finer things, I wagered, if the Blooded were my audience—garments of silk or velvet cut to show where I was Adorned...
Blinking away the fanciful images that thought conjured in my mind, I resolved to ask Tallisk the truth of it. Or, if I didn’t dare approach my new master, to at least find some book about the niceties of display. I might have been ignorant, but I did not intend to remain so for long, if I could help it.
For now, though, I was too nerve-worn to do any such thing. Instead, I sat down on the bed, my eyes heavy. I was very tempted to simply lie down upon the quilt, to sink into the pillows, and fall into sleep again. I knew it was not late in the day, but I was half in a daze, my skin still warm with the heat of the bath. I forced myself to sit, cross-legged, on the floor, leaning up against the bed. Still, I began to half drowse, my head lolling against my own shoulder. It was only when I heard commotion below that I snapped awake again; by that time, the light had the quality of evening about it, and I shivered a little. The breeze had turned to wind, howling softly through my small room.
There was a soft knock on my door; I scrambled to my feet. Doiran came in, now dressed not in his apron and white shirt but in a cream-colored suit, which made his ruddy skin stand out all the more. He looked clean-shaven and freshly scrubbed. “There you are then,” he said. “Straighten yourself a bit. Isadel’s almost home, and she’s bringing company.”
I did as he asked, straightening my hair and clothes until I looked as if I’d not just been dozing. We stepped out onto the landing; Yana was there as well, soberly dressed in a black groomsman’s suit, her hair slicked back.
And of course, the master of the house was present as well; he wore a suit of deepest brown, with a freshly starched cravat at his throat. He glanced at me, but his gaze passed over me, quick and perfunctory. It was as if I had already been part of his household for months, not arrived that very day. I stared down at the carpet, cheeks gone suddenly red.
“They should be here already,” Yana muttered.
“They will be taking their time,” Tallisk replied.
“When did that runner arrive, an hour ago? They should be here.”
“Quiet,” Tallisk said without force or reprimand, yet in a tone that brooked no disobedience.
At last, there was knocking upon the door. Tallisk tilted his head at Yana; the housekeeper would usually open the door, but the key-master would welcome honored guests. We all followed Yana—Tallisk at the front, and Doiran and I a pace and a half behind him. A rush of cool air was let in along with the new arrivals.
A man marched into the hallway; he was short and stout, wearing richly brocaded clothing. He cast about his gaze without truly bothering to look and clicked his tongue against his teeth.
Yana cleared her throat. “Geodery Gandor, key-master to Count Helsin Karan,” she announced.
He nodded at us; Yana and Doiran made full bows, and I followed suit. Tallisk, as master of house and craft, only bent his knee. That, I thought, seemed hard enough for him. Tension was writ in every line of his body.
“Maestro Tallisk,” Gandor said, with a thin semblance of a smile. “We are greatly indebted to you for the loan of your art.” He spoke in the subtly archaic dialect of the Blooded, expansively rolling the syllables around in his mouth.
“As I am for your master’s patronage.” Tallisk’s voice was flat and toneless. “All went well?”
“I am sure Isadel writ-Tallisk will answer that.” With that, he stood aside and let his companion inside.
Yana did not announce her—she was a member of the household, after all—but for a moment I felt an urge to bow, nonetheless. I had never seen anyone like her. She was tall, taller than I at least, with a fall of coal-black hair, and generously curved. Her skin was very pale, and nearly bare. A black, shining tunic as insubstantial as smoke clung
Blinking away the fanciful images that thought conjured in my mind, I resolved to ask Tallisk the truth of it. Or, if I didn’t dare approach my new master, to at least find some book about the niceties of display. I might have been ignorant, but I did not intend to remain so for long, if I could help it.
For now, though, I was too nerve-worn to do any such thing. Instead, I sat down on the bed, my eyes heavy. I was very tempted to simply lie down upon the quilt, to sink into the pillows, and fall into sleep again. I knew it was not late in the day, but I was half in a daze, my skin still warm with the heat of the bath. I forced myself to sit, cross-legged, on the floor, leaning up against the bed. Still, I began to half drowse, my head lolling against my own shoulder. It was only when I heard commotion below that I snapped awake again; by that time, the light had the quality of evening about it, and I shivered a little. The breeze had turned to wind, howling softly through my small room.
There was a soft knock on my door; I scrambled to my feet. Doiran came in, now dressed not in his apron and white shirt but in a cream-colored suit, which made his ruddy skin stand out all the more. He looked clean-shaven and freshly scrubbed. “There you are then,” he said. “Straighten yourself a bit. Isadel’s almost home, and she’s bringing company.”
I did as he asked, straightening my hair and clothes until I looked as if I’d not just been dozing. We stepped out onto the landing; Yana was there as well, soberly dressed in a black groomsman’s suit, her hair slicked back.
And of course, the master of the house was present as well; he wore a suit of deepest brown, with a freshly starched cravat at his throat. He glanced at me, but his gaze passed over me, quick and perfunctory. It was as if I had already been part of his household for months, not arrived that very day. I stared down at the carpet, cheeks gone suddenly red.
“They should be here already,” Yana muttered.
“They will be taking their time,” Tallisk replied.
“When did that runner arrive, an hour ago? They should be here.”
“Quiet,” Tallisk said without force or reprimand, yet in a tone that brooked no disobedience.
At last, there was knocking upon the door. Tallisk tilted his head at Yana; the housekeeper would usually open the door, but the key-master would welcome honored guests. We all followed Yana—Tallisk at the front, and Doiran and I a pace and a half behind him. A rush of cool air was let in along with the new arrivals.
A man marched into the hallway; he was short and stout, wearing richly brocaded clothing. He cast about his gaze without truly bothering to look and clicked his tongue against his teeth.
Yana cleared her throat. “Geodery Gandor, key-master to Count Helsin Karan,” she announced.
He nodded at us; Yana and Doiran made full bows, and I followed suit. Tallisk, as master of house and craft, only bent his knee. That, I thought, seemed hard enough for him. Tension was writ in every line of his body.
“Maestro Tallisk,” Gandor said, with a thin semblance of a smile. “We are greatly indebted to you for the loan of your art.” He spoke in the subtly archaic dialect of the Blooded, expansively rolling the syllables around in his mouth.
“As I am for your master’s patronage.” Tallisk’s voice was flat and toneless. “All went well?”
“I am sure Isadel writ-Tallisk will answer that.” With that, he stood aside and let his companion inside.
Yana did not announce her—she was a member of the household, after all—but for a moment I felt an urge to bow, nonetheless. I had never seen anyone like her. She was tall, taller than I at least, with a fall of coal-black hair, and generously curved. Her skin was very pale, and nearly bare. A black, shining tunic as insubstantial as smoke clung
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