Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(69)

“Indeed it did, Vessel,” Bluefingers said, tapping his ledger from beneath. “Only those in the palace know about any of this, of course.”

Good, Siri thought. She glanced to the side.

Bluefingers did not look pleased.

“What?” she asked. “I’m out of danger. The priests can stop worrying about an heir.” For a few months, at least. They’ll get suspicious eventually.

“Vessel,” Bluefingers said with a harsh whisper. “Doing your duty as the Vessel was the danger!”

She frowned, looking at Bluefingers as the little scribe tapped his board. “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods . . .” he whispered to himself.

“What?” she asked.

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Then what is the point of bringing it up in the first place! Honestly, Bluefingers, you’re getting frustrating. Leave me too confused, and I might just start asking questions—”

“No!” Bluefingers said sharply, then immediately glanced behind him, cringing slightly. “Vessel, you must not speak to others of my fears. They’re silly, really, nothing to bother anyone else with. Just . . .”

“What?” she asked.

“You must not bear him a child,” Bluefingers said. “That is the danger, both to yourself and to the God King himself. This all . . . everything here in the palace . . . it is not what it appears to be.”

“That’s what everyone says,” she snapped. “If it’s not what it seems, then tell me what it is.”

“There is no need,” Bluefingers said. “And I will not speak of this again. After tonight, you will conduct yourself to the bedchamber—you obviously have the pattern down well enough. Just wait a hundred heartbeats or so after the women let you out of the dressing room.”

“You have to tell me something!” Siri said.

“Vessel,” Bluefingers said, leaning in. “I advise you to please keep your voice down. You don’t know how many factions shift and move inside the palace. I am a member of many of them, and a stray word on your part could . . . no, would . . . mean my death. Do you understand that? Can you understand that?”

She hesitated.

“I should not be putting my life in danger because of you,” he said. “But there are things about this arrangement with which I do not agree. And so, I give my warning. Avoid giving the God King a child. If you want to know more than that, read your histories. Honestly, I would think that you’d have come to all this a little more prepared.”

And with that, the little man left.

Siri shook her head, then sighed and pushed open the door and entered the God King’s chamber. She closed the door, then eyed the God King—who watched her, as always—and pulled off her dress, leaving her shift on. She went to the bed and sat down, waiting a few minutes before climbing up on her knees to do her bouncing, moaning act. She varied it sometimes, doing several different rhythms, getting creative.

Once she was done, she snuggled down in the blankets and lay back in the pillows to think. Could Bluefingers have been any more obscure? she thought with frustration. What little Siri knew of political intrigue told her that people preferred to be subtle—obscure, even—to protect themselves from implication.

Read your histories. . . .

It seemed an odd suggestion. If the secrets were that visible, then why would they be dangerous?

Still, as she thought, she did find herself feeling grateful for Bluefingers. She couldn’t really blame him for his hesitation. He’d probably already endangered himself far more than he should have. Without him, she wouldn’t have known she was in danger.

In a way, he was the only friend she had in the city—a person like herself, a person drawn in from another country. A country that was overshadowed by beautiful, bold Hallandren. A man who . . .

Her thoughts trailed off; she felt something odd. She opened her eyes.

Someone loomed over her in the darkness.

Despite herself, Siri screamed in surprise. The God King jumped back, stumbling. Heart thumping, Siri shuffled backward on the bed, pulling the covers up over her chest—though, of course, he had seen her unclothed so often that it was a ridiculous gesture.

The God King stood in his dark black clothing, looking uncertain in the hearth’s wavering light. She’d never asked her servants why he wore black. One would think that he would prefer white, which he could affect so dramatically with his BioChroma.

For a few moments, Siri sat with the blankets clutched before her, then forced herself to relax. Stop being so silly, she told herself. He’s never so much as threatened you.

“It’s all right,” she said softly. “You just startled me.”

He glanced at her. And—with a jolt of surprise—she realized this was the first time she’d addressed him since her outburst the previous week. Now that he stood, she could see even better how . . . heroic he looked. Tall, broad-shouldered, like a statue. Human, but of more dramatic proportions. Carefully, showing more uncertainty than she’d ever expected from a man who had the title of God King, he moved back to the bed. He sat down on its edge.

Then he reached to his shirt, pulling it up.

Oh, Austre, she thought with sudden shock. Oh, God, Lord of Colors! This is it! He’s finally coming for me!

She couldn’t fight off the trembles. She’d convinced herself that she was safe, comfortable. She shouldn’t have to go through this. Not again!