The Adorned by John Tristan

torrents, and I could not quite tell what I was crying for.

Chapter Nine
    Once I’d been bathed and dressed, Doiran pronounced me fit to be seen in Master Tallisk’s household and took me up to the first floor, where my bedroom was to be.
    It surprised me, a little, to learn I would have my own room; the servants’ quarters in my own house, empty for years when my father died, were communal. So I thought it would be in every house; it certainly was in Lun. But then Adorned were a different sort of servant, though master-bound nonetheless. For one, at the height of their careers they would have wardrobes to inspire the envy of the most outrageous dandy.
    The room that Doiran showed me had wardrobes enough to serve for this, though most were empty, the faint scent of mothballs their only cargo. One contained some outfits in the same style as I currently wore: well-made, comfortable breeches and high-necked shirts, genteel and slightly out of fashion. The sort of clothes a clerk’s young apprentice might wear, at work with his master. They had a certain sort of wear to them, the peculiar wear of well-loved old things.
    “The grand tour can wait for a while. For now, you can get yourself settled, and maybe rest a bit until Isadel comes home,” Doiran said.
    I frowned. That is one thing I had not asked. “Doiran, who is Isadel?”
    “Isadel writ-Tallisk is Master Tallisk’s Adorned.” He laughed. “His senior Adorned, I should say now. She’s been on display, at Count Karan’s estate in Fevrewood.”
    “A Count of the Blood?”
    “Of course. Count Karan is the head of the Council of Blood, and Tallisk’s patron.”
    My mouth formed a small O of astonishment, and Doiran laughed again. I did not feel he mocked me; the easy laughter was merely his way. “It might go to her head a little,” he said, “but it shouldn’t. All men need a patron, and Tallisk’s art is fine enough to warrant the Count’s patronage. You will meet him, soon enough.”
    I felt a little weak at the prospect. Lun was under the rule of a Lord of the Sword who mostly took his taxes and ignored us; the Blooded who ruled the Sword-nobles were storybook figures to me, god-touched legends. A hard lump of nerves settled beneath the apple of my throat; to think that I would actually have to rub elbows with them—that I would be remade for their enjoyment—it made me understand Tallisk a little better, when he had said I had little idea of what becoming an Adorned entailed.
    I tried to swallow away my apprehension, to pretend the idea of meeting one of the Blooded was nothing out of the ordinary. “What is she like?” I asked. “Isadel, I mean.”
    He wrinkled his forehead, his lips working as if he were searching for the right words. “She is Isadel , and unique with it. You’ll just have to meet her.” He smiled. “I think she’ll like you. I think we’ll all like you, lad. You seem a good sort.”
    I colored at his compliment. “Thank you.”
    He seemed to have run out of words, then, and he adjusted himself a little, harrumphing softly. “Well, then. You’ll be fetched to greet her, when she arrives; she’s your senior, so be respectful.”
    “Of course,” I murmured.
    With that, he left me to my new room. My new home. I made long slow circles of the room, fingertips brushing each unfamiliar thing. It was near the size of my old room, where I’d grown up, though narrower and with higher ceilings. There was a small window that allowed in a bit of light, its frame just a little too high for me to reach. It was open a crack, and its lacy curtains fluttered in the evening breeze. The bed was small and narrow, but the pillows and the quilt were soft and stuffed with down. The wardrobes were empty, save for the few clothes I’d already found.
    I played my fingers across the fabric; even these house-clothes were already finer than near anything I had worn in Lun. I wondered what I would wear when it came time to display my ink. Even