The Adorned (31 page)

“Etan.”

I looked up at him. “May I come in?”

He opened the door a little further and inclined his head. The liquor swirled in the bottom of his glass as he moved. The atelier was well lit; there was a faint, sweet smell of incense and burnt sugar.

“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll pour you a drink.”

There were few places to sit; the easy chairs were gone, perhaps moved back to Tallisk’s bedroom. There was Tallisk’s chair, where he worked, the tattooing chair, an old wooden chest. My eyes found a padded footrest; I pulled it closer and sat there, looking up at him.

He retrieved a glass, smaller than his own, from the drawers of his desk, and poured each of us a generous measure. I cradled mine in both hands, inhaling the sharp, sweet smell of it.

“Your troubles washed away,” he said, raising his glass.

“And yours.” I raised my own glass; he lowered his to clink lightly against mine. I watched the dark amber slosh of the liquor and took a small sip. It was sweet on my tongue, and fiery in my throat.

“Not that such a small glass can wash away all our troubles.”

I looked down. Tallisk still wore the finery he’d dressed in for Isadel’s departure, calf-high leather boots polished to gloss-black shine.

“Etan...”

He looked down at me and took a long drink, emptying his glass. He stepped closer to me. The hand that still held the glass reached to me. His knuckles lightly brushed my forehead.

My pulse felt very near to my skin. I leaned into his hand, warm skin and cold glass, and closed my eyes.

I turned my head sideways, just a little, so that my cheek lay against his wrist. I could feel his pulse there. Its beat matched my own.

I breathed softly through parted lips. His thumb brushed the edge of my ear. I must have made some sort of sound.

Tallisk laughed harshly. There was no humor in it, only a strength of feeling that made my hair stand on end. “You should go,” he said.

I looked up at him. “Should I?”

“Once—” he said, and his voice seemed hoarse and faraway, “once I threw a boy from my house because he did not love me.”

He pulled away. I swallowed hard and looked at him; he was standing with his back to me.

“It was a cruel thing to do, cruel and unworthy. I did not wish to be cruel; I vowed that I would never make the same mistake again.”

I stood up, slowly, and set down my glass. I reached out to him, hand stretched so I could almost touch the small of his back. He hunched his shoulders.

My hand dropped to my side.

“You should go,” he repeated. He turned around, and his eyes were dark.

I raised my head by slow degrees, and it was Tallisk who looked away. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t...”

I reached for him. There was a triangle of bare skin at his collar, where I could see the edges of his blue starburst tattoo. His arms were tense, each muscle hard. I felt his shoulders shift; I put my hands around his waist.

“If I don’t—?”

He bent down to me, as if pulled by unseen strings. I felt his breath whisper over my cheek. Then his mouth was on mine; I tasted him, one sip and I was drunk on him. He tasted of liquor and smoke.

“Ah—
Etan
—”

The flickering lamplight turned his eyes from blue to black. He pressed hard against me. I could feel the bare edge of skin at his collar. I leaned into him, and then we were falling, sliding down, and I was on top of him. The breath was knocked out of me and I laughed. I could not help it. My heart beat hard and hot; I felt it in my chest, between my legs.

I wanted him. More than the ink on my skin. More than
anything.

“No.” He rose, pushed me off him. “Not here. Not—”

“Please.” My skin burned. I could not stop touching him. “Ah,
please.
”

With an oath, he pressed his hands into my shoulders, pushed me backward. Onto the long black chair where he had put his Adornment on me. He tore off his shirt, slipped out of his trousers. He climbed on top of me; his weight leaned into me and I could barely breathe and it was like nothing else, like nothing else before. The Count’s fingers rousing his Blood in my ink, the kiss I had stolen from Lord Loren, the cool deliberate hands of the Blooded: they were blown away like ashes on the wind.

He pulled at my robes. I felt him hard against me. His hand was on me, moving slow between my legs, and then he took my thighs and moved them apart.

His hand curled around me, found me. He was rough, almost careless, until I was pressing up into his hand, tender and trembling, and then he let me go. I made a sort of soft begging sound; I saw his smile white in the half light. He licked his fingers—moved them hard inside me. I cried his name.

He withdrew his fingers and took my thighs, one in each hand, spreading them, raising them so I presented a more tempting target. He was pressing against me, inside me. He brought his mouth down to kiss me once more, and I was full of him, and we fit together—oh
gods
—as if we had done this a thousand times before.

He was motionless inside me for a moment, and then his face pulled away from mine and his hips moved hard. One hand was on my shoulder, pushing me into the bed, one hand down between my legs. I felt small and taut and hot in his grip. His mouth was against my neck, his teeth against my skin. He moved faster, deeper. I cried out. His hand covered my mouth and I licked at it, insatiable. His fingers were in my mouth. He was breathing hard and ragged. He pushed my hand down between my legs and whispered, “Feel, I want you to feel,” and I touched him and found he was in me completely.

My heart beat too fast to keep time. I felt him tense and he bit down on his lip hard to stop crying out as he spent. I sounded my own cry against his hot hand as he withdrew from me. He regained his grip on me with his other hand and sped his motion. I arched upward, up, and—with a jerk of my hips, with a muffled exclamation, I came.

Sweat-slick, skin against skin, we lay together on the chair. He turned to take his weight off me, but did not turn away. Our breaths matched each other. We said nothing. Our hands were tangled; they had fallen together of their own accord. The windows in the atelier were shut, but the curtains were open—wordless we turned toward the starlit night.

The streets below were eerie-empty. The moon shone bright over the city, grey walls high, the palace at its center like a shadowy hand.

Chapter Forty-Eight

I woke to warmth and the slow sound of breathing next to me. For a few breaths I did not know where I was. The ceiling above was a strange pattern, the bed too hard and wide. Then I passed a hand over my face, sweeping away the fog of sleep, and I remembered.

I touched my mouth. It felt near-bruised, but I smiled.

Tallisk was there, looking at me. I could not guess how long he had been awake. He lay on his side, head resting on the curve of his arm, and watched me. The light outside the window was thin and clear. It was barely past dawn.

I turned on my side, so we lay face to face, and frowned. There was something in his expression I did not recognize, something I had not seen there before, and it took me a long, silent moment to puzzle out its meaning.

It was joy. Joy cradled like a fragile thing.

“Hello,” I whispered.

He reached out and brushed my cheek. “You are well?”

I laughed. “Of course.”

“Don’t jest.” He pushed his hand into my hair, tangling it there. “Don’t jest, Etan.”

“I am not. Believe me.”

“Doiran and Yana will be returning soon.” He pulled me closer. We were near mouth to mouth, but he wanted me closer. “Would you mind them finding you here?”

“No,” I said.

We kissed. After a while, he drew back slightly.

“I shall find a clerk. A judge, if it’s needed. I will rip up your indenture, and I want them to see it. To witness it.”

I looked away. “You do not need to do that.”

He pushed me gently onto my back and traced his fingers through my hair. “I do.”

“I have never minded—”

“I do, if you are to be my apprentice.”

I caught my breath and looked at him. His eyes had gone so grave. I could not bite back a laugh. He frowned at me.

“No,” I said, “please don’t look so worried.”

“I can’t help it. You worry me!”

There was a note of the familiar Tallisk in his voice, and I smiled.

His frown turned to a near-glower, now. “What is that smile for? What are you thinking?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Are you saying you do not want it?”

“That is not it.” My voice had gone soft. “All of this...being here, beside you. It was my dream. I never thought it would become reality. Now...now you say you want to make all my dreams come true.” I wiped my eyes. “Are you sure you wish to do this?”

“Yes.” He turned so we lay curled together, my back to his chest, and he spoke softly into my ear. “I have been, for a long time. I merely lacked courage.”

“You?”

“Don’t mock.”

I shook my head. “I’m not.” I took a breath, gathering my own courage. “Would you still wish me as apprentice if you—if you didn’t—”

“If I were not in love with you?”

I closed my eyes. When I spoke again, my voice shook only a little. “Yes. If you were not in love with me.”

“You have a good hand, and your designs have potential.” He spoke in his professional voice now. It was strange to hear that tone rumbled out against my bare back. “If your talent had been seen when you were younger, any tattoo-master might have taken you on. But to tell the truth—”

I half turned, so I could see his eyes. “The truth?”

“Your hand, your passion for it...it is half the reason I fell.”

I smiled. “Half?”

“I don’t know.” He grimaced. “Who can measure feeling?”

“But you love me.” I whispered it, and he went still.

“Yes. And—”

“And I love you.”

“Etan.” He kissed the back of my neck. I closed my eyes.

With sunrise creeping over the city, with Tallisk warm and breathing slow beside me, I fell asleep once more.

* * *

In the afternoon, Yana returned. She was carrying a basket of foodstuffs and a scrawled note from Doiran.

“His sister begged him remain,” she said, shifting from foot to foot as if she expected Tallisk’s anger. “There’s been...unrest, and they have children in the house.”

Tallisk did not shout, or storm to fetch him; he only nodded. “What about you?”

She blinked at him. “What about me?”

“Don’t you have your mother to take care of?”

“Sir—” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not as panicked as Doiran’s sister by all this. Besides, you need me, you and Etan. Especially with Doiran away.”

“You’re a fine key-master, Yana.” He squeezed her shoulder. “But if the time comes when your mother needs you more, I will not keep you here.”

She looked at him, her mouth half open. This, it seemed, was the last thing she had expected from him. “Thank you, sir.”

He took the basket and looked inside it. “This will last us a while.”

“Doiran gave me a list and told me where to go.” She smiled. “His name still opens doors with the right merchants, even in a time like this.”

“He’s a good man.” Tallisk hoisted the basket and took it into the kitchen—but before he went, he bent down to me and dropped a kiss on my forehead, rough and warm.

Yana eyed me behind Tallisk’s back, and I felt myself go red. Still, I held her eyes.

“So,” she said softly. “It’s happened at last.”

I raised a brow. “Were you taking bets?”

“No, though I should have.” She laughed. “Doiran told me what he said to you.
I
said it wasn’t his apprentice you wanted to be. Not entirely, in any case.”

I raised my hands. “Was it so obvious?”

“No. But Isadel has a keen eye, and we liked to talk.” She lifted her chin a little, smiling at the memory. “And once something’s pointed out, it’s hard to unsee.”

“Isadel’s a damned gossip,” I said, smiling back. “She should have held her tongue.”

Yana’s face fell a little, and her eyes held me fast. “Treat him kindly,” she said. “He’s a hard shell, but his heart is soft for it.”

“I know.” I looked down. “Yana, I love him.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she broke the silence with her laugh. “Well,
I
don’t know what you see in him, but the heart’s compelled by strange currents, isn’t it?”

“Too strange indeed.” Tallisk’s voice came from the door and my pulse leaped—how long had he been listening in?—but instead of blustering he matched Yana’s grin. “And thank the gods for that.”

She swept a bow. “All the luck to you, then.”

“We won’t need luck.” He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s have something to eat, and a glass of wine with it.”

“Does that offer include me?” Yana asked.

“Of course. You’ll be cooking it.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

When I next woke, it was in an empty bed; the sound of voices downstairs had stirred me from my sleep. I rolled over into the hollow of fading warmth where Tallisk had been. Something like loss caught at me, all unexpected, as I pressed my face to his pillow. I shook off the strange sense of melancholy—after all, I only had to go downstairs to wrap my arms around him again.

The voices rose in sudden argument; I heard Tallisk shouting. I wrapped a robe around myself and opened his door, quietly shuffling my way onto the landing. Out here, the voices carried clearly, or Tallisk’s did at least. Whomever he was speaking to was muffled. I could only hear one side of the argument.

“I knew that he was a fool,” he said, “but this is beyond all sense. What next—will he parade through the streets on a golden litter, eating candied fruit?”

There was a few seconds’ murmuring; Tallisk did not let the visitor speak long.

“Frankly, I don’t care what he told you.”

The murmurer had another moment’s reprieve before Tallisk’s voice rose again.

“Oh, is
that
so? That should make us
very
popular around here, shouldn’t it? We might as well mount that litter beside him.”