Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(163)

“Ridger was right above me. I was always getting him into trouble. He was the heir, and I had him thoroughly corrupted, at least until he got old enough to appreciate his duties. He’s a little like you. Very kindhearted, always trying to do what is right. He didn’t eat as many sweets, though.”

Susebron smiled faintly, squeezing her shoulder.

“Then there was Fafen. I didn’t really know her that well. She joined a monastery when I was still quite young—and I was glad. It’s seen as a duty in Idris to provide at least one child for the monasteries. They’re the ones who grow the food for the needy and take care of things that need to be done around the city. Pruning, washing, painting. Anything to be of service.”

He reached over. A little like a king, he wrote. Living a life to serve others.

“Sure,” Siri said. “Only they don’t get locked up and they can stop doing it, if they want. Either way, I’m glad it was Fafen and not me. I would have gone crazy living as a monk. They have to be pious all the time, and are supposed to be the least ostentatious in the city.”

Not a good match for your hair, he wrote.

“Definitely,” she said.

Though, he wrote, frowning slightly. It’s stopped changing colors so often lately.

“I’ve had to learn to control it better,” Siri said with a grimace. “People can read me too easily by it. Here.” She changed it from black to yellow, and he smiled, running his fingers through its lengthy locks.

“After Fafen,” Siri said, “there’s just the eldest, Vivenna. She’s the one you were supposed to marry. She spent her entire life preparing to move to Hallandren.”

She must hate me, Susebron wrote. Growing up knowing she would have to leave her family and live with a man she didn’t know.

“Nonsense,” Siri said. “Vivenna looked forward to it. I don’t think she can feel hatred. She was always just calm and careful and perfect.”

Susebron frowned.

“I sound bitter, don’t I?” Siri said, sighing. “I don’t mean to. I really do love Vivenna. She was always there, watching out for me. But it seemed to me that she made too many efforts to cover up for me. My big sister, pulling me out of trouble, scolding me calmly, then seeing that I wasn’t punished as much as I should have been.” She hesitated. “They’re all probably at home right now, worried sick about me.”

You sound like you’re worried about them, he wrote.

“I am,” she said. “I’ve been listening to the priests argue in the court. It doesn’t sound good, Seb. There are a lot of Idrians in the city and they’re being very reckless. The city guard was forced to send troops into one of the slums a few weeks back. That isn’t helping reduce tensions between our countries.”



Susebron didn’t write a response, but instead wrapped his arm around her again, pulling her close. It felt good to be held against him. Very good.

After a few minutes, he pulled his arm away and wrote again, awkwardly erasing first. I was wrong, you know.

“About what?”

About one of the things I said earlier. I wrote that my mother was the only person to ever show me love and kindness. That’s not true. There’s been another.

He stopped writing and looked at her. Then he glanced at the board again. You didn’t have to show me kindness, he wrote. You could have hated me for taking you from your family and your homeland. Instead, you taught me to read, befriended me. Loved me.

He stared at her. She stared at him. Then, hesitant, he leaned down and kissed her.

Oh, dear . . . Siri thought, a dozen objections popping into her head. She found it difficult to move, to resist, or to do anything.

Anything other than kiss him back.

She felt hot. She knew that they needed to stop, lest the priesthood get exactly what they were waiting for. She understood all of these things. Yet those objections began to seem less and less rational as she kissed him, as her breathing grew more hurried.

He paused, obviously uncertain what to do next. Siri looked up at him, breathing heavily, then pulled him down to kiss him again, feeling her hair bleed to a deep, passionate red.

At that point, she stopped caring about anything else. Susebron didn’t know what to do. But she did. I really am too hasty, she thought as she pulled off her shift. I need to get better at controlling my impulses.

Some other time.

45

That night, Lightsong dreamed of T’Telir burning. Of the God King dead and of soldiers in the streets. Of Lifeless killing people in colorful clothing.

And of a black sword.

46

Vivenna choked down her meal. The dried meat tasted strongly of fish, but she had learned that by breathing through her mouth, she could ignore much of the flavor. She ate every bite, then washed the taste away with a few mouthfuls of warm boiled water.

She was alone in the room. It was a small chamber built onto the side of a building near the slums. Vasher had paid a few coins for a day in it, though he wasn’t there at the moment. He’d rushed off to deal with something.

She leaned back, food consumed, closing her eyes. She’d reached the point where she was so exhausted that she actually found it difficult to sleep. The fact that the room was so small didn’t help. She couldn’t even stretch out all the way.

Vasher hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that their work would be rigorous. Stop after stop, she spoke with the Idrians, consoling them, begging them not to push Hallandren to war. There were no restaurants as there had been with Denth. No dinners with men in fine clothing and guards. Just group after group of tired, working-class men and women. Many of them weren’t rebellious and a large number of them didn’t even live in the slums. But they were part of the Idrian community in T’Telir, and they could influence how their friends and family felt.