The Adorned Read online

  “Always shall we put beauty before us; beauty shall precede us like a herald.”

  I turned to Isadel. Her smile was thin and serene. She was quoting, I thought; I did not know what. Tallisk’s own expression was sour.

  The house we stopped at was not the largest, though it seemed, to me, the finest. Its garden looked like a forest at dawn. Birch and willow and trees I could not name, smaller than they would grow in the wild, had been arranged to form paths and bowers. Some of their leaves had an unnatural glow, an almost golden touch to them.

  The carriage halted at the gate. Two groomsmen, bowing, took over care of the horses, freeing Yana to precede us as key-master. We were expected. The gate was opened for us, and a servant in white led us down a gently sloping path.

  Near the bottom of it was a pond, and a stone bench. A man reclined there; I could see no more of him than white clothes and a suggestion of dark hair. The bench was flanked by two burly bloodguards, and servants went to and fro with silver salvers. One, a dark-skinned Southern woman, played a harp. A willow swooned over the scene.

  “Give me that,” Tallisk said to Isadel under his breath. He grabbed the parasol, and his other arm he reached out to me, like a suitor asking for a dance. I blinked at it. “Take my arm,” he said. “And walk with head held high.”

  So we proceeded.

  The Count did not rise as we approached, though his servants did, with bowed heads. The harpist paused her song, hands held taut above the strings.

  “The household of Master Roberd Tallisk,” Yana said, with a quick bow.

  “Maestro Tallisk.” The Count had a low, musical voice; laughter seemed to lurk in it. “You are welcome here. I have been expecting you.”

  The harpist resumed her play, though softer, and the servants moved toward us, offering treats from their silver tray. Tallisk’s hand, hard on my arm, told me to demur.

  “Your Grace,” he said, releasing my arm. “Allow me to present Etan writ-Tallisk.”

  Now he did rise. I had not before met any of the Blooded, but I would have known it of him had I seen him in beggar’s rags. He was tall, and beautiful in a sharp, remote fashion, like a fox or a bird of prey. His hair was black and silk smooth, and his eyes had the telltale opalescent cast of his kind. They were grey gold, like old jewelry.

  “Very nice,” he said, circling us. His long fingers almost brushed my bare back, and I shivered. “This is a new direction for you, Maestro. You must be taking inspiration from the fine spring.”

  “Indeed.” The harshness of Tallisk’s voice startled me.

  The Count smiled. The teeth at the corners of his mouth were sharp. “Isadel, my dear,” he said, “I have a notion.”

  She curtsied to him. “My lord?”

  “Haqan—Lord Loren, that is—has his natal day soon. I plan to throw him a feast.”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  He laughed. “Loren’s colors are green and red. How fine would it be for you and your writ-brother both to attend at his feast? An auspicious first contract for him, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Auspicious indeed, my lord,” she said, though her tone was dubious.

  Tallisk stood impassive, holding the parasol above me, as the Count hatched his plan. Patron or not, I thought, Tallisk seemed to have little love for him.

  “Yes,” the Count said, “I think so. I shall have Geodery come to draw up a contract for the boy. Isadel shall once again be displayed on our agreed terms, I trust?”

  Tallisk shifted his shoulders. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “Very well.” He looked at me once more, smiling. The fox in his features was clear in that smile: he looked hungry. “Oh, and I will make sure the boy—Etan, was it?—has a proper display-costume made up, as well. I trust you have his measurements? I will bear that expense, of course. Haqan will be pleased, to have himself celebrated thusly.”

  “I am sure,” Tallisk said, “he will.”

  “Well then,” the Count said. “Only one thing remains to be done.” He showed the edges of his sharp teeth in a smile. “Come here, Etan.”

  I glanced toward Tallisk, automatically, and the Count laughed. “Tell him I am nothing to fear, Maestro Roberd.”

  “Go to him,” Tallisk said, his voice low, almost strained. “You’ll understand. Go.”

  I took a halting step toward the Count, then another. He smiled, but his golden eyes were unreadable—the eyes of a beast set in the face of a beautiful statue. “Kneel, Etan,” he said, and I did. He stepped closer. His hands were raised like claws. I warred with the impulse to shut my eyes; I wanted to see what was coming. Then he laid his hands on my shoulders.

  His touch was cool, almost cold, and very gentle—yet there was a strength in it that I could not have struggled against even if I wanted to. My breath caught in my throat. The cool touch of his fingers seemed to creep under my skin, and there was a feeling of something almost like pain: the remembrance of a needle, perhaps. For one dizzying moment I felt the beat of blood in two hearts; I saw myself, a pale and frightened youth, and felt my hands strong on my own shoulders.

  Then it was over. The Count lifted his hands from me; once more I breathed. I blinked up at the Count. He favored me with an indolent smile and held out his hand so that I might rise.

  I did, stumbling slightly. Tallisk was behind me, his hand on the small of my back, steadying me. I looked back at him and caught the motion of leaves on my shoulder. It was ever-so-slight, but it was there, undeniably—no trick of the eye, this. I looked to Tallisk. “What—”

  “Blood calls to blood,” the Count said. “I have awakened it. Ah, speaking of which...” He reached inside his coat and took out a small silver vial—and a thin, sharp knife. I sucked in a breath as he pierced the tip of his own finger and let thick, rich drops of blue-black blood slip into the silver.

  Blood calls to blood—I understood, then, what Tallisk had inked into me. A trickle of gods’ blood ran under my skin.

  The Count tossed the vial to Tallisk as if it were an apple, or a coin tossed to a beggar; Tallisk caught it neatly in his fist.

  The Count turned to Isadel and smiled. “Come here.” He beckoned her closer and leaned to kiss her, lightly, on the cheek. “As always, it is a pleasure to see you.”

  “As always, my pleasure is the greater, my lord.”

  “Etan.” I thought perhaps he would lean in to kiss me, as well. Instead he touched a leaf upon my shoulder, lightly, and I shivered. A rushing echo of that strange doubling—two hearts, two sets of eyes—passed over me and was gone. “I shall see you again very soon.”

  I bowed to him. “Your Grace.” With effort, I kept my voice from shaking.

  “You may take your leave now,” he said, waving us away. He took his place on the bench once more, lounging like a cat.

  Tallisk took my arm again. We were led back up the path, Yana now our rear guard. The sound of the harp faded to a plucked whisper. A breeze whisked the grass. I heard birds whistling sweetly in the shrunken trees; their songs were clear with careful tones, nothing heard in nature.

  All in all, I thought, I was not unhappy to leave the Count’s pleasure garden.

  Once we were settled in the carriage, Isadel sighed heavily and gave me a dark look. “You had better not displease the Count,” she said, “or his guests. We can’t afford that.”

  “Isadel,” Tallisk said sharply.

  “All that I’m saying is—”

  “It is not your place to say it.”

  She sat back, sullen. There was a moment’s silence.

  “Count Karan is our patron,” Tallisk said, with obvious reluctance. “And the niceties of display are more Isadel’s territory than my own. You would do well to follow her example. And not to displease him.”

  Isadel snorted. It was the least elegant thing I had ever seen her do. “None of us can afford to displease him. He heads the Council, you know.”

  “I know,” I said in a whisper. I thought of his hands on me. Hands that ha
d signed pardons and declarations of war.

  “Still, there would be better men...” Tallisk said. We looked at him, me and Isadel both; he barely seemed to notice our eyes on him. “There would be better men,” he repeated, “to grant your first display.”

  “He served well enough for mine.” Isadel’s voice was soft and cold.

  I shifted in my seat, caught between them. Then Tallisk chuckled.

  “Never mind.” His eyes were strange and hooded. “Never mind.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As the Count promised, he soon sent Geodery Gandor to negotiate my contract.

  He was shown into the parlor by Yana, and Doiran was sent to fetch drinks. I peered down from the landing at him; Tallisk had told me I was not required to attend, but I wanted to see him, and if possible, the gold that he had brought. Of course it wouldn’t be so openly done, the exchange. Still, I wondered how much a night of my display would cost. Would it be more than the fee Tallisk had paid for me, already? Or would an Adorned come at a discount for the patron whose Blood created them?

  I sat down on the stairs, plucking at my sleeves. Since my Adornment had proceeded, Tallisk had given me a robe much like Isadel’s. Though hers no longer quite hid all her Adornments, mine still covered the burgeoning greenery on my skin. Tallisk had not touched needle to me since our outing, though. He knew the Count would want me soon, and it would be improper to display unhealed ink. The little silver vial had gone into his ink-box. In Lun, I thought, there would be more than a few who’d make a relic of it.

  The library door creaked, startling me out of my thoughts; Isadel stepped out, brushing dust from her sleeves. “Is he here?”

  I nodded.

  She touched me lightly on the shoulder. “I’m sure it will all be well.”

  I shrank away from her. “That isn’t what you said before.”

  She sighed. “Now, come on, forgive me a little for that. This is my livelihood, you know. I have to stay in the Count’s good graces.”

  “You’re afraid I’ll make you look bad.”

  She put a hand on her hip. “Well, yes. You would be as well, in my place.”

  I could not quite bring myself to argue with that. She sat next to me on the stairs. Between us we filled the step. This was the closest I’d been to her. Her skin was very warm. Looking at her from the corner of my eye, I noticed she was younger than I’d thought her. Twenty-five, I’d guessed; seeing the curves of her skin, I thought I’d guessed four or five years too much.

  “I’ve not met Lord Loren before,” she said. “He is one of the Count’s great friends, but has been at war.”

  “With the Surammers?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Who else? He’s the one with the Surammer turncoat, remember? He led the siege of Er Surain.”

  I did remember. “And now he’s coming here.”

  “Which has helped convince some cynics that the war truly is over.” She paused, frowning a little. “He will see us for the first time together.”

  I looked at her sideways. “And get his impression of both of us.”

  She nodded. “It won’t be him alone, either. Half the nobles of the city, Blood and Sword both, will find their way to the Count’s gardens. Especially now that Lord Loren has come.”

  I swallowed. It seemed my first display would not be a quiet affair. Who knew what might hang on this occasion?

  A yell from downstairs broke my train of thought. Isadel and I leaped up as one, startled. It was Tallisk, of course, his voice unmistakable. My heart pounded painfully. I wanted very much to slink away, to hide out in my room, but I felt frozen to my place on the steps. Isadel also held still, quickly schooling away her shock.

  The door to the parlor flew open, banging into the wall. My shoulders jumped. Tallisk stalked out into the hallway, face reddened, breathing hard. He looked up. His eyes were nearly as red as his face, and bleared with hot anger. “Etan. Good.” His voice was strangled and careful, as if he feared another yell escaping him. “Would you come in here with me, please?”

  I looked at Isadel a moment. She inclined her head.

  “Yes, sir.” I descended, following him into the parlor.

  Geodery Gandor was still seated, one leg propped atop the other, unruffled. He held a wineglass between two slender fingers.

  “Sit down,” Tallisk said, gesturing to a small pillow chair. I sat, feeling ill at ease; Tallisk remained standing. He took several long breaths before he spoke again, and when he did, his voice was cold. “Gandor has passed on a particular request from His Grace, the Count. A codicil to the contract of display. It would require your express consent.”

  I frowned. “My consent?”

  “That was one of my conditions, to agree to this codicil.” His mouth twisted. “The second,” he said, turning back to Gandor, “is that you ask it of the boy yourself. I’ll not be your messenger in this.”

  Gandor turned to face me, smiling. He seemed blandly unashamed. I could guess what he was about to ask all too well.

  “This is an unusual request, we are aware of that. But the Count was impressed by you. The Lord of Stars protects you, as he does all those who offer their beauty.”

  Tallisk barked a laugh. “You would think he finds enough of those without plundering my stores.”

  “Aha, ha.” It was not quite a laugh. “Your stores, indeed.” Gandor paused to lick his lips. “The Count has particular tastes. As do all those of the Blood. While the pleasure houses of the city might hold great appeal to those with an interest solely in beauty and pleasure, His Grace does not wish to...seed ground that another has plowed before.” He paused. “If you follow.”

  With this he managed to surprise me. “Are you asking if I’ve been done before?” I said, stunned into bluntness.

  He did not blink. “In so many words, yes.”

  I looked to Tallisk, bewildered, but my master would be no help: he stared into the distance, fists clenched.

  “I’ve not,” I said at last. “I mean, I’m untouched.”

  “You’d swear it with a priest?”

  I laughed at that, startled; it was rude, but I could not help it. “His Grace would require that?”

  “Would you, if he did?”

  I tensed my shoulders. “If he needs me to swear with a priest I will, but I’ve no need to lie. It’s not a boast to be such. Nor a shame.”

  Tallisk’s impassive brow quirked a little; whether he was pleased or displeased I could not tell.

  “No boast, and no shame for one not of the Blood,” Gandor conceded, “but if you stand to gain—”

  “I gain nothing,” I said. “I am under indenture.” I thought I’d gone too far, and I bit my lip; again, Tallisk said nothing.

  “Fair words, though naive,” Gandor said, and he smiled. “I do not think anything save your word is needed. I think you speak the truth.”

  “I am glad to hear it, sir.”

  “So. You will consent, then?”

  I swallowed. “Consent for him to—”

  “Only for him to be your...” He licked his lips again. “Your initiator. Do you understand my meaning?”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “And so. You consent?”

  I took a breath, shuddering a little with it. Naive, he had called me, but I was not so naive that I didn’t know how some of the Blooded enjoyed the beauty of the Adorned they had made for them...though I had not anticipated it to be so spelled out. After a moment, I nodded. “I do.”

  “Good. His Grace will be pleased. A codicil will be appended to the contract, and your display fee shall be doubled.”

  I had not expected my untutored services to be so dear. I did not know the exact cost of my display fee—it was vulgar to ask—but I knew one such display could keep the household fed for a month. All this, for offering my unplowed body to Count Karan? His Grace must have money to throw away, I thought, if he so casually spent it on my conquest.

  “Thank you,” I said, after a mom
ent’s silence. It seemed the proper thing to say.

  Gandor smiled. “All will be settled, then. Maestro Tallisk, I trust His Grace’s note of credit will be acceptable?”

  Tallisk grunted. “As always.”

  “Excellent.” He rose, granting a short bow to Tallisk and a nod of the head to me. “All will be arranged. I shall send the details via courier shortly. Now, I take my leave.”

  Yana was waiting for him in the corridor; she showed him out. Tallisk remained where he was, and so did I. Watching him.

  He cleared his throat. “Etan.” His voice was harsh.

  I looked to him, saying nothing.

  “Etan,” he repeated, then shook his head, as if to clear it of dust. “You did not have to agree.”

  I took a breath. “You said yourself, sir. Count Karan is your patron, and the greatest contributor to our coffers. You did not want him displeased.”

  “Still.” He pressed his hand against the doorjamb. His sleeve had crept up; I could see the edges of his tattoos. “You are my—you are an Adorned. This is not a bawdy house.”

  Neither was I a streetwalker, I thought. I was not offering myself to anyone with the purse to afford me. I had been asked, and by a Blooded count. “Sir,” I said, “there is no shame in it, is there?”

  “No!” He pounded his fist into the doorjamb. “And no damned glory either, is there, boy?”

  I looked him in the eye without flinching. I would not let him shame me for this. I knew Isadel lay with the Count; I would be a fool if I did not. I also knew his coin paid for Tallisk’s fine wines and silk handkerchiefs. My mouth was a set, tight line. I would not let him shame me for a choice by which he would profit more than I.

  A long antic dance played out in my heartbeats, and he looked away. His cheeks were still red, and his nostrils flaring, but he had turned away before I had. “Go to your room,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” I rose and turned my back to him.