The Adorned (12 page)

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 moment’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.

“Etan?”

I paused. “Yes, sir?”

“You shall be more than a plaything for—” he twisted his face. “You shall be more than this.”

I looked up at him. It might have been the Count’s Blood that lent my Adornment its magic—but it was Tallisk’s design, Tallisk’s skill, that truly created it. He saw me as
his
, I realized. The knowledge made my heart nestle in my throat. “I know, sir,” I said softly. “You shall make me so.” Then I turned away, and left him silent and alone.

Chapter Seventeen

The date of the feast had been set for a week hence. A single day after the contract had been negotiated, one of the Count’s servants had brought us the news, along with our display-clothes. Those had been brought in lovely wooden boxes, which we were casually informed we could keep as gifts, and wrapped in thin tissue-paper. The paper was blue and white, the colors of Karan’s house, and soft as silk.

With Isadel’s he had sent a silver pomander. It fell out of the folds, unremarked upon, as she unwrapped it, regarding his choice with a businesslike expression. It was a long skirt of crimson velvet, slit high to the hip. She held it up. “Well, it’s a good thing the flame on my stomach’s finished now. This will expose it for sure.”

We were in the dining room, which was empty save for the two of us and the two boxes on the table. Yana and Doiran were busy with their own work, and Tallisk could not be disturbed to fuss over our clothes, so Isadel took the task of it in hand.

I looked over her shoulder at the skirt. I could see no other clothing in the empty box. “Are you to wear no, uh, no...”

She laid the skirt back in the box, careful of its delicate seams. “No, of course not. We don’t get hired to cover our Adornments.”

“Still,” I said, “you would never see a woman in the street so bare.”

“Well, no, but she would have nothing to
show
, Etan. When we do our work well, no one sees our bodies as bared flesh. We are moving art.”

I chewed this over. “Count Karan—”

“Count Karan,” she said, “might be our patron, but he is not who I bare my Adornments for. He has us made because it is...the done thing, not because he is a connoisseur of art.”

I traced my fingers over the lacquered top of my box. I had not yet opened it; I half feared to. “Do you know what he asked? What the Count asked of me?”

“Yes. I know.” She closed her box with a snap.

My mouth had gone dry. I bit my lip. “Do you know what he expects of me?”

“Yes, Etan,” she said, more gently. “He asked the same thing of me.”

“Was it—was he—?” My face felt furnace hot.

She shrugged. “It—
he
—is tolerable enough.” A quick grin lit her face. “Sometimes, it can even be a pleasant diversion. But don’t dwell on it so much; your true work is the display. His Grace may not appreciate the art as much as the skin it’s inked on, but be sure that his friends have eyes.”

“Thank you,” I said.

She nodded curtly. “You’ll do fine. Besides, I’ll be there.”

“What, the whole time?”

She saw my face and laughed. “Count Karan is like a child with a box of candies. Why have one when you can eat them all at once? Now enough of this, let’s see what he’ll have you wear, shall we?” Still chuckling, she opened the box, carefully exhuming its tissue-wrapped contents.

When she lifted my outfit from its wrappings, all other thoughts fled; all I could think was how bare I’d be with that scrap of fabric my only covering.

It was, as far as I could tell, no more than a simple leather breechclout, fastened with scarves of leaf-green silk. It would leave precious little of me to the imagination. I fingered the scarves. “What am I to do with this?”

“I’ve seen boys wear this before,” she said. “It’s taken from an old Surammer style.” Her mouth curled in half a smile. “Perhaps you’re meant to be a herald of peace.”

“Oh.” I looked it over once more, the fine dark leather and the silk. I thought I could read a thousand books and always envy Isadel her easy knowledge.

With care, she put the breechclout back in its papery nest. “Come,” she said, smiling. “We’ll try on our clothes, shall we? You’ll have to be comfortable moving in it, if you’ll be displayed so.”

She was right. It took hours of practice before I felt anything less than a trussed bird, trapped and wingless, in the offered breechclout. My posture, my expression, even my way of walking had to change to suit the way I was to be displayed; to do anything less would be like showing a beautiful painting in a ragged, rotting frame.

Isadel ran me through sequences of steps, correcting everything from the tilt of my head to the sway of my hips with the effortless sharpness of a musician pinpointing a false note. By the end of it, I was footsore and stumbling—but a little less ignorant for all of that, and
that
was worth more than my sore feet.

* * *

The night before the feast, we were sent to bed at sunset after a simple meal. We were to be fresh and rested for the next day’s display. It was a daunting prospect; I did not think I could have slept had Doiran drugged my soup. The sky was barely dimmed. I could still see it, purple-blue, peeking under the curtain.

Yana had been sent to purchase perfume and cosmetics; Isadel had her favored odors and colors already, but I required a different palette, a more masculine scent. I’d seen the cosmetics piled on the table in Tallisk’s atelier. He had claimed indifference to the niceties of display, but he still checked each pencil and dye against his inks to make sure it would not clash, and he sniffed the chosen perfumes to check them against his sensitive nose. Three of Yana’s choices were discarded before I had the pick of them.

Looking at the shifting colors of the sky, I wondered how I’d look tomorrow, primped and perfumed, the frame for my Adornments polished to a shine. I wondered what the Count would think. I wondered if he would smear the color on my mouth with his.

I must have fallen into some sort of sleep then, because the next I knew I was sitting up and blinking in the dark grey of nightfall. Some sound, some prescience, had drawn me out of slumber. The door to my room opened, slow and soundless, and I saw the soft gold glow of a lamp in a shadowed hand.