The Adorned (32 page)

“It is
not
—” I heard another man raise his own voice then lower it again, in a sing-song rhythm of mounting upset. “—the
honor
done to your house—”

“You call it an honor? Well, I call it insanity.”

There was another gap in the argument. “—has insisted—” The man’s voice was now climbing in pitch as well as volume, a rising screech of indignation. “—never been treated this way! I work for your
patron.
You would do well to remember that.”

Yana had emerged from her room, bleary-eyed, and mouthed her confusion at me. I raised my shoulders, just as lost as she was. We stayed still, listening to the trailing ends of the argument below.

“And he would do well to remember that he
is
my patron—not my liege lord. Now, will that be all?”

“That,” the other man spat, “will be all. Save for the
gifts
His Grace is sending. I will make sure he knows in what spirit they were received.”

“You do that.”

The door slammed shut. Tallisk emerged into the hall, breathing heavy like a man who’d been running, or fighting. He looked up and saw us on the stairs.

“The Count is having a feast,” he said.

Yana laughed—the sound stuttered out into nothing when she realized that Tallisk had not been jesting. “With the city gates closed? With people starving outside?”

“So it seems.” Tallisk’s mouth twisted in something like a smile. “It is an observance of some Blooded ritual. It seems that it cannot wait.”

Yana blew a sharp gust of air between her lips. “That’s...unfortunate.”

“They are sending us...gifts.” He grinned at empty air, a cornered wolf’s show of teeth. “Gifts of wine and smoked meat and fine pastries.”

She swore. “Does he want our windows stoned in?”

“No—what he wants is for us to raise a glass to his name and be happy and grateful.” Tallisk leveled his eyes with mine. “What he wants is you at his feast, Etan.”

I felt a strange shiver under my skin, as if the Count’s Blood was crawling at the mention of its master’s name. I hugged myself. “What did you tell him, sir?”

Tallisk grimaced. “Gods, Etan, don’t call me
sir.
Not now. Not anymore.”

I could not help but smile at that. “Whatever I call you, the question remains the same.”

“What do you
think
I said?” He grunted. “You aren’t beholden to him anymore. You no longer have to parade yourself in front of him and all his cronies, and worse.”

I was silent for a moment. Yana must have seen something in my eyes—she slid back into her room with a murmured excuse, leaving Tallisk and me alone in the hallway.

“It is your ink I wear as Adornment. I am proud of it.” I held his gaze, undaunted by his beetling brow. “And I am not ashamed of what I have done in its service.”

He looked away. “I—I am sorry.”

I descended the stairs and laid a hand against his cheek. “Roberd,” I whispered, and he kissed me.

“It is my ink,” he said, “but it is his Blood in you, as well.”

“I know.” My smile turned mischievous. “And in Isadel as well. It still took his wife to finally win her.”

He laughed at that, at least a little, and I felt a small, fierce sense of triumph to know
I
had caused that—that sweet, singular sound. He looked younger than his years, when he laughed.

“I won’t go,” I said, before his smile had a chance to fade. “I wouldn’t want to feast while people are starving outside. I’d go if you asked, but...” I shook my head. “I do not want to.”

“Then
don’t
,” he said. “You will never have to again. Unless you wish it.”

Unless I wish it. I swallowed and traced the line of his cheek. It was a heady thought.

There was a knocking at the door, hard and rapid. Tallisk tensed under my touch; I drew back from him.

“That will be Karan’s bloodguards again,” he said. “With our
gifts.
”

He went to the door. I slipped down into the parlor and twitched the curtain open, just a crack, so I could see who stood before our house. It was a small carriage, unmarked and plain, and two men carrying woven baskets.

I let the curtain fall and went to stand close to the door, listening to Tallisk’s words. A cold wind had slipped its fingers into the hallway. I was still in my house robes, and I shivered at its touch.

“Gentlemen,” Tallisk said, the icicle tone of his voice implying that he did not think them any such thing.

“Maestro Tallisk.” The bloodguard who replied matched his chill. “These are the gifts of the Blooded house of Karan, given to those fortunate enough to partake of their patronage.”

“Take them back,” Tallisk said. “We don’t want them.”

The bloodguard was silent for a moment. “Are you rejecting His Grace’s gifts?”

“What do you
think?
”

I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the porch. My breath was white mist in the chilly air; I put my hand on the small of Tallisk’s back. “My lords,” I said softly, as if they were Blooded nobles at a feast.

The bloodguards stared at me. Some of my Adornment was on show, I knew, in the places my house robe did not quite cover. The leaves on my skin shivered with me in the cold breeze, stirred by their master’s Blood.

“Etan—” Tallisk spoke through gritted teeth, but the rebuke did not come. Hooves clattered down Nightwell Street, suddenly loud in the chill silence. We looked up, all of us. The bloodguards’ hands went to their weapons, then dropped back to their sides as they saw who had come riding to our house.

It was Lord Loren. He rode alone, on a black gelding. A cape of martial blue lay around his shoulders like a conqueror’s mantle. He saw me there, and smiled, and his smile was like a knife coming out of the darkness, sharp and unexpected.

I sidled closer to Tallisk, feeling the comfort of his solid warmth beside me. He felt the clench of my hand on him and looked at me for a brief moment before addressing our newest visitor. “Lord Loren,” he said. “What brings you to our house?”

The smile fell away from Loren’s face. “I would have words with you, Maestro, and your Adorned.” He dismounted. “Would you have me?”

Tallisk gave a quick glance in my direction. I blinked at him—then I realized he was looking for my approval. I gave a nod, and he turned back to Lord Loren. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll have Yana care for your horse.”

“No need,” Lord Loren said. “I will not be staying long.”

He glanced toward the bloodguards. They had not spoken to him. I knew they had recognized him, but neither had bowed or said his name. “I would accept Count Karan’s gifts, Maestro Tallisk. Give them to a temple if you wish, but accept them. They’ll do no good in His Grace’s hands.”

“Please,” I said, inserting myself between them. The street was ice cold on my bare feet. “We will accept His Grace’s gifts with pleasure, my lords. Forgive us—this is not an easy time for anyone. As you must well know.”

The bloodguard grunted. “Very well. You should be thankful, Maestro Tallisk, that your Adorned is wiser than you are.”

Tallisk half glanced toward me, and I saw the shadow of a smile. “I am,” he said.

He had spoken softly. The words had not been meant for the bloodguard to hear.

Chapter Fifty

After the Count’s bloodguards had left us, Yana took the food to the kitchen, then went to see to Lord Loren’s horse. Despite what he had said earlier, he did not object. He did not allow me to take his cloak, though, nor did he take up Tallisk’s offer of wine.

“As you might have guessed, Master Tallisk—” he had dropped the
Maestro
of the Blooded dialect, now that we were alone, “—I am not here for pleasure.”

“If I may be so bold then, Lord Loren, why
are
you here?”

He hunched his shoulders and laughed—or at least made a sound somewhat like a laugh. “You may be so bold, Master. This is your house, after all. I am here to ask a favor of you.” He looked at me then. “Or rather, of your Adorned.”

“What kind of favor?” Tallisk asked.

I knew already. I could see it written in his eyes. “This is about Count Karan,” I said.

Lord Loren nodded slowly. “It is.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Once more, Etan, I must ask you to carry my words.”

“Carry your words, my lord?”

There were dangerous harmonics in Tallisk’s voice. I glanced his way. He did not know—I had never told him—what Lord Loren had asked of me at Fevrewood.

“Yes,” Lord Loren said. “I find myself in need of a messenger—one the Count will deign to receive. I am given to understand that he has asked you, Etan, to attend his feast...and that his request has been refused.”

Tallisk crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing.

“I understand if you have...grown dissatisfied, with the Count’s patronage.” He half laughed. “Believe me, Master Tallisk, that I understand. But let
me
hire Etan’s display for that time instead. You will be well compensated for his trouble.”

“Etan is no longer available for displays,” Tallisk said. “His indenture has been ended. He is to be my apprentice.”

Lord Loren blinked at me. For a moment, he seemed at a loss. “Then it would seem congratulations are in order. Are they?”

“Yes.” I lifted my chin. “They are.”

He nodded. “Then it is you I must appeal to.”

“Appeal to him all you wish,” Tallisk said. “His answer will be the same as mine.”

Loren fixed me with his gaze. “Is that so?”

“My lord.” I inclined my head to him. “You have always been kind to me. I will listen to what you have to say.”

“Etan...”

“Roberd.” I turned to him and half smiled. “You said my choices were my own.”

His hands tensed into fists and then released. “Of course.”

I laid a hand on his chest. “May I speak with Lord Loren alone for a moment?”

Without a further word, he nodded and left us.

The room seemed suddenly smaller. Lord Loren coughed and looked everywhere but my eyes; a deep quiet had settled between us.

“My lord,” I said. “Were you not invited to his feast?”

“Hah!” His laugh rang through the quiet like a broken bell. “I am afraid that I have spent whatever capital I had with the Count, and more. I am no longer welcome at his feasts.” He paused. “I am no longer welcome in his Council.”

I swallowed. “What happened?”

“I gambled,” he said. “I gambled that the Count would value my presence more than this—this
idiocy
of closing the city against his own people. Of turning a deaf ear to the cries of starving men. I gave the Council an ultimatum. They chose poorly.” A kind of grin dragged at one half of his mouth. “I may have said a few unfortunate things.”

I shook my head. “I cannot believe the Count would simply...cast you away.”

“I am sure things could be mended between us, given time.” He sighed. “But time is something that I do not have. I cannot wait for months of careful politeness.”

I thought that I knew what he wanted from me, then. “What makes you think he would listen to
me
, my lord, were I to carry your message? This is not some simple concession on a treaty—something that can be bought with a kiss.”

He watched me silently. “I do not ask you to buy it with a kiss. I ask you to come to the Count as...his family, in a way.”

I almost laughed. “My lord, I might share a small quantity of his Blood, but if you think that makes us
family
in his eyes—”

“No.” He shook his head. “It is not that. It is that you are writ-brother to Isadel writ-Tallisk.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“The Blooded are a sacred lineage. We all know this. But there is more to the tale. The Blood of the gods is a double-edged gift. They have their strength, their grace, their long,
long
lives. But should the Blood grow too strong, should old line mingle with old line...” He laughed harshly. “After too long, their offspring will become...inhuman. They need to dilute their precious Blood, every now and then, with mortal vigor. The gift of Blood, they call it. It is a secret only their boon companions know.”

Noble name I’ve lost
,
but noble blood I still have
—I remembered Isadel’s words.
If I were common-born
,
my lady’s plan would come to naught.
The gift of Blood...could it be Isadel’s children who would be heir to the Count’s fortunes?

“Still,” I said slowly, “even if you are right, the bonds of writ-siblings are not like the bonds of blood.”

“Perhaps not.” Lord Loren smiled. “But you are the one messenger I have left, Etan.”

“And if I fail to sway him?”

“Then you fail. But things will change, one way or another.”

I nodded. “What message do I take to him, then?”

“That he has two choices. This city is like a pot of bubbling water, Etan. The Council—Count Karan—they could stop it boiling over, but only if they were to throw open the gates and their private stores, and to do it soon. If they do not...” He shrugged; his heavy soldier-blue cloak moved over his shoulders. “Then their gates will be broken down and their stores plundered. He must choose whether he wishes to be a savior, or a martyr.”

I looked down, almost smiling. “Shall I put your words in more diplomatic terms, my lord?”

He nearly laughed at that. “Perhaps you’d best.” There was a pause, and then he said, “Does this mean that you will do it?”

I nodded. “I owe you that much, my lord.”

He made a face. “You owe me nothing, Etan. I will make sure you are well paid for your time.”

“And what good will that do us, my lord, when there is no more food to be bought?”

He was silent. For what seemed like a long while, he watched me, his dark eyes narrow and considering. Then he took a small package out from the recesses of his cloak. “Here,” he said, and he pressed it into my hands.

It was perhaps the size of my palm, and wrapped in silk. A faint sweet smell rose from it—a hint of burnt sugar. A shiver went through me, shuddering the lines of my Adornment. “What is this?”