The Adorned (30 page)

“I will miss you, you know.” My voice was softer than I thought it would be.

“I’ll see you soon enough, Etan. The first feast that they hold, mark my words.”

She sounded cheerful enough, but there was doubt in her eyes. I side-glanced the Countess’s carriage, ready for its own little war. It seemed to me it was a grim season ahead; when would the next feast be, I wondered?

It had been a poor harvest, and though the city’s stores were full enough there were more mouths to feed than ever. There had always been lines at the temples, when they gave out food, but lately those lines had stretched longer than ever, and the last few always went hungry. Tents had sprouted in their dozens outside the Grey City’s walls, and more rose among them every day—there were rumors of entire Northern villages emptied as they sought the South, with its stores of grain and its still-ripening fruit.

“Etan?” Isadel took my hand in her own, the bare one.

I fought to raise a smile. “As you say. I’ll see you soon enough.”

There was a cough behind us. It was Tallisk, with Yana and Doiran at his side. They filed into the parlor one by one, all of them in well-polished finery. Then in came the Countess, emerged from her carriage at last.

Her own clothes were sober as well, almost plain, though exquisitely made, and her bright eyes were shadowed by a mist-grey veil. She could almost have passed for human, I thought. Perhaps that was the point.

Isadel breathed out softly and released my hand. She went to her countess and bowed before her. “My lady.”

“My dear.” The Countess took Isadel’s hand and kissed it through the gauze of her veil. “Are you prepared?”

“I am, my lady. Whenever you wish to go.”

The Countess showed a shadow of a smile behind her veil. “My business here is complete, my dear, but yours is not. I shall wait for you in the carriage.”

She did not wait to be acknowledged; she moved knowing the world moved around her. Artor Lukan bowed to us, favoring me with a thin, quick smile, and followed her. Yana had to break into a half run to get the door.

With a half grin, Isadel curtsied to us. “Well. All the luck to you,” she said.

Doiran broke the silence first. “And you, little dove.”

“You’ll be missed.” Yana’s voice came from the door; she came into the parlor and gave Isadel a quick, hard embrace.

Finally, Isadel turned to Tallisk. Her head was tilted to the side, and her smile was uncertain, as if she could not quite make sense of him. She took a hesitant step forward. “Sir,” she said. “I owe you a debt.”

He shook his head. “No. I am finished with you, Isadel.”

“Curious words of farewell,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He moved closer and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Farewells are not my strength.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek, quick and brisk. “All the luck, Isadel writ-Tallisk.”

“And you, Master Tallisk,” she said, curtsying.

She turned to me last and laid her bare hand on my cheek. Her touch was cool; for a moment I remembered the Count’s hand on me. But she was gentle, and her smile was true. “All the luck, Etan. And I mean that.”

I swallowed back an unexpected rush of tears. “Isadel—”

“No need.” She pulled on her glove. “No need for that. You’ll be seeing me soon enough.”

We saw her off, all of us. From the doorstep I could see one of the Countess’s grey-faced servants help her into the carriage. She looked back once, over her shoulder. Then the door closed on her, and with a whipcrack the horses took off over the cobbles into the gathering dusk.

Tallisk went inside; we followed behind him into the parlor. He watched the carriage until it was out of sight, then pulled close the curtains, shutting out the evening light.

Yana coughed and wiped her eyes. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“All of them leave eventually.” There was a distant look in Tallisk’s eyes.

“Too true,” Doiran said. He wiped his own eyes with the back of his hand. “But I suppose there’ll be a new one to meet soon, eh?”

“No,” Tallisk said.

Doiran blinked at him in surprise, but said nothing.

Tallisk opened his mouth, then closed it; it was as if he had surprised even himself with that singular word. “Not while we’ve got beggars on every corner, and more outside the city each day.” He sounded almost defensive. “It’ll be hard enough to feed the four of us, never mind another mouth.”

Somehow I doubted the truth of that; Isadel had told me how much the Countess had offered for her bond. Still, none of us gainsaid him.

He sighed and strode out of the parlor, making his way up the stairs two and three steps at a time—as if he were running away, I thought. Yana grimaced; Doiran shrugged. Moments later, both of them left as well.

I went to the window and jerked the curtain aside, just a little. Nightwell Street was dark and empty, but the sun was still hanging above the horizon, ripe as a blood orange. Somewhere in the distance, I heard shouting and the low peal of bells.
Fire
, I thought—the old tower bells were always rung when there was a fire.

Slowly, I pulled the curtains shut. The sound of the bell dropped to a distant, muffled echo. The lamps in the parlor had not yet been lit, and the room was cavern-dark, save for a ragged square of light that shone through the edges of the door.

Chapter Forty-Six

Tallisk left the house early the next morning, before the sun had risen. When he returned that afternoon, he had us gather around the table and poured us each a generous glass of wine from the barrel that the Karans had given us. The room was hushed enough that the slosh of wine in glass nearly echoed. Tallisk drained his own wine before he spoke.

“They’ve closed the gates,” he said.

Yana gaped at him. “What?”

“The Council voted. They’ve closed the city gates.” He poured us another measure of wine, smaller than the last. “After the bloodguards threw out all the refugees that they could find.”

Yana swore under her breath and gulped down her second glass. “It doesn’t make
sense.
How can they—how would they even know who to throw out?”

Tallisk chuckled hollowly. “Pick up anyone who looks Northern and poor. I imagine they made more than a few mistakes.”

Doiran made a kind of low, keening noise of worry and twisted his hands together. “And those who look Gaelta?”

I looked up at Tallisk, waiting. His dark blue eyes slid over mine, and it seemed his gaze was fixed on something far behind me.

“There weren’t many Gaelta coming from the North, as far as I could tell, but...I don’t know.” He let out a low breath, almost a sigh. “The city’s a damned hornet’s nest,” he said. “Only waiting for a kick.”

Yana grimaced. “Sir, my mother—she’s old and alone—she’ll be worrying...”

He nodded to her. “Take the afternoon, Yana. Go see her.”

She bowed to him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Just take care,” he said gruffly, and then he turned toward Doiran. “Doiran—you might want to check on your family.”

Doiran smiled, but it was a wan and trembling smile, ill at ease on his face. “Ah, they’re a big bunch. They can take care of each other. Who’ll take care of the house, if I go?”

Tallisk shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

Doiran hesitated a moment. “Though—I don’t know—if they were throwing Gaelta out...”

“
Go
, Doiran. I know they’re not far. You’ll be back soon enough.”

Doiran rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Still, there’s no supper made.”

“There’s cold meat and bread and wine.” Tallisk looked at me a moment. I saw myself reflected, dark and blue, in his eyes. “Etan—Etan can make do with that. Can’t you?”

I bowed my head. “Yes, sir.”

“And you, sir?” Doiran’s voice was gentle.

“I’ll make do as well.” He left the room and climbed the stairs. Doiran and I tracked his progress. He went with slow ponderous steps, as if he were sleepwalking; I felt a weird wrench in my heart, watching him. Did he miss Isadel, I wondered? Would he miss me, when I left?

“Well, Etan,” Doiran said with forced cheer. “You’ll have the house near to yourself tonight.”

“Doiran.” I bit my lip. “Were you in this house when Arderi Finn lived here?”

“Arderi...” He heaved a sigh. “Yes, Etan, I was.”

“Was he—” I swallowed. “Was he much like me?”

Slowly, Doiran shook his head. “Not one inch, lad. You’re like night and day.”

I half smiled. “And how many others have there been? Adorned, I mean.”

“Five, in my care,” he said. “Including Isadel and you. They all did well enough, as far as I know—even Arderi, in his own way. Tallisk doesn’t often talk of the others, though, and, well...” He laughed. “I don’t run in their circles.”

“Do you miss them?”

“A little. You always miss someone you’ve got to know like that. A member of the household.”

I looked up. “Tallisk doesn’t.”

“No, perhaps not.” He sighed. “Etan...look. I know he’s been giving you things. Paper and paints and such.”

“He’s not done it before? Given such things?”

He shook his head. “Not as far as I know, or Yana.”

A thrill of jealous pride went through me at that—a half-formed image of Arderi Finn bent over his own sketches dissolved like sugar in tea. Then I thought again of what Doiran had said, and I glanced sidelong at him. “You’ve been discussing me?”

“What, you think we don’t gossip?” He grinned for a moment, then turned serious once more. “What I mean, Etan—ah, stuff it, I’m not a man to give advice on this. Call me superstitious, but it feels like Madame Death’s waiting at the corner, do you know? I just think we should seize what chances we’ve got while we can.”

My laugh was soft and bitter. “I would rather have him as master alone than risk losing him.” My nails pressed into my palms.
Losing him
, I thought,
like Arderi Finn.

“It’s up to you, lad,” he said. “But I’d think he would not take it amiss if you brought up apprenticeship.”

I blinked at him. “Apprenticeship?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“To be his apprentice?” I swallowed a lump in my throat. I could feel my heart beating in my fingertips, echoing the first time he had put a brush in my hand. I thought of the growing stack of papers in my room, filled with slow improvement; of Tallisk saying
he couldn’t apprentice;
of Meret’s mischievous smile—then of the small tattoo I had inked onto Tallisk myself. That would be on his skin forever, just as his art was on mine.

“When I came here,” I said slowly, “I had nothing, save what the gods gave me. Now a hundred heads turn when I show my Adornment. I’ll never want for anything, with Master Tallisk’s art on my skin. But...but I’d let him scratch it all out, if he’d take me as apprentice. Yes, Doiran. Yes, it is what I want.”

The words had poured out all at once. They had been long-dammed in me. I saw the world go blurred and blinked hard. When I closed my eyes, I saw the strange geometries of my designs: triangles and interlocking lines in glowing, impossible black. I sat down on the nearest chair. It was that or crumple; I felt as if I’d taken a blow to the chest. For a moment I thought I’d start coughing—blood spraying, sickness on my breath, Madame Death come at last to claim her old prey—but in the end it was just my hammering heart.

Of
course
I wanted to be his apprentice. But, impossibly greedy, I also wanted more.

Doiran gave me a dubious look. “Are you all right?”

I nodded slowly, not trusting my voice. He kneeled down in front of me, searching my face with his big, friendly eyes.

“Seize your chance,” he said, low-voiced. “I’m not often one to meddle...”

I laughed. “Truly?”

“I’d cuff you for that if you weren’t near crying.” He smiled. “Believe what you will, but I keep my thoughts to myself more than not. But not now. Master Tallisk says the city is a hornet’s nest...well, sometimes you pass those by without getting stung. But still, I am a superstitious man, and I think to myself
take your chances while you can.
”

“What chance will you take, Doiran?”

He stood up. “I don’t yet know. Maybe I’ll marry at last. Find a nice young wife.” He grinned and offered his hand; I rose from the chair, now a little steadier on my feet.

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

He patted my shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, Etan. Keep the house warm, eh? I won’t be away long.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

I had not seen Tallisk since Doiran left. I made my own dinner, pouring myself some wine from the house carafe, and ate alone. Now, still alone, I sat in the library with a single lamp burning.

From the half-open window I heard the sounds of the city seep in. The house was quiet enough that even distant voices, distant panic, echoed around the room. Superstitious or not, I thought Doiran was right: Madame Death was walking the streets tonight. I heard a sound like a woman sobbing, and muffled shouting. I went to close the window, hand on the curtain as I looked out over Peretim. There was smoke on the horizon beyond the city walls.

I shivered and closed the curtain. Doiran and Yana were out there, in the noise and coiled tension of the city. I thought I should say a prayer for them, and for Isadel, but no words came. If the gods took notice of them, they already knew their worries. If they did not, why would my prayers make them?

I left the library. Upstairs, I saw a light shining from Tallisk’s atelier. The door was slightly ajar. I heard him moving about the room, heard the rustle of paper, the clink of glass on glass.

I stood a moment at the foot of the stairs, still and unsure. Doiran’s voice resounded in me: take your chances, he had told me. I smiled in the darkness. If he knew what chance I intended to take, he might have advised differently.

Then I climbed the stairs and knocked at the atelier door.

Tallisk’s voice answered, harsh and distant. “What is it?”

“Sir.” I closed my eyes. “It’s me.”

There was a scrape of wood—he was rising from his chair—and the door opened. Tallisk stood there, a glass in his hand, hair slightly awry.