, seeing them I couldn’t help but recall fists and feet, and the red of my blood on the stones.

Soon enough we found our place: a sheltered clearing in a copse of trees just below the roadside, out of the path of the wind. The soldiers put up two tents with battlefield efficiency. The tents mirrored the carriages: one was large and plain, the other small and plush. Torches were lit against the coming dark, and fire pits were heaped with hot stones—for cooking, and for the servants and soldiers to warm themselves by.

Istan led me inside the smaller tent. Lord Loren was already waiting within, sitting on a cushioned chair; I wondered where
that
had been tucked away.

He rose to greet me. “Would you take his coat, Istan?”

In the privacy of his tent, my Adornment could be displayed—after all, he had paid for the privilege. Istan slid behind me and took my coat. As it came off my shoulders, I heard his intake of breath. He had only caught the barest glimpses of my ink before. Now it was revealed, the shifting green given a coppery shimmer by the lamplight. At the curve where my neck met my shoulders, a purple flower bud shivered as if about to open.

“Extraordinary,” Istan murmured, my coat still in his hands.

“Istan.” For the first time since we had left Peretim, Lord Loren smiled. “Will you leave us for a moment?”

He laid my coat down, bowed, and retreated without another word, leaving me alone with Lord Loren. Outside the tent, I heard the soldiers laughing.

Lord Loren circled around me, his hands hovering over my shoulders—as if he wished to touch my Adornment, but did not quite dare to. Still, I could feel the warmth of his skin. “Is it true,” he murmured, “that you are still marked with their Blood?”

I hesitated. Tallisk had not pressed any particular discretion on me, but I did not want to give away a secret of his trade. Still, what other substance held such power? I thought of Lord Loren speaking of the ancient link between his own marks and mine, and I frowned—he must already
know.
“It is true.”

He nodded; it seemed he had merely wished to hear it from my lips. “In the days of the Blood Kings and their companions, it was said that they could hear their masters’ thoughts—that they could feel every beat of their hearts.” He watched me, his eyes narrow and shrewd. “Is
that
true?”

I thought of the Count’s hands on me, that first time in his garden, and how his blood had seemed to rush through my own veins—after that, his touch had only roused a bare echo of that feeling. “Not—not quite, my lord,” I said. “That privilege is denied me.”

“Heh.” His laugh was short, almost a cough. “If it
was
a privilege.” He sighed and sat back down, his hands linked in his lap. “Still, there is
some
link between you.”

“He is my master’s patron—” I began, but Lord Loren cut me off with a gesture.

“I have a confession to make, Etan. I’m afraid I contracted your display under false pretenses.”

“My lord?”

“You are meant as a gift,” he said.

I opened my mouth, full of questions, then shut it as I understood. “For the Count.”

He nodded. “For the Count. When the time is right, I will send you to him.”

“Why, my lord?” I dared to take a step closer to him. “He—he could have hired my display himself.”

“Indeed.” He grinned up at me. “But then you would not be a gift. You would not arrive with me, and return to the Grey City at my side.”

I puzzled at his words. “Do you want me to
spy
on Count Karan, my lord?”

He laughed. It was a sincere laugh, though there was a lacy edge of shock to it. He had not expected my bluntness, I think—but I was not Isadel, able to leave my words laden with double meanings. “Gods, no. He is my liege lord, Etan. But...”

But.
I bowed my head and waited for him to speak again.

“I have known him for near all my life,” he said, soft-voiced. “Yet you are closer to him than I will ever be. You share his bed. You share his
Blood.
So much rests on these negotiations, Etan, and what he might dismiss from me would sound more palatable from a sweeter mouth.”

He rose from his chair and lifted my chin with a single finger. His eyes were beautiful, I realized—dark and serious, long-lashed, and bright as gems.

“I do not want you to be a spy, Etan. I want you to be my envoy where I cannot go. But if you feel I am asking you to violate your honor, then I will return you home, with my apologies.”

He meant it. I could see it written in his dark eyes. If they had been blue rather than black, they could have almost been Tallisk’s...

“No,” I said. “I—I will do it.”

He released me and let out a breath. “Thank you.”

Of course
, I wanted to say, but I did not. I touched my face where he had held me, and I turned away.