Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(140)

He stared with frustration at his board, wiping cloth held in one hand, charcoal in the other. The fire cracked quietly in the fireplace, throwing waves of overbright yellow against his clean-shaven face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, scooting closer to him. She wrapped her arms around his elbow, laying her head against his upper arm. He actually didn’t seem that much bigger than she, now that she was used to it. There had been men back in Idris who had stood as much as six and a half feet tall, and Susebron was only a few inches taller than that. Plus, because his body was so perfectly proportioned, he didn’t seem spindly or unnatural. He was normal, just bigger.

He glanced at her as she rested her head on his arm and closed her eyes. “I think you are doing better than you think. Most people back in my homeland didn’t understand me half as well as you do.”

He began to write, and she opened her eyes.

I find that hard to believe.

“It’s true,” she said. “They kept telling me to become someone else.”

Who?

“My sister,” she said with a sigh. “The woman you were supposed to marry. She was everything the daughter of a king should be. Controlled, soft-spoken, obedient, learned.”

She sounds boring, he wrote, smiling.

“Vivenna is a wonderful person,” Siri said. “She was always very kind to me. It’s just that . . . well, I think even she felt that I should have been more reserved.”

I can’t understand that, he wrote. You’re wonderful. So full of life and excitement. The priests and servants of the palace, they wear colors, but there’s no color inside of them. They just go about their duties, eyes down, solemn. You’ve got color on the inside, so much of it that it bursts out and colors everything around you.

She smiled. “That sounds like BioChroma.”

You are more honest than BioChroma, he wrote. My Breath, it makes things more bright, but it isn’t mine. It was given to me. Yours is your own.

She felt her hair shift from the deep red into a golden tone, and she sighed softly with contentment, pulling herself a little closer to him.

How do you do that? he wrote.

“Do what?”

Change your hair.

“That one was unconscious,” she said. “It goes blond if I feel happy or content.”

You’re happy, then? he wrote. With me?

“Of course.”

But when you speak of the mountains, there is such longing in your voice.

“I miss them,” she said. “But if I left here, I’d miss you too. Sometimes, you can’t have everything you want, since the wants contradict each other.”

They fell silent for a time, and he set aside his board, hesitantly wrapping his arm around her and leaning back against the headboard. A blushful tinge of red crept into her hair as she realized that they were still sitting on the bed, and she was snuggling up beside him wearing only her shift.

But, well, she thought, we are married, after all.

The only thing that spoiled the moment was the occasional rumbling of her stomach. After a few minutes, Susebron reached for his board.

You are hungry? he wrote.

“No,” she said. “My stomach is an anarchist; it likes to growl when it’s full.”

He paused. Sarcasm?

“A poor attempt,” she said. “It’s all right—I’ll survive.”



Didn’t you eat before you came to my chambers?

“I did,” she said. “But growing that much hair is draining. It always leaves me hungry.”

It makes you hungry every night? he asked, writing quickly. And you didn’t say anything?

She shrugged.

I will get you food.

“No, we can’t afford to expose ourselves.”

Expose what? he wrote. I am God King—I have food whenever I wish it. I have sent for it at night before. This will not be odd. He stood, walking toward the doorway.

“Wait!” she said.

He turned, glancing back at him.

“You can’t go to the door like that, Susebron,” she said, keeping her voice quiet, in case someone was listening. “You’re still fully dressed.”

He looked down, then frowned.

“Make your clothing look disheveled at least,” she said, quickly hiding his writing board.

He undid his neck buttons, then threw off his deep black overrobe, revealing an undergown. Like everything white near him, it gave off a halo of rainbow colors. He reached up, mussing his dark hair. He turned back to her, eyes questioning.

“Good enough,” she said, pulling the bedsheets up to her neck, covering herself. She watched curiously as Susebron rapped on the door with his knuckles.

It immediately opened. He’s too important to open his own door, Siri thought.

He commanded food by putting a hand to his stomach, then pointing away. The servants—barely visible to Siri through the doorway—scuttled away at his order. He turned as the door closed, walking back to sit beside her on the bed.

A few minutes later, servants arrived at the room with a dining table and a chair. They set the table with large amounts of food—everything from roasted fish to pickled vegetables and simmering shellfish.

Siri watched with amazement. There’s no way they fixed it that quickly. They simply had it waiting in the kitchens, should their god happen to grow hungry.