Warbreaker Part 8

Calmseer was the last honorable Returned this city has known, Lightsong thought, sipping his drink. n.o.body left has a shred of her decency. Myself included.

Blushweaver fell silent, watching the latest display from the firemasters. The show had grown progressively more ornate, and Lightsong was considering calling the men off, lest they use all of their fireworks on him and not have any left should another G.o.d call upon them.

Blushweaver didn't make any moves to return to her own pavilion, and Lightsong let her be. He suspected that she hadn't come simply for verbal sparring, or even to try and bed him. No, Blushweaver had her plans. In Lightsong's experience, there was more depth to the woman than at first glance.

Eventually, his hunch paid off. She turned from the fireworks, eying the dark palace of the G.o.d King. "We have a new queen."

"I noticed," Lightsong said. "Though, admittedly, only because I was reminded several times."

They fell silent.

"Have you no thoughts on the matter?" Blushweaver finally asked.

"I try to avoid having thoughts. They lead to other thoughts, and-if you're not careful-those lead to actions. Actions make you tired. I have this on rather good authority from someone who once read it in a book."

Blushweaver sighed. "You avoid thinking, you avoid me, you avoid effort... is there anything you don't avoid?"

"Breakfast."

Blushweaver didn't react to this, which Lightsong found disappointing. She was too focused on the King's palace. Lightsong often tried to ignore the large black building; he didn't like how it seemed to tower over him.

"Perhaps you should make an exception," Blushweaver said, "and give some thought to this particular situation. This queen means something."

"We've had queens before."

"Never one of the Royal line," Blushweaver said. "At least, there hasn't been one since the days of Klad the Usurper."

Klad. The man who had started the Manywar, the one who had used his knowledge of BioChromatic Breath to create a vast army of Lifeless and seize power in Hallandren. He had protected the kingdom, yet shattered it, driving the Royals into the highlands.

Now they were back. Or, at least, one of them was.

"This is a dangerous day, Lightsong," Blushweaver said quietly. "What happens if that woman bears a child who isn't Returned?"

"Impossible," Lightsong said.

"Oh? You are that confident?"

Lightsong nodded. "Of the Returned, only the G.o.d King can bear children, and they're always stillborn."

Blushweaver shook her head. "The only word we have on that is from the palace priests themselves. Yet, I've heard of... discrepancies in the records. Even if we don't worry about those, there are plenty of other considerations. Why do we need a Royal to 'legitimize' our throne? Isn't three hundred years of rule by the Court of G.o.ds enough to make the kingdom legitimate?"

Lightsong shrugged.

"This marriage says that we still accept Royal authority," Blushweaver said. "What happens if that king up in the highlands decides to take his kingdom back? What happens if that queen of ours in there has a child by another man? Who is the heir? Who rules?"

"The G.o.d King rules. Everyone knows that."

"He didn't rule three hundred years ago," Blushweaver said. "The Royals did. Then, after them, Klad did-and after him, Peacegiver. Change can happen quickly. By inviting that woman into our city, we could have initiated the end of Returned rule in Hallandren."

She fell silent, pensive. Lightsong studied the beautiful G.o.ddess. It had been fifteen years since her Return-which made her old, for a Returned. Old, wise, and incredibly crafty.

Blushweaver glanced at him. "I don't intend to find myself caught, surprised, like the Royals were when Klad seized their throne. Some of us are planning, Lightsong. You can join us, if you wish."

"Politics, my dear," he said with a sigh. "You know how I loathe them."

"You're the G.o.d of bravery. We could use your confidence."

"At this point, I'm only confident that I'll be of no use to you."

Her face grew impa.s.sive. Eventually, she sighed and stood, stretching, showing off her perfect figure once again. "You'll have to stand for something eventually, Lightsong," she said. "You're a G.o.d to this people."

"Not by choice, my dear."

She smiled, then bent down and kissed him softly. "Just consider what I said. You're a better man than you give yourself credit for being. You think I'd offer myself to just anyone?"

He hesitated, then frowned. "Actually... yes. I do."

She laughed, turning as her servants picked up her couch. "Oh, come now! There've got to be at least three of the other G.o.ds I wouldn't think of letting touch me. Enjoy the party, and do try to imagine what our King is doing to our legacy up in his chambers right now. She glanced back at him. "Particularly if that imagining reminds you of what you just missed out on." She winked, then trailed away.

Lightsong sat back on his couch, then dismissed the firemasters with words of praise. As the minstrels began to play, he tried to empty his mind of Blushweaver's ominous words.

He failed.

Chapter Eight.

Siri groaned, rolling over. Her back hurt, her arms hurt, and her head hurt. In fact, she was so uncomfortable that she couldn't stay asleep, despite her fatigue. She sat up, holding her head.

She'd spent the night on the floor of the G.o.d King's bed chamber-sleeping, kind of. Sunlight poured into the room, reflecting off of the marble where the floor wasn't covered with rugs.

Black rugs, she thought, sitting in the middle of the rumpled blue dress, which she'd used as both blanket and pillow. Black rugs on a black floor with black furniture. These Hallandrens certainly know how to run with a motif.

The G.o.d King wasn't in the room. Siri glanced toward the oversized black leather chair where he'd spent much of the night. She hadn't seen him leave.

She yawned, then rose, pulling her shift out of the wadded mound of dress and putting it on. She pulled her hair out, flipping it behind her. Keeping it so long was going to take some getting used to. It fell down against her back, a contented blonde in color.

She'd survived the night untouched. Somehow.

She walked on bare feet over to the leather chair, running her fingers along its smooth surface. She'd been less than respectful. She'd dozed off. She'd curled up and pulled her dress close for warmth. She'd even glanced over at the chair a few times. Not because of defiance or a disobedient heart; she'd simply been too drowsy to remember that she wasn't supposed to look at the G.o.d King.

He hadn't ordered her executed. Bluefingers had had made her worry that the G.o.d King was volatile and quick to anger. Yet, if that were the case, then he had held his temper with her. What else was he going to do? The Hallandren had waited for decades to get a Royal princess to marry into their line of G.o.d Kings. She smiled. I do have some power. He couldn't kill her-not until he had what he wanted.

It wasn't much. But, it did give her a bit more confidence. She walked around the chair, noting its size. Everything in the room was built as if to be just a little too large, skewing her perspective, making her feel shorter than she was. She rested her hand on the arm of the chair, and found herself wondering why he hadn't decided to take her. What was wrong with her? Wasn't she desirable?

Foolish girl, she told herself, shaking her head and walking over to the still-undisturbed bed. You spent most of the trip here worrying about what would happen on your wedding night, and then when nothing happens, you complain about that too?

She knew she wasn't free. He would take her eventually-that was the point of the entire arrangement. But, it hadn't happened last night. She smiled, yawning. Then, she climbed up into the bed and curled up in the covers, drifting off.

The next time she woke was a great deal more pleasant than the previous had been. Siri stretched, and then noticed something.

Her dress, which she'd left sitting in a heap on the floor, was gone. Also, the fire in the hearth had been stoked-though why that was necessary was beyond her. The day was warm, and she'd kicked off most of the covers as she'd slept.

I'm supposed to burn the sheets, she remembered. That's the reason they rebuilt the fire.

She sat up in her shift, alone in the black room. The servants and priests wouldn't know that she'd spent the night on the floor unless the G.o.d King had told someone. How likely would a man of his power be to speak with his priests about intimate details?

Slowly, Siri climbed out of bed and pulled the sheets free. She wadded them up, walked over, and threw them into the large hearth. Then she watched the flames. She still didn't know why the G.o.d King had left her alone. Until she knew, it seemed better to just let everyone a.s.sume that the wedding had been consummated.

After the sheets were finished burning, Siri scanned the room, looking for something to wear. She found nothing. Sighing, she walked to the door, clothed only in her shift. She pulled it open, and jumped slightly. Two dozen serving women of varying ages knelt outside.

G.o.d of Colors! Siri thought. How long have they been kneeling out here? Suddenly, she didn't feel quite so indignant at being forced to wait upon the G.o.d King's whims. Apparently, she'd just done something similar to these women.

The women stood up, heads bowed, and walked into the room. Siri backed up, c.o.c.king her head she noticed that several of the women carried in large chests. They're dressed in different colors from the day before, Siri thought. The cut was the same-divided skirts, like flowing trousers, topped with sleeveless blouses and small caps, their hair coming out the back. Instead of the blue and silver, the outfits were now yellow and copper.

The women opened the trunks, removing various layers of clothing. All were of bright colors, and each was of a different cut. The women spread them out on the floor before Siri, then settled back on their knees, waiting.

Siri hesitated. She'd grown up the daughter of a king, so she'd never really lacked. Yet, life in Idris was austere. She'd owned five dresses, which had been nearly been an extravagant number. One had been white, and the other four had been the same wan blue.

Being confronted by so many colors and options felt overwhelming. She stood, trying to imagine how each would look on her. Many of them were dangerously low cut, even more so than the shirts the serving women wore-and those were already scandalous by Idris standards.

Finally, hesitantly, Siri pointed at one outfit. It was a dress in two pieces, red skirt and matching blouse. As Siri pointed, the serving women stood, some putting away the unchosen outfits, others walking over to carefully remove Siri's shift.

In a few minutes, Siri was dressed. She was embarra.s.sed to find that-while the clothing fit her perfectly-the blouse was designed to reveal her midriff. Still, it wasn't as low cut as the others, and the skirt went all the way down to her calves. The silky red material was far lighter than the thick wools and linen she was accustomed to wearing. The skirt flared and ruffled when she turned, and Siri couldn't be completely certain it wasn't sheer. Standing in it, she almost felt as naked as she'd been during the night.

That appears to be a recurring theme for me here, she thought wryly as the serving women backed away, bowing. Others approached with a stool, and she sat, waiting as the women cleaned her face and arms with a pleasantly warm cloth. When that was done, they re-applied her makeup, did her hair, then sprayed her with a few puffs of perfume.

When she opened her eyes-perfume misting down around her-Bluefingers was standing in the room. "Ah, excellent," he said, servant boy standing obediently behind with ink, quill, and paper. "You're up already."

Already? Siri thought. It has to be well past noon.

Bluefingers looked her over, nodded to himself, then glanced at the bed, obviously checking to see that the linens had been destroyed. "Well," he said. "I trust that your servants will see to your needs, Vessel." With that, he began to walk away with the anxious feet of a man who felt he had far too much to do.

"Wait!" Siri said, standing, jostling several of her serving women.

Bluefingers hesitated. "Vessel?"

Siri floundered, uncertain how to express what she was feeling. "Do you know... what I'm supposed to do?"

"Do, Vessel?" the scribe asked. "You mean, in regards to..." he glanced at the bed.

Siri flushed. "No, not that. I mean with my time. What are my duties? What is expected of me?"

"To provide an heir."

"Beyond that."

Bluefingers frowned. "I... well, to be honest, Vessel, I really don't know. I must say, your marriage has certainly caused a level of... disruption in the Court of G.o.ds."

In my life, too, she thought.

"In the past," Bluefingers said, "the G.o.d King always married a G.o.ddess. She, therefore, could live in her own palace and attend her own duties, watched by her own servants. She only needed to visit the palace at night. You, however, have neither palace nor servants. We could provide you with a palace in Court-there are several that are unoccupied-but, you're not Returned, so it probably wouldn't be appropriate."

He paused, eyeing her-as if all of this were her fault. "My lady, you are-I'm afraid-a bureaucratic nightmare."

Siri fell silent, flushing slightly, hair turning red.

"Not that you're to blame, of course," Bluefingers said quickly. "But, then... well, I certainly wish I'd had more forewarning."

"More forewarning?" Siri asked. "This marriage was arranged by treaty over twenty years ago!"

"Yes, well, but n.o.body thought..." he trailed off. "Ahem. Well, either way, we shall do our best to accommodate you here in the King's palace."

What was that? Siri thought. n.o.body thought... that the marriage would really happen? Why not? Did they a.s.sume that Idris wouldn't keep it's part of the bargain?

"Anyway," Bluefingers said, inching toward the door again, "if you have no further need of me..."

"I still don't know what I'm supposed to do," Siri said, sitting down on the stool again. "Am I to sit here in the palace and stare at the fire all day?"

Bluefingers chuckled. "Oh, Colors no! My lady, this is the Court of the G.o.ds! You'll find plenty to occupy you. Each day, performers are allowed to enter the Court and display their talents for their deities. You may have any of these brought to you for a private performance."

"Ah," Siri said. "Can I, maybe, go horseback riding?"

Bluefingers rubbed his chin. "I suppose we could bring some horses into the Court for you. Of course, we'd have to wait until the Wedding Jubilations are over."

"Wedding Jubilations?" she asked.

"You... don't know, then? Were you not prepared for any of this?"

Siri flushed.

"No offense intended, Vessel," Bluefingers said. "The Wedding Jubilation is a week long period in which we celebrate the G.o.d King's marriage. During that time, you are not to leave this palace. At the end of it, you will officially be presented to the Court of G.o.ds."

"Oh," she said. "And, after that, I can go out of the city?"

"Out of the city!" Bluefingers said. "Vessel, you can't leave the Court of G.o.ds!"

"What?"

"You may not be a G.o.d yourself," Bluefingers continued. "But you're the wife of the G.o.d King. It would be far too dangerous to let you out. But do not fret-anything and everything you might request can be provided for you."