The Adorned (28 page)

I edged away from him, turning to look him in the eye. He looked cautious and curious, and not at all inebriated. I wondered if he’d even tasted one drop of the wine our hosts had been so generous with. “If His Grace wishes it, then yes. So you would have to ask him, my lord.”

“A careful answer.” A quirk of a grin touched his lips. “Perhaps I shall. Perhaps I shall ask loan of you for the night.” He winked; the gesture looked almost grotesque on him, feigning a playfulness that did not touch his eyes.

“My lord.” I held his eyes. “You are not after pleasure, I think.”

For a moment he seemed to look at me, unseeing. Then the grin fell away, and he sighed. When he spoke again, it was in a low, even tone, without false playfulness. “No, Etan, I am not. If I favored boys, I am sure you would be the first on my list. But I am a simple man, and faithful to my wife.” He laughed softly. “No matter how unfashionable that may be.”

I had known this—I had known it when he’d drawn away from my kiss at Fevrewood. “Then why pretend otherwise?”

He traced a finger across the line of my jaw, then lightly cupped my cheek. “At Fevrewood, you did me a great service.”

I almost smiled. “Your words from a sweeter mouth.”

“Yes. You probably thought the work of peace was done, once Princess Itayysa signed the treaty. And why not, since you see nothing of it here? But Count Karan, Countess Griman, Lord and Lady Arash—the Council of Blood, in other words—one would think
they
might know better. There are trade agreements to be made in the South, veterans in the North who still need their reparations. Now there is the grain shortage to be dealt with. People are going hungry, Etan, while we sit here and feast. So perhaps I have a use for you still.” He drew back his hand. “Unless you are content to be a bauble.”

I sucked in a breath and clamped my mouth on unwise words:
a
bauble or a pawn—what choices you give me
. “My lord,” I said instead. “That was unfair.”

His face softened instantly. “Yes. I am sorry, Etan. It was. You deserve better.”

I nodded and laid my hand on his; I could not fault him too much. He had to use what he was given. As we all did.

“You must understand,” he said, “I am trying—”

“To help.” I smiled at him. “I know.”

There was a throaty chuckle behind us. I drew my hand away from Lord Loren and turned; Artor Lukan stood behind the sofa, nursing a massive tankard. “Quite an auspicious occasion for romance,” he drawled.

Lord Loren rose from the couch, then, and excused himself. I watched him go toward the dancers and take up his place there, a whirling peacock with hawk’s eyes.

“My lord.” I inclined my head to Lukan. “How may I serve you?”

“Don’t be clever,” he growled. “I’m no lord, and it’s not
me
you’re here to serve.” He leaned over the couch, swirling the contents of his tankard, and grinned down at me. “It seems your writ-sister and my mistress are getting along well.”

Indeed, Isadel had scarce danced with anyone else, and high color had been on her cheeks all night. I smiled.

“How near is she to completion?”

It seemed an innocent question, but there was nothing innocent about Lukan. I cocked my head. “Only Master Tallisk would know that.”

“And you cannot hazard a guess?”

“She has been his Adorned for near three years, and her design is already extensive. It will not be longer than half a year.” I had spoken almost without thinking, as if I were Tallisk’s fellow artist instead of his canvas. Yet I knew that I was correct; I wondered how long she would stay in the household, after Tallisk placed his final mark. I wondered if another Adorned, with fresh skin, would take her place.

It was not an altogether pleasing prospect.

“How much do you know of Isadel’s life before she joined your Master’s household?”

I blinked. “Nothing, truly.”

“Heh.” He straightened and took a swig. “You should ask her, sometime. My mistress has told me stories. You see, before she was Isadel writ-Tallisk, she was Isadel Aerning, which is a stroke of luck for all.”

Aerning.
The name was Lowlander, I thought, and passing familiar. I frowned, watching Isadel across the gardens. She was laughing, tossing her dark hair. “What do you mean, a stroke of—?”

He had gone. I heard the echoes of his laughter as he crossed the gardens, but I did not see him.

I leaned back and looked at the sky. The moon had dipped below the horizon; the first tints of sunrise were in the air. We had feasted the night through, or near enough to it.

The garden lights were being dimmed, the guests scattering. Those high in the Count and Countess’ esteem would sleep here, in their manor or sprawled on the soft grass. The rest were leaving or being herded out. I heard the distant roar of the bloodguards, ordering the crowds at the gate to disperse.

I glanced toward the last of the remaining revelers—the Count was still there, still dancing, as was Lord Loren. They stood in near-perfect profile, strange mirrors of each other, their faces raised to the lightening sky. Then the Count turned toward me and smiled, extending his hand, and I joined in the last dance of the night, caught between the two of them.

Chapter Forty-Three

A month had passed now since the wedding of the Karans, and their honeymoon was over. Soon they would call me again, and Isadel—of that I was sure. For the last few weeks, though, there had been a lull: no feasts, no parties, no assignments. The entire city seemed hushed, in fact, as if it had been exhausted by the carnival wildness of the wedding.

It was a romantic thought...but I remembered the shuttered, watchful faces in the crowd and wasn’t sure. Perhaps the city was waiting for something—holding its breath.

I thought at first I might be restless, but what Isadel called boredom at last seemed blessed to me. Tallisk had used the time well, adding to our designs. Isadel came nearer completion each day. I could see the few places where she was unfinished filling with shades of red and pinkish grey.

My own skin filled slower. When Tallisk called me up to his atelier, he seemed almost reluctant to ink me. I saw his sketches of me torn and discarded and redrawn dozens of times. Most often, when I climbed the stairs, he painted his designs on me with slow care and wiped them off without touching a needle to my skin. I did not mind. I did not mind anything that prolonged the time between us.

When he dismissed me, when I had time to spare, I went to my own room, sat at the small table there, and used the gifts that he had given me. With the curtains open and the table tilted toward the light, I could work without a lamp until sunset.

When Tallisk had first given me paper and ink, I had started with sketching elaborations on my own design, leaves and flowers. I was no botanist; most of them had been inventions, and not very good ones, and I’d given up that track after our night in Meret’s house. Lately, I had been drawing stark, geometrical designs—interlocking triangles and circles and strange unfolding cubes.

I was bent over my sketches when I heard a small knock on my door. Isadel, I thought, or Doiran. I bound up the pages in their leather folio, smoothed my hair, and opened the door—but it wasn’t either of them.

Tallisk stood there, frowning. I took a half step back; I had not expected to see
him.
The knock had been so soft, almost hesitant.

“May I come in?”

I stood aside to let him enter. He filled the room with his presence; everything seemed smaller with him there.

He gestured at the folio in my hands, the inks and charcoal on the small table. “You’ve been working?”

“A few sketches.” My voice was small.

“May I see them?”

I had not expected him to ask. For a moment, I was tempted to refuse, to sweep them out of his sight. What if he hated them? But before I could say anything, he gently took the folio from my hands and untied the leather string.

With slow care, he spread the pages out on my bed, kneeling before it. His hands moved delicately over my work, barely touching it, as if he were careful of smudging it. I stood behind him, swallowing nervously.

“Etan—” he turned and stood before me. “You’ve improved.”

“I—thank you, sir.”

“You’ve a way to come yet, but I’ve seen worse work from apprentices.”

I opened my mouth but could not find a reply to that. The words had dried up on my tongue.

Tallisk bowed over the bed again and began gathering the papers. Before he finished there was a knock on the door; his head snapped up. “What?”

Yana entered. She was pale, her eyes so wide you could see white ringing her irises. “Sir, you recall that note that Countess Karan sent by courier?”

“Yes.” Frowning, he rose. “Said she wanted to speak to me about something. Why, did she send Lukan here to sound me out?”

Yana grimaced. “Not exactly. The Countess is
here
, sir.”

“What, here? In
person?
”

Yana nodded.

Tallisk shook his head. “It makes no sense.”

Yana coughed. “Sir...she is waiting.”

“For gods’ sake, let her in.” He looked at me for a moment, then reached over to quickly straighten my tunic. “Come on.”

We descended into the hallway. I looked sideways at Tallisk. His face was blank, but his throat moved reflexively and his hands were clenched and pale. With a deep breath, Yana let the Countess inside.

She
had
come in person, and modestly dressed. She wore a simple gown and a long black cape. Her hair was bound in a black mesh caul, vivid against her red curls. Artor Lukan stood behind her, more sober and subdued than I had ever seen him before; still, he glanced up to see me and showed a quick flash of grin.

“Maestro Tallisk,” the Countess said, inclining her head. “Thank you for seeing me upon such short notice.”

He bowed. “What can I do for you, my lady?”

“There is a personal favor I need to ask of you, Maestro Tallisk. May we speak?”

He started. “Of course. Yana—please get Doiran to fetch the Countess some wine.”

He led her away. I glanced at Yana, a question plain on my face.

“Don’t ask me,” she muttered. “I’ve no clue. Go and keep out of the way for a while, will you? And see that Isadel does, as well!”

I ran upstairs, meeting Isadel in the hallway.

“What by death’s river is going on? You look pale as a plucked chicken.”

“The Countess—Countess Karan—she is here.”

“Here?” Isadel’s mouth twisted in something that was not quite a smile. “What do you mean, ‘here’?”

“I mean
here
, downstairs, sharing a drink with Tallisk.”

“No.” Isadel let out a breath and leaned against the wall. “What does she want?”

“She said she had a favor to ask of him. A personal favor.”

Isadel half closed her eyes. “Do you think,” she said, her voice trembling a little, “you could find out what in the name of all the gods they are talking about?”

“I don’t know. Yana said to keep out of the way.” I coughed. “And to keep you out.”

She laughed shakily. “Of course.”

“What do you think she wants?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at me, and her eyes were full and glittering. “But...I hope.”

“You are in love with her.”

She tilted her head, watching me, and said nothing.

I laughed. I had not realized I knew it, not until the words were out of my mouth. Now that they were, it seemed obvious. I had known it, in some part, since she had returned from their engagement feast, with a kiss drifting on her skin like a rose petal. “What has she said to you?”

“That there are ways—sanctioned ways—a woman of her station and one of mine might make...” Her voice broke, and she swallowed. When she continued, it was with slow dignity. “Might make something that lasts, Etan.”

“Isadel.”

“Hmm?”

I drew her into the library. “What does the name Aerning mean?”

She did not answer for a long while. When she did speak, her voice was soft. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Artor Lukan told it me. At the wedding feast.”

“Lukan.” She snorted. “He doesn’t know when to hold his tongue.” She sat down on the sofa, smoothing her skirts with one hand. “Aerning was my name, before I was writ-Tallisk, and it is not a name without history. We were the Aernings of Helleton, and until my mother pledged her allegiance to Surammer money, we were a family in high acclaim.”

A puzzle piece clicked into place. I knew now where I’d heard the name—news passed from ear to ear, whispers of betrayal, a Lowland family brought low by greed.

“We lost everything. But a distant cousin knew of a master, the best tattoo-master in Peretim, who was in need of new canvas. And here I am.”

“Where—where is your family? Your father and mother?”

She glanced away, her eyes fixing on nothing. “My father...he fell on his sword, like a good old Sword-noble would, being so disgraced. My mother was thrown in Ashen. She did not last long. An illness of the stomach took her.”

“Ashen...” I pronounced the word with dark wonder. I thought of Isadel’s mother in that dungeon, damp and sunless in the caves beneath the palace. I shuddered, clearing away the images, then frowned at Isadel. “Lukan said it was fortunate. Your old name.”

With sudden light in her eyes, she smiled. “Noble name I’ve lost, but noble blood I still have. If I were common born, my lady’s plan would come to naught. Such things are not permitted.”

“Such things as?”

“Don’t ask me yet.” She made a pained face. “The gods love breaking plans made too early.”

There was a sound from downstairs: low laughter and doors opening. Both of our heads turned, like hounds scenting the wind. I started to speak; Isadel stopped me with a sharp gesture.

Slowly she rose and opened the library door, extending herself into the corridor. I followed a step and a half behind her.

The Countess was at the door, with Yana and Doiran in attendance, straight-backed as soldiers, and Tallisk behind. I only saw the back of his head. The Countess was speaking. I strained to catch her words.