The Adorned Read online

  “Yes, he’ll stay here. Have his things brought, if he has any.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Tallisk glanced at me.

  I shook my head. “There is no need. There’s nothing I own.”

  Tallisk held my gaze a moment. I wished I knew what he was thinking, but his dark blue eyes were inscrutable.

  “Well, it makes things easier, doesn’t it?” Maxen said, tucking the credit note into his coat pocket. He patted me clumsily upon the shoulder. “All luck to you, Etan. May the Lord of Stars bless and watch over you.”

  I bowed to him, unsure of the protocol. My father had not been a pious man, even with his own gods. “Thank you.”

  It seemed to satisfy. Maxen was hustled out of the house by Yana, who seemed glad to see the back of him. I was left alone with Tallisk, in his atelier. It was barely past the edge of the afternoon yet, but the light was rapidly fading from the day. The gauze of the windows lent a ghostly glint to the failing light, leaving the atelier in a grey twilight hush.

  Tallisk said nothing. He only looked at me, half frowning. I wondered if he already regretted his purchase, impulsive as it seemed to me. He seemed to be waiting for something, but for what I could not tell.

  At last he sighed. “Let’s take you downstairs. Doiran will find some proper clothes for you.”

  I looked down at myself; my clothes had been well made, in their day, but even Doiran had seemed less faded in his dress.

  “Have him bathe you, as well.”

  He left the atelier and I followed him, cheeks flushed. It seemed that Maxen’s trip to the barber had not counted for much, in Tallisk’s eyes. My new master hurried down the stairs—no, I thought, he did not exactly hurry, but his natural speed seemed twice that of any other man. I had to hurry, myself, to keep up with him.

  Yana and Doiran were both waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Doiran wore a wide smile; he had the largest teeth I’d ever seen, like the ivory keys of a harmonium.

  Tallisk came to a halt in front of them, and I stood beside him, my head lowered. “This is Etan,” he said. “We’re full up now. Make him comfortable.”

  With that pronouncement, he bounded back up the stairs; Doiran cleared his throat and he paused a moment, turning back, eyebrows raised.

  “Will you be joining us for supper, sir?” he asked. “I only ask because Isadel will return today.”

  He inclined his head. “Already? All right, most likely I will then. But send Yana to pick up supper from the Broken Keys when Isadel comes. I want you to get him,” this with a gesture at me, “cleaned up and settled in, not fuss about in the kitchen.”

  Doiran inclined his head in a sort of bow. “Of course.”

  “Anything else you want picked up, sir?” Yana asked him. “If I’m to go out.”

  He seemed irritated to be twice stopped, and shook his head. “No. That will be all.”

  They watched him ascend, waiting. Then the door of his atelier slammed closed. They both let out a long-held breath. Doiran was the first to look at me. His eyes were huge as his teeth; he seemed all over too large for his height. “Welcome!”

  I bowed to him, clumsily. “Thank you. I am—well, you know, I am Etan.” I laughed, spurred by nerves.

  “I am Doiran Teinne, housekeeper to Master Tallisk.” His accent twisted the tails of his sentences into a sing-song rhythm. “This is Yana Keel, who is key-master and groom.”

  Yana first delivered a bow that was almost military, then grinned, the formality dropping from her manner. “Welcome to the household. Doiran,” she said, “you’d best get him settled in before Isadel comes home.”

  He clapped his hands together. “Well, come then, Etan my lad, let us get you scrubbed up to Master Tallisk’s standards, shall we?”

  I followed Doiran down another set of stairs, down below the streets, into the cellar. It was dark, but Doiran lit lamps as we descended. A damp warmth pervaded the air; this was like no cellar I had known. It was all marble, with a massive square tub against the wall. In a huge cabinet, nestled in the walls themselves, plush towels and uncountable bottles were arranged. I gaped at it all.

  Doiran caught my eye and smiled. “It’s the hot springs, below the city. They feed the house, like in the public baths, then the water drains into the sewers. The real cellar is in below the garden. You couldn’t keep wine in here.”

  “I suppose you could not,” I said weakly.

  He pulled a chain above the tub. A stream of warm, bubbling water gurgled in through a tube. A deep, mineral smell pervaded the room; a loamy scent, like old earth. When the bathtub was full, he pulled the chain once more, and the stream of water came to a trickling end. He retrieved some bottles from the cabinet and poured them into the steaming water. Sharp, rich floral scents, like gardens pickled in wine, laid themselves over the undertone of loamy earth. “You’ll need to wait a few moments, while the water cools. I will leave you to bathe a while, and fetch some clothes.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Submerged in the warm water, I felt a kind of deep exhaustion. My nerves had carried me for too long; I had lived on an edge, these past few weeks. I had stepped off that edge, now, landing on one side or the other, and marked my choice in a hasty scrawl of ink. That choice, I knew, would be recorded on me forever. Whatever happened here in Tallisk’s household would be indelibly inscribed upon my skin.

  I shuddered and sank deep into the water, letting it close over my shoulders. It cradled me like a subtle embrace. Suddenly, I found that my face was wet with tears. They dripped down my chin and into the water. I lifted my hand to my face, touching my wet cheek wonderingly. The tears had refused to come when my father had died, when I’d been turned out of the house I was born in. Now they rolled down my cheeks in slow torrents, and I could not quite tell what I was crying for.

  Chapter Nine

  Once I’d been bathed and dressed, Doiran pronounced me fit to be seen in Master Tallisk’s household and took me up to the first floor, where my bedroom was to be.

  It surprised me, a little, to learn I would have my own room; the servants’ quarters in my own house, empty for years when my father died, were communal. So I thought it would be in every house; it certainly was in Lun. But then Adorned were a different sort of servant, though master-bound nonetheless. For one, at the height of their careers they would have wardrobes to inspire the envy of the most outrageous dandy.

  The room that Doiran showed me had wardrobes enough to serve for this, though most were empty, the faint scent of mothballs their only cargo. One contained some outfits in the same style as I currently wore: well-made, comfortable breeches and high-necked shirts, genteel and slightly out of fashion. The sort of clothes a clerk’s young apprentice might wear, at work with his master. They had a certain sort of wear to them, the peculiar wear of well-loved old things.

  “The grand tour can wait for a while. For now, you can get yourself settled, and maybe rest a bit until Isadel comes home,” Doiran said.

  I frowned. That is one thing I had not asked. “Doiran, who is Isadel?”

  “Isadel writ-Tallisk is Master Tallisk’s Adorned.” He laughed. “His senior Adorned, I should say now. She’s been on display, at Count Karan’s estate in Fevrewood.”

  “A Count of the Blood?”

  “Of course. Count Karan is the head of the Council of Blood, and Tallisk’s patron.”

  My mouth formed a small O of astonishment, and Doiran laughed again. I did not feel he mocked me; the easy laughter was merely his way. “It might go to her head a little,” he said, “but it shouldn’t. All men need a patron, and Tallisk’s art is fine enough to warrant the Count’s patronage. You will meet him, soon enough.”

  I felt a little weak at the prospect. Lun was under the rule of a Lord of the Sword who mostly took his taxes and ignored us; the Blooded who ruled the Sword-nobles were storybook figures to me, god-touched legends. A hard lump of nerves settled beneath the apple of my throat; to think that I would actua
lly have to rub elbows with them—that I would be remade for their enjoyment—it made me understand Tallisk a little better, when he had said I had little idea of what becoming an Adorned entailed.

  I tried to swallow away my apprehension, to pretend the idea of meeting one of the Blooded was nothing out of the ordinary. “What is she like?” I asked. “Isadel, I mean.”

  He wrinkled his forehead, his lips working as if he were searching for the right words. “She is Isadel, and unique with it. You’ll just have to meet her.” He smiled. “I think she’ll like you. I think we’ll all like you, lad. You seem a good sort.”

  I colored at his compliment. “Thank you.”

  He seemed to have run out of words, then, and he adjusted himself a little, harrumphing softly. “Well, then. You’ll be fetched to greet her, when she arrives; she’s your senior, so be respectful.”

  “Of course,” I murmured.

  With that, he left me to my new room. My new home. I made long slow circles of the room, fingertips brushing each unfamiliar thing. It was near the size of my old room, where I’d grown up, though narrower and with higher ceilings. There was a small window that allowed in a bit of light, its frame just a little too high for me to reach. It was open a crack, and its lacy curtains fluttered in the evening breeze. The bed was small and narrow, but the pillows and the quilt were soft and stuffed with down. The wardrobes were empty, save for the few clothes I’d already found.

  I played my fingers across the fabric; even these house-clothes were already finer than near anything I had worn in Lun. I wondered what I would wear when it came time to display my ink. Even finer things, I wagered, if the Blooded were my audience—garments of silk or velvet cut to show where I was Adorned...

  Blinking away the fanciful images that thought conjured in my mind, I resolved to ask Tallisk the truth of it. Or, if I didn’t dare approach my new master, to at least find some book about the niceties of display. I might have been ignorant, but I did not intend to remain so for long, if I could help it.

  For now, though, I was too nerve-worn to do any such thing. Instead, I sat down on the bed, my eyes heavy. I was very tempted to simply lie down upon the quilt, to sink into the pillows, and fall into sleep again. I knew it was not late in the day, but I was half in a daze, my skin still warm with the heat of the bath. I forced myself to sit, cross-legged, on the floor, leaning up against the bed. Still, I began to half drowse, my head lolling against my own shoulder. It was only when I heard commotion below that I snapped awake again; by that time, the light had the quality of evening about it, and I shivered a little. The breeze had turned to wind, howling softly through my small room.

  There was a soft knock on my door; I scrambled to my feet. Doiran came in, now dressed not in his apron and white shirt but in a cream-colored suit, which made his ruddy skin stand out all the more. He looked clean-shaven and freshly scrubbed. “There you are then,” he said. “Straighten yourself a bit. Isadel’s almost home, and she’s bringing company.”

  I did as he asked, straightening my hair and clothes until I looked as if I’d not just been dozing. We stepped out onto the landing; Yana was there as well, soberly dressed in a black groomsman’s suit, her hair slicked back.

  And of course, the master of the house was present as well; he wore a suit of deepest brown, with a freshly starched cravat at his throat. He glanced at me, but his gaze passed over me, quick and perfunctory. It was as if I had already been part of his household for months, not arrived that very day. I stared down at the carpet, cheeks gone suddenly red.

  “They should be here already,” Yana muttered.

  “They will be taking their time,” Tallisk replied.

  “When did that runner arrive, an hour ago? They should be here.”

  “Quiet,” Tallisk said without force or reprimand, yet in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

  At last, there was knocking upon the door. Tallisk tilted his head at Yana; the housekeeper would usually open the door, but the key-master would welcome honored guests. We all followed Yana—Tallisk at the front, and Doiran and I a pace and a half behind him. A rush of cool air was let in along with the new arrivals.

  A man marched into the hallway; he was short and stout, wearing richly brocaded clothing. He cast about his gaze without truly bothering to look and clicked his tongue against his teeth.

  Yana cleared her throat. “Geodery Gandor, key-master to Count Helsin Karan,” she announced.

  He nodded at us; Yana and Doiran made full bows, and I followed suit. Tallisk, as master of house and craft, only bent his knee. That, I thought, seemed hard enough for him. Tension was writ in every line of his body.

  “Maestro Tallisk,” Gandor said, with a thin semblance of a smile. “We are greatly indebted to you for the loan of your art.” He spoke in the subtly archaic dialect of the Blooded, expansively rolling the syllables around in his mouth.

  “As I am for your master’s patronage.” Tallisk’s voice was flat and toneless. “All went well?”

  “I am sure Isadel writ-Tallisk will answer that.” With that, he stood aside and let his companion inside.

  Yana did not announce her—she was a member of the household, after all—but for a moment I felt an urge to bow, nonetheless. I had never seen anyone like her. She was tall, taller than I at least, with a fall of coal-black hair, and generously curved. Her skin was very pale, and nearly bare. A black, shining tunic as insubstantial as smoke clung to her curves, carefully cut to show her tattoos; she answered, in person, my questions about what an Adorned would wear.

  As for those tattoos...they lay in coils winding around her, curves of scarlet and blush-pink and deepest maroon. At second glance, I saw that those coils were snakes, thick as tree trunks, their pointed tails at her slippered feet, their great green-eyed heads resting on her bosom.

  She moved, shrugging off a thin fur stole, and further beauty was revealed. The scales of the snakes, rendered in shades of red from deep crimson to pale pink, were not scales at all—they were petals, rose petals, and some of them had seemingly loosed themselves from the snakes and were floating on her skin: a single blood-colored floweret in the hollow of her throat, a rush of fluttering pink on the side of her neck.

  Only now did she seem to notice me; she indicated it by a raising of her eyebrows and a flicker of expression toward Tallisk. He stood impassive, arms folded.

  “Please,” he said to Gandor, in an oddly dull and toneless voice, “stay a while and take a drink with us?”

  “Oh no, that simply is not possible,” Gandor said. “I’m needed to witness a trial. Deserters, you know—they’ll all be hanged.” He smiled, as if that pleased him. “But...a moment in private with the master of the house, please?”

  That was clear enough; Tallisk and Gandor vanished into the parlor, leaving the three of us standing in the hallway. Isadel handed her stole to Yana, who folded it up neatly. She looked at me squarely now; for a moment I saw in her almost-black eyes a cool, assessing gaze, strangely akin to Tallisk’s. Then she smiled at me, and her eyes became warm. “Are you Tallisk’s new blood, then?”

  “Isadel,” Doiran said, “this is Etan. He’s to be your new brother-Adorned.”

  I half bowed, and she curtsied, as an equal. She had a dancer’s easy grace in the movement, making me feel awkward as a duck. My eyes were drawn to her tattoos by a pull stronger than courtesy.

  “This is the first time you’ve seen an Adorned’s ink displayed, isn’t it?” A smile touched her lips. “Don’t worry. You can look; no one will mind.”

  “I didn’t mean to—” My own gasp of breath arrested my words. Now that we stood closer, I saw the true wonder of her Adornment—the tattooed snakes had turned their gaze on me. They blinked at me, eyes lazy as sleeping sand-dragons, and flicked the tips of their tails back and forth across Isadel’s skin. The red rainbow of their scales shifted and rippled, as if they were breathing, or moving slowly through a pool of warm water.

  I swallowed, mouth gon
e dry. I’d never seen such magic—never allowed myself to think it could exist. “By the Lord of Stars...”

  “No.” She shrugged. “Only by his younger sons.” Now done with her introductions, she turned away from me. “Yana,” she said, “my things are still in the carriage. Would you mind fetching them?”

  “Not at all.” She vanished out the door.

  I wondered how Isadel wasn’t shivering in the winter air; she was wearing barely more than wisps of gauze. She caught my eyes and I flushed; I had still been staring. “Well now,” she said, smiling. “I suppose we had better get dressed for supper? At least I should, no?”

  Looking at the floor I went, I feared, as scarlet as her snakes, and said nothing.

  Chapter Ten

  We were a small household, and we ate all together around a large wooden table in the dining room. It seemed strangely informal to me, from what I knew of city ways; I would have expected the master to dine with the household entire on a provincial farmhold, perhaps, not in Peretim. Still, no one else thought it out of the ordinary, though perhaps they were just used to Tallisk’s unconventional ways.

  I wore my new clothes; Doiran and Yana had divested themselves of their stiff outer coats, but had not changed in earnest. Isadel wore a long-sleeved robe, her sleeves tied back with ribbons so she could eat without them drooping in her plate. I snuck a glance at her now and then, though nothing of her Adornment could be seen.

  Tallisk was at the head of the table. He wore simple breeches and a white cotton shirt. He would not have looked too far out of place dining in Lun’s inn, save for his well-scrubbed hands. Another thing set him apart: his shirt’s collar was slightly open, its laces only half-tied, and my eyes were drawn to the triangle of skin on display at his breastbone. There I saw the terminus of some bold design, a starburst of deepest blue.

  Of course, all tattoo-masters, before they could claim such a title, had years of practice on themselves, and on each other. In public he would have to cover them, but this was his own house, and he was free to show them or not as he preferred. His own tattoos did not shift and breathe, like the ones on Isadel’s skin. Still, it discomfited me to see them so casually displayed, mostly because they kept drawing my gaze.