Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(38)
She gasped, shaking in awe. She vaguely heard Parlin rushing to her side, speaking her name. But, oddly, the only thing she could think of was the melodic quality of his voice. She could pick out each tone in every word he spoke. She knew them instinctively.
Austre, God of Colors! she thought, steadying herself with one hand against the wooden floor as the shakes subsided. What have I done?
11
But surely we can bend the rules a little bit,” Siri said, walking quickly beside Treledees.
Treledees eyed her. The priest—high priest of the God King—would have been tall even without the elaborate miter on his head. With it, he seemed to tower over her almost like one of the Returned.
Well, a spindly, obnoxious, disdainful Returned.
“An exception?” he asked with his leisurely Hallandren accent. “No, I do not think that will be possible, Vessel.”
“I don’t see why not,” Siri said as a servant pulled open the door in front of them, allowing them to leave a green-colored room and pass into a blue one. Treledees respectfully let her pass through the doorway first, though she sensed that he was displeased he had to do so.
Siri ground her teeth, trying to think of another avenue of attack. Vivenna would be calm and logical, she thought. She’d explain why she should be allowed to leave the palace in a way that made sense so that the priest listened to her. Siri took a deep breath, trying to ease the red from her hair and the frustration from her attitude.
“Look. Couldn’t I, maybe, go on one trip outside? Just into the court itself?”
“Impossible,” Treledees said. “If you lack for entertainment, why not have your servants send for minstrels or jugglers? I’m sure they could keep you occupied.” And out of my hair, his tone seemed to imply.
Couldn’t he understand? It wasn’t lack of something to do that frustrated her. It was that she couldn’t see the sky. Couldn’t run away from walls and locks and rules. Barring that, she would have settled for someone to talk to. “At least let me meet with one of the gods. I mean, really—what is accomplished by keeping me locked up like this?”
“You’re not ‘locked up,’ Vessel,” Treledees said. “You are observing a period of isolation in which you can dedicate yourself to contemplating your new place in life. It is an ancient and worthy practice, one that shows respect for the God King and his divine monarchy.”
“Yes, but this is Hallandren,” Siri said. “It’s the land of laxness and frivolity! Surely you can see your way to making an exception.”
Treledees stopped short. “We do not make exceptions in matters of religion, Vessel. I must assume that you are testing me in some way, for I find it hard to believe that anyone worthy of touching our God King could harbor such vulgar thoughts.”
Siri cringed. Less than a week in the city, she thought, and I’ve already started letting my tongue get me into trouble. Siri didn’t dislike people—she loved to talk to them, spend time with them, laugh with them. However, she couldn’t make them do what she wanted, not in the way that a politician was supposed to be able to do. That was something she should have learned from Vivenna.
She and Treledees continued walking. Siri wore a long, flowing brown skirt that covered her feet and had a train that trailed behind her. The priest was wearing golds and maroons—colors matched by the servants. It still amazed her that everyone in the palace had so many costumes, even if they were identical save for color.
She knew that she shouldn’t let herself get annoyed with the priests. They already didn’t seem to like her, and getting snappish wouldn’t help. It was just that the last few days had been so dull. Trapped in the palace, unable to leave, unable to find anyone to talk to, she felt herself nearly going mad.
But there would be no exceptions. Apparently.
“Will that be all, Vessel?” Treledees asked, pausing beside a door. It almost seemed like he found it a chore to remain civil toward her.
Siri sighed, but nodded. The priest bowed, then opened the door and quickly rushed away. Siri watched him go, tapping her foot, arms folded. Her servants stood arrayed behind her, silent as always. She considered finding Bluefingers, but . . . no. He always had so much to do, and she felt bad distracting him.
Sighing again, she motioned for her servants to prepare the evening meal. Two fetched a chair from the side of the room. Siri sat, resting as food was gathered. The chair was plush, but it was still difficult to sit in a way that didn’t aggravate one of her aches or cramps. Each of the last six nights, she had been forced to kneel, naked, until she finally grew so drowsy that she drifted off. Sleeping on the hard stone had left a dull, per sis tent pain in her back and neck.
Each morning, once the God King was gone, she moved to the bed. When she awoke the second time, she burned the sheets. After that, she chose her clothing. There was a new array each time, with no repeated outfits. She wasn’t sure where the servants got such a steady supply of clothing in Siri’s size, but it made her hesitant about choosing her daily costume. She knew that she’d likely never see any of the options again.
After dressing, she was free to do as she wished, assuming she didn’t leave the palace. When night came, she was bathed, then given a choice of luxurious gowns to wear into the bedchamber. As a matter of comfort, she had started requesting more and more ornate gowns, with more fabric to use in sleeping. She often wondered what the dressmakers would think if they knew that their gowns were only worn for a few brief moments before being discarded to the floor, then eventually used as blankets.