Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(30)

When she opened her eyes—perfume misting down around her—Bluefingers was standing in the room. “Ah, excellent,” he said, servant boy standing obediently behind with ink, quill, and paper. “You’re up already.”

Already? Siri thought. It has to be well past noon!

Bluefingers looked her over, nodded to himself, then glanced at the bed, obviously checking to see that the linens had been destroyed. “Well,” he said. “I trust that your servants will see to your needs, Vessel.” With that, he began to walk away with the anxious tread of a man who felt he had far too much to do.

“Wait!” Siri said, standing, jostling several of her serving women.

Bluefingers hesitated. “Vessel?”

Siri floundered, uncertain how to express what she was feeling. “Do you know . . . what I’m supposed to do?”

“Do, Vessel?” the scribe asked. “You mean, in regards to . . .” He glanced at the bed.

Siri flushed. “No, not that. I mean with my time. What are my duties? What is expected of me?”

“To provide an heir.”

“Beyond that.”

Bluefingers frowned. “I . . . well, to be honest, Vessel, I really don’t know. I must say, your arrival has certainly caused a level of disruption in the Court of Gods.”

In my life, too, she thought, flushing slightly, hair turning red.

“Not that you’re to blame, of course,” Bluefingers said quickly. “But then . . . well, I certainly wish I’d had more forewarning.”

“More forewarning?” Siri asked. “This marriage was arranged by treaty over twenty years ago!”

“Yes, well, but nobody thought . . .” He trailed off. “Ahem. Well, either way, we shall do our best to accommodate you here in the king’s palace.”

What was that? Siri thought. Nobody thought . . . that the marriage would really happen? Why not? Did they assume that Idris wouldn’t keep its part of the bargain?

Regardless, he still hadn’t answered her question. “Yes, but what am I supposed to do,” she said, sitting down on the stool again. “Am I to sit here in the palace and stare at the fire all day?”

Bluefingers chuckled. “Oh, Colors no! My lady, this is the Court of Gods! You’ll find plenty to occupy you. Each day, performers are allowed to enter the court and display their talents for their deities. You may have any of these brought to you for a private performance.”

“Ah,” Siri said. “Can I, maybe, go horseback riding?”

Bluefingers rubbed his chin. “I suppose we could bring some horses into the court for you. Of course, we’d have to wait until the Wedding Jubilation is over.”

“Wedding Jubilation?” she asked.

“You . . . don’t know, then? Were you not prepared for any of this?”

Siri flushed.

“No offense intended, Vessel,” Bluefingers said. “The Wedding Jubilation is a weeklong period in which we celebrate the God King’s marriage. During that time, you are not to leave this palace. At the end of it, you will officially be presented to the Court of Gods.”

“Oh,” she said. “And after that, I can go out of the city?”

“Out of the city!” Bluefingers said. “Vessel, you can’t leave the Court of Gods!”

“What?”

“You may not be a god yourself,” Bluefingers continued. “But you’re the wife of the God King. It would be far too dangerous to let you out. But do not fret—anything and everything you might request can be provided for you.”

Except freedom, she thought, feeling a bit sick.

“I assure you, once the Wedding Jubilation is over, you will find little to complain about. Everything you could want is here: every type of indulgence, every luxury, every diversion.”

Siri nodded numbly, still feeling trapped.

“Also,” Bluefingers said, holding up an ink-stained finger. “If you wish, the Court Assembly meets to provide decisions to the people. Full assembly meets once a week, though daily there are smaller judgments to be made. You aren’t to sit on the assembly itself, of course, but you will certainly be allowed to attend, once the Jubilation is over. If none of this suits you, you may request an artist of the God King’s priesthood to attend you. His priests include devout and accomplished artists from all genres: music, painting, dance, poetry, sculpture, puppetry, play performance, sandpainting, or any of the lesser genres.”

Siri blinked. God of Colors! she thought. Even being idle is daunting here. “But there isn’t any of this that I’m required to attend?”

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Bluefingers said. “Vessel, you look displeased.”

“I . . .” How could she explain? Her entire life, she’d been expected to be something—and for most of her life she’d intentionally avoided being it. Now that was gone from her. She couldn’t disobey lest she get herself killed and get Idris into a war. For once, she was willing to serve, to try and be obedient. But, ironically, there didn’t seem to be anything for her to do. Except, of course, bear a child.

“Very well,” she said with a sigh. “Where are my rooms? I’ll go there and situate myself.”

“Your rooms, Vessel?”

“Yes. I assume I’m not to reside in this chamber itself.”