Warbreaker Part 50

"No, it's quite all right," he said, standing. "Why bother? I need to remember who I am. Lightsong, self-hating G.o.d. The most useless person ever granted immortality. Just answer one question for me."

Blushweaver paused. "What question?"

"Why?" he asked, looking at her. "Why do I hate being a G.o.d? Why do I act so frivolous? Why do I undermine my own authority. Why?"

"I... always a.s.sumed it was because you liked being pithy," she said.

"No," he said. "Blushweaver, I was like this from the first day. The very day I awoke, I refused to believe I was a G.o.d. Refused to accept my place in this pantheon and this Court. I've acted accordingly ever since. And, if I might say, I've gotten quite a bit more clever as the years have pa.s.sed. That is beside the point. The thing I must focus on-the important point here-is why."

"I don't know," she confessed.

"I don't either," he said. "But whomever I was before, he's trying to get out. That man I was before I died, he keeps whispering for me to dig at this mystery. Keeps warning me that I'm no G.o.d. Keeps prompting me to deal with this all in a frivolous way." He shook his head. "I don't know who I was-n.o.body will tell me. But I'm beginning to have suspicions. I was a person who couldn't simply sit and let something unexplained slide away into the fog of memory. I was a man who hated secrets. And I'm only just beginning to understand how many secrets there are in this Court."

Blushweaver looked taken aback.

"Now," he said, walking away from the pavilion, his servants hurrying to catch up, "if you will excuse me, I have some business to be about."

"What business?" Blushweaver demanded, rising.

He glanced back. "To see Allmother. There are some Lifeless Commands that need to be dealt with."

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

A week living in the gutters served to drastically change Vivenna's perspective on life.

She sold her hair on the second day, getting a depressingly small amount. The food that she'd bought with it hadn't even filled her stomach. She didn't have the strength to regrow the locks. The haircut didn't even have the dignity of being shaved-it was a ragged job of hackwork, and would have still been a pale white, save for the fact that it was matted and blackened with dirt and soot.

She sat on the side of the street, holding out her hand to the pa.s.sing crowds, keeping her eyes down. No offerings came. She wasn't certain how the other beggars did it; their meager earnings seemed an amazing treasure. They knew so much she didn't-where to sit, how to plead. Pa.s.sers learned to avoid beggars, even with their eyes. The successful beggars, then, were those who managed to draw attention.

Vivenna wasn't certain if she wanted the attention or not. Though the gnawing pain of hunger had eventually driven her out onto busy streets, she was still frightened that Denth or Vasher might find her.

The more hungry she grew, the less other worries seemed to bother her. Eating was a problem for now. Being killed by Denth or Vasher was a problem for later.

The flood of people in their colors continued to pa.s.s. Vivenna watched them without focusing on faces or bodies. Just colors. Like a spinning wheel, each spoke a different hue. Denth won't find me here, she thought. He won't see the me in the beggar on the side of the street.

Her stomach growled. She was learning to ignore it. Just like the people ignored her. She didn't feel like she was a true beggar or child of the street, not after just one week. But she was learning to imitate them, and her mind felt so fuzzy lately. Ever since she'd gotten rid of her Breath.

She pulled the shawl close. She kept it with her always.

She still hardly believed what Denth and the others had done. She had such fond memories of their joking. She couldn't connect that to what she'd seen in the cellar. In fact, sometimes, she found herself rising to seek them out. Surely the things she'd seen had been hallucinations. Surely they couldn't be such terrible men.

She sat back down.

That's foolish, she thought. I need to focus. Why isn't my mind working right anymore?

Focus on what? There wasn't much to think about. She couldn't go to Denth. Parlin was dead. The city authorities would be no help-she had now heard the rumors of the Idris princess who had been causing such troubles. She'd be arrested in a heartbeat.

There were soup kitchens in the city, but the first one she'd gone to, she'd spotted Tonk Fah lounging in a doorway across the street. She'd turned and scurried away, hoping he hadn't seen her. For the same reason, she didn't dare leave the city. Denth was sure to have agents watching the gates. Besides, where would she go? She didn't have the supplies for a trip to back to Idris.

Perhaps she could leave if she managed to save up enough money. That was hard, almost impossible. Every time she got a coin, she spent it on food. She couldn't help herself. Nothing else seemed to matter.

She'd already lost weight. Her stomach growled.

So, she sat, sweaty and dirty in the meager shade. She still wore only her shift and the shawl, though she was dirty enough that it was difficult to tell where clothing ended and skin began. Her arrogance of days past, refusing to wear anything but the rich dresses, now seemed ridiculous.

She shook her head. One week on the street felt like an eternity-yet she knew that she'd only just begun to experience the life of the poor. How did they survive? Sleeping in alleyways? Getting rained on every day? Jumping at every sound? Feeling so hungry they were tempted to pick at and eat the rotting garbage they found in gutters? She'd tried that. She'd even managed to keep some down.

It was the only thing she'd had to eat in two days.

Someone paused beside her. She looked up, eager, hand stretching further until she saw which colors were represented. Yellow and Blue. City guard. She grabbed at her shawl, pulling it closer. It was foolish, she knew-n.o.body knew about the Breaths it contained. The move was reflexive. The shawl was the only thing she owned, and-meager though it was-several urchins had already tried stealing it from her while she slept.

The guard didn't reach for her shawl. He just nudged her with his truncheon. "Hey," he said. "Move. No begging on this corner."

He didn't offer an explanation. They never did. There were apparently rules about where beggars could sit and where they couldn't, but n.o.body took thought to explain such things to the beggars. Laws were things of lords and G.o.ds, not the lowly.

I'm already starting to think about lords as if they were some other group.

Vivenna rose, head bowed, and felt a moment of nausea and dizziness. She rested against the side of the building, and the guard nudged her again, prompting her to shuffle away.

She bowed her head and moved along with the crowd, though most of them kept their distance from her. Ironic that they would leave her s.p.a.ce now that she didn't care. She didn't want to think about how she smelled-though more than the scent, it was the fear of being robbed that probably kept the others away. They needn't have worried. She wasn't skilled enough to cut purses or pick pockets, and she couldn't afford to get caught trying.

She'd stopped worrying about the morality of stealing days ago. Even before going to the streets, she hadn't been so naive to a.s.sume that she wouldn't steel if she were denied food-but she'd a.s.sumed that it would take her far longer to reach that state.

She didn't head to another corner, but instead shuffled out of the crowds, making her way back into the Idrian slums. Here she'd gained some small measure of acceptance. At least she was considered one of them. None knew that she was the princess-after that first man, n.o.body had recognized her. However, her accent had earned her a place.

She began to search out a location to spend the night. That was one of the reasons she'd decided not to continue begging for the evening. It was a profitable time, true, but she was just so tired. She wanted a good place to sleep. She wouldn't have thought that it would make much difference which alleyway one huddled in, but some were warmer than others and some had better cover from the rain. Some were safer. She was beginning to learn these things, as well as who to avoid making mad.

In her case, that last group included pretty much everyone-including the urchins. They were all above her in the pecking order. She'd learned that second first day. She'd tried to bring back a coin from selling her hair, intending to save it for a chance at leaving the city. She wasn't certain how the urchins had known that she had coin, but she'd gotten her first beating that day.

Her favorite alleyway turned out to be occupied by a group of men with dark expressions, doing something that was obviously illegal. She left quickly, going to her second favorite. It was crowded with a gang of urchins. The ones who had beaten her before. She left that one quickly as well.

The third alley it was, this one beside a building that cooked bread. It was often warmer there, perhaps from the ovens. She found it empty, but cold. The ovens hadn't been on today.

She laid down anyway, curling up with her back against the bricks, clutching her shawl close. She was out in moments, despite the lack of pillow or blanket.

Chapter Forty.

Siri was sitting and having a meal on the Court green when Tridees found her. She ignored him for a time, content to pick at the dishes in front of her.

The sea, she had decided, was quite strange. What else could be said of a place that could sp.a.w.n creatures with such wiggly tentacles, other creatures with such boneless bodies, and yet others with such needly skins? She poked at something the locals called a cuc.u.mber, but which-in actuality-tasted nothing like one.

She tried them all, testing each one with her eyes closed, focusing on the flavor. Some hadn't been as bad as the others. She hadn't really liked any of them.

I would have trouble becoming a true Hallandren, she decided, sipping her fruit juice.

Fortunately, the juice was delicious. The variety, and flavor, of the numerous Hallandren fruits was almost as astounding as the oddness of its sea life.

Tridees cleared his throat. The G.o.d King's high priest was not a man who was accustomed to waiting.

Siri nodded to her serving women, motioning for them to prepare another series of plates. Susebron had given Siri some coaching on how to eat with etiquette, and she wanted to practice. Coincidentally, his way of eating-taking small bites, never really finishing anything-was a rather good one for testing out new dishes.

She wanted to become familiar with Hallandren, its ways, its people, its tastes. She'd forced her servants to begin talking to her more, and she planned to meet with more of the G.o.ds. In the distance, she saw Lightsong wandering by, and she waved to him fondly. He seemed uncharacteristically preoccupied; he only gave a wave of his own, and didn't come to visit her.

Pity, she thought. I would have liked a good excuse to keep Tridees waiting even longer.

The high priest cleared his throat again, this time more demandingly. Finally, Siri stood, waving for her servants to stay behind.

"Would you mind walking with me for a bit, your grace?" she asked lightly. She pa.s.sed him, moving in a gorgeous violet dress with a gossamer train that trailed behind her in the gra.s.s.

He hurried to catch up. "I need to speak to you about something."

"Yes," she said. "I deduced that by the way that you summoned me several times today."

"You didn't come," he said.

"It seems to me that the wife of the G.o.d King should not make a habit of responding to demands and hopping whenever she is requested."

Tridees frowned.

"However," she continued, "I will of course make time for the high priest himself, should he come to speak to me."

He eyed her, standing tall and straight-backed, wearing the G.o.d King's colors of the day-blue and copper. "You should not antagonize me, your highness."

Siri felt just a flush off anxiety, but caught her hair before it bleached white. "I am not antagonizing you," she said. "I am simply establishing some things that should have been mine from the beginning."

Tridees got a hint of a smile on his face.

What? Siri thought with surprise. Why that reaction?

As they walked, he drew himself up more straightly. "Is that so," he said, his voice turning condescending. "You know very little of what you presume, your highness."

Blast! she thought. How did this conversation get away from me so quickly?

"I might say the same to you, your grace." The ma.s.sive black temple of a palace loomed above them, sheer ebony blocks stacked like the playthings of gigantic child.

"Oh?" he said, glancing at her. "Somehow I doubt that."

She had to force back another spear of anxiety. Tridees smiled again.

Wait, she thought. It's like he can read my emotions. Like he can see...

Her hair hadn't changed colors, at least not discernibly. She glanced at Tridees, trying to figure out what was wrong. She noticed something interesting. In a pool around Tridees, the gra.s.s seemed just a shade more colorful.

Breath, she thought. Of course he'd have it! He's one of the most powerful men in the kingdom.

People with lots of Breath were supposed to be able to see very minute changes in color. Could he really be reading her from such faint reactions in her hair? Was that why he had always been able to be so dismissive?

He could see her fear.

She gritted her teeth. In her youth, Siri had ignored the exercises that Vivenna had done to make sure she had complete control over her hair. People who knew her would be able to read her emotions despite her hair, so what was the point in learning to keep it the same color?

She hadn't factored in a Court of the G.o.ds and men with the power of BioChroma. Those tutors had been a whole lot more intelligent than Siri had given them credit. As were the priests. Now that she thought about it, it seemed obvious that Tridees and the others would have studied the meanings of all the shades of the royal locks.

She needed to get the conversation back on course. "Do not forget, Tridees," she said. "You are the one who came to see me. Obviously, I have some power here, if I could force even the high priest to come."

He glanced at her, eyes harsh. Focusing, she kept her hair the deepest black. Black, for confidence. She met his eyes, and let not even a slight twinge color her locks.

He finally turned away. "I have heard disturbing rumors."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It appears that you are no longer fulfilling your wifely duties. Are you pregnant?"

"No," she said. "I had my women's issue just a couple of days ago. You can ask my servants."

"Then why have you stopped trying?"

"What?" she asked lightly. "Are your spies are annoyed to be missing their nightly show?"

Tridees flushed just slightly. He glanced at her, and she again managed to keep her hair completely black. Not even a glimmer of white or red. He seemed more uncertain.

"You Idrians," the priest spat. "Living up in your lofty mountains, dirty and uncultured, but still a.s.suming that you're better than us. Don't judge me. Don't judge us. You know nothing."

"I know that you've been listening in on the G.o.d King's chamber."

"Not just listening," Tridees said. "The first few nights, there was a spy in the chambers itself."

Siri couldn't mask this blush. Her hair remained mostly black, but if Tridees really did have enough BioChroma to distinguish subtle changes, he would have noticed a bit of red in it.

"You are a foreign element," Tridees said, turning away. "I am well aware of the poisonous things your monks teach, the hatred into which you're indoctrinated. Do you really think that we'd let a woman from Idris confront the G.o.d King himself, alone, unwatched? We had to make certain you weren't intending to kill him. We're still not convinced."

"You speak with remarkable frankness," she noted.