It was like nothing she'd seen in Idris. It was more amazing, even, than the colors she'd seen on the people in the city. Staring at herself in the mirror, Siri was almost able to forget her worries. "Thank you," she whispered.

That must have been the right response, for the serving women smiled, glancing at each other. Two took her hands, moving much more respectfully now than when they'd first rushed her from the carriage. Siri strode with them, train rustling behind her, and the other women stayed behind. Siri turned, and the women curtseyed to her one at a time, heads bowed.

She turned away from them, and the last two-the ones leading her-opened a door, then gently pushed her out into the hallway beyond. They closed the door, leaving her.

The hallway was of the deepest black. She'd almost forgotten how dark the stone walls of the palace were. The hallway was empty, save for Bluefingers, who stood waiting for her with his ledger. He smiled at her, bowing his head in respect.

"The G.o.d King will be pleased, Vessel," he said. "We are exactly on time-the sun only just set."

Siri turned from Bluefingers. Directly across from her was a large, imposing door. It was plated entirely with gold. Four wall lamps shone without colored gla.s.s, and they reflected light off the gilded portal. She had no question as to who lie beyond such an impressive marker.

"This is the G.o.d King's sleeping chambers," Bluefingers said. "Rather, one of his sleeping chambers. Now, my lady, you must hear this again. Do nothing to offend the King. You are here at his sufferance, and are here to see to his needs. Not mine, not your own, and not even that of our kingdom."

"I understand," she said quietly, heart beating faster and faster.

"Thank you," Bluefingers said. "It is time to present yourself. Enter the room, then remove your dress and underclothing. Bow yourself to the ground before the King's bed, touching your head to the floor. When he wishes for you to approach, he will knock on the side post, and you may look up. He will then wave you forward."

She nodded.

"Just... try not to touch him too much."

Siri frowned, clenching and unclenching her increasingly nervous hands. "How exactly am I going to manage that? We're going to have s.e.x, aren't we?"

Bluefingers flushed. "Yes, I guess you are. This is something of new ground for me, my lady. The G.o.d King... well, only a group of specially dedicated servants are supposed to touch him. My suggestion would be to avoid kissing him, caressing him, or doing anything else that might offend him. Simply let him do to you what he wishes, and you should be safe."

Siri took a deep breath, nodding.

"When you are finished," Bluefingers said, "the King will withdraw. Take the bed linens and burn them in the hearth. As the Vessel, you are the only one allowed to handle such things. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Siri said, growing increasingly anxious.

"Very well then," Bluefingers said, looking almost as nervous as she was. "Good luck." With that, he reached forward and pushed the door open.

Oh, Austre, G.o.d of Colors, she thought, heart pounding, hands sweating, growing numb.

Bluefingers pushed her lightly on the back, and she stepped into the room.

Chapter Seven.

The door shut behind her.

A large fire growled in a hearth to her left, bringing a shifting orange light to the large room. The black walls seemed to draw in and absorb the illumination, making deep shadows at the edges of the room.

Siri stood quietly in her ornate velvet dress, heart thumping, brow sweating. To her right, she could make out a ma.s.sive bed, with sheets and covers of black to match the rest of the room. The bed appeared unoccupied. Siri peered into the darkness, eyes adjusting.

The fire crackled, throwing a flicker of light across a large, throne-like chair sitting beside the bed. It was occupied by a figure wearing black, bathed in darkness. He watched her, eyes twinkling, unblinking in the firelight.

Siri gasped, casting her eyes downward, her heartbeat surging as she remembered Bluefingers' warnings. Vivenna should be here instead of me, Siri thought desperately. I can't deal with this! Father was wrong to send me!

She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing coming more quickly. She waved shaking fingers and pulled nervously at the strings on the side of her dress. Her hands were slick with sweat as she tried to undress. Was she taking too long? Would he be angered? Would she be killed before even the first night was out?

Would she maybe prefer that?

No, she thought with determination. No. I need to do this. For Idris. For the fields and the children who took flowers from me. For my father and Mab and everyone else in the palace.

She finally got the strings undone, and the gown fell away with surprising ease-she could now see that it had been constructed with that goal in mind. She dropped the dress to the floor then paused, looking at her undershift. The white fabric was throwing out a spectrum of colors, like light bent by a prism. She regarded this with shock, wondering what was causing the strange effect.

It didn't matter. She was too nervous to think about that. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to pull off her undershift, leaving her naked. She quickly knelt on the cold stone floor, curling up, heart thudding in her ears as she bowed with her forehead touching the floor.

The room fell silent save for the crackling hearth. The fire wasn't really necessary in the Hallandren warmth, but she was glad for it, unclothed as she was.

She waited, hair pure white, arrogance and stubbornness discarded, naked in more than one way. This is where she ended up-this is where all her 'independent' sense of freedom came to a halt. No matter what she claimed or how she felt, in the end, she had to bow to authority. Just like anyone else.

She gritted her teeth, imagining the G.o.d King sitting there, watching her subservient and naked before him. She hadn't seen much of him, other than to notice his size-he was a good foot taller than most other men she'd seen, and was wider of shoulders and more powerful of build as well. More significant than other, lesser men.

He was Returned.

Being Returned in and of itself wasn't a sin. After all, Returned came in Idris too. The Hallandren people, however, kept the Returned alive, feeding them on the souls of peasants, tearing away the Breath of hundreds of people each year...

Don't think of that, Siri told herself forcefully. Yet, as she tried to clear her mind, the G.o.d King's eyes returned to her memory. Those black eyes, which had almost seemed to glow in the firelight. She could feel them on her still, watching her, as cold as the stones upon which she knelt.

The fire crackled. Bluefingers had said that the King would knock for her. What if she missed it? But, she didn't dare glance upward. She'd already met his gaze once, if by accident. She couldn't risk upsetting him further. She just continued to kneel in place, elbows on the ground, back beginning to ache.

Why doesn't he do something?

Was he was displeased with her? Was she not as pretty as he'd desired, or was he angered that she'd met his eyes, then taken too long to undress? It would be particularly ironic if she offended him when trying so hard not to be her usual flippant self. Or was something else wrong? He had been promised the eldest daughter of the Idris king, but had instead received Siri. Would he know the difference? Would he even care?

The minutes pa.s.sed, the room growing more dark as the fire burned away its logs.

He's toying with me, Siri thought. Forcing me to wait on his whims. Making her kneel in such an uncomfortable position was probably a message-one that showed who was in power. He would take her when he willed it, and not before.

Siri gritted her teeth as the time pa.s.sed. How long had she been kneeling? An hour, maybe longer. And still, there wasn't a hint of sound-no knock, no cough, not even a shuffle from the G.o.d King. Perhaps it was a test, to see how long she would remain as she was. Perhaps she was just reading too much into things. Either way, she forced herself to remain in place, shifting only when she absolutely had to.

Vivenna had the training. Vivenna had the poise and the refinement. But Siri, she had the stubbornness. One only had to look back at her history of repeatedly ignoring lessons and duties to realize that. With time, she'd even broken down her father. He'd started letting her do as she pleased, if only to save his own sanity.

And so she continued to wait-naked in the light of the coals-as the night wore on.

Fireworks sprayed sparks up in a fountain of light. Some fell close to where Lightsong was sitting, and these blazed with an extra, frenzied light until they died away.

He reclined on a couch in the open air, watching the display. Servants waited around him, complete with parasols, a portable bar, wet towels to rub his face and hands should he feel the need, and a host of other luxuries that-to Lightsong-were simply commonplace.

He watched the fireworks with mild interest. The firemasters stood in a nervous cl.u.s.ter near his position. Beside them were a troop of minstrels that Lightsong had called for, yet hadn't yet asked to perform. While there were always entertainers in the Court of G.o.ds for the Returned to enjoy, this night-the wedding night of their G.o.d King-was even more extravagant.

Susebron wasn't in attendance himself, of course. Such festivities were beneath him. Lightsong glanced to the side, where the King's palace rose above the Court of G.o.ds. Eventually, Lightsong just shook his head and turned his attention back to the courtyard. The palaces of the G.o.ds formed a ring, and each building had a patio and balcony facing the central area. So, Lightsong basically sat in the front yard of his palace, though that yard also happened to be part of the ma.s.sive courtyard.

Another firefountain sprayed into the air, throwing shadows across the courtyard. Lightsong sighed, accepting another fruited drink from a servant. The night was cool and pleasant, fit for a G.o.d. Or G.o.ds. Lightsong could see other pavilions set up in front of other palaces. Different groups of performers cluttered the sides of the courtyard, waiting for their chance to please one of the Returned.

The fountain ran low, and the firemasters looked toward him, smiling hopefully by torchlight. Lightsong nodded with his best benevolent expression. "More fireworks," he said. "You have pleased me." This caused the three men to whisper in excitement and wave for their a.s.sistants.

As they set up, a familiar figure wandered into Lightsong's ring of torches. Llarimar wore his priestly robes, as always. Even when he was out in the city-which was where he should have been this night-he represented Lightsong and his priesthood.

"Scoot?" Lightsong asked, sitting up.

"Your grace," Llarimar said, bowing.

"What are you doing here?" Lightsong said. "You should be out with your family."

"I just wanted to check to make certain everything was to your liking."

Lightsong rubbed his forehead. "You're giving me a headache, Scoot."

"You can't get headaches, your grace."

"So you're fond of telling me," Lightsong said, waving for a servant to bring his priest a stool. "How are things outside the holy prison?"

Llarimar frowned at the choice of words. "His Excellency's wedding celebrations are quite fantastic," he said, adjusting his spectacles as another fountain of sparks began to spurt in the courtyard before them. "The city hasn't seen a festival this grand in decades."

"Then you should be out enjoying it."

"I just-"

"Scoot," Lightsong said, giving the man a pointed look, "if there's one thing you can trust me to do competently on my own, it's enjoy myself. I will-I promise in all solemnity-have a ravishingly good time drinking myself to excess and watching these nice men light things on fire. Now go be with your family."

Llarimar paused, then stood, bowed, and withdrew.

That man, Lightsong thought, sipping his fruity drink, takes his work far too seriously.

The concept amused Lightsong, and he leaned back, enjoying the fireworks. However, he was soon distracted by the approach of someone else. Or, rather, one very important someone else leading a group of far less important someone elses. Lightsong sipped his drink again.

The newcomer was beautiful. She was a G.o.ddess, after all. Dark black hair, pale skin, lush and curvaceous body. She wore far less clothing than Lightsong did, but that was common for most of the Court's G.o.ddesses. Her thin gown of green and silver was split on both sides, showing hips and thighs, and the neckline was draped down so low that very little was left to imagination.

Blushweaver the Beautiful, G.o.ddess of Honesty.

She was trailed by about thirty servants, not to mention her high priest and a good six lesser priests. The firemasters grew excited, noticing that they now had not one, but two divine attendants. The apprentices went about in a flurry of motion, setting up another series of firefountains. A group of Blushweaver's servants rushed forward, carrying an ornate couch, which they set on the gra.s.s beside Lightsong.

Blushweaver lay down with customary litheness, crossing perfect legs and resting on her side in a seductive, lady-like pose. The orientation left her capable of watching the fireworks should she wish, but her attention was obviously focused on Lightsong.

"My dear Lightsong," she said as a servant approached with a bunch of grapes. "Aren't you even going to acknowledge me?"

Here we go, Lightsong thought with resignation. "My dear Blushweaver," he said, setting aside his cup and lacing his fingers before him. "Why would I go and do something rude like that?"

"Rude?" she asked, amused.

"Of course. You obviously make quite a determined effort to draw attention to yourself-the details are magnificent, by the way. Is that makeup on your thighs?"

She smiled, biting into a grape. "It's a kind of paint, my dear. The designs were drawn by some of the most talented artists in my priesthood."

"My compliments to them," Lightsong said. "The patterns certainly draw the eye. And, they are a point unto my argument. You need no acknowledgement, my dear. Your mere presence is its own acknowledgement. Were I to go so far as to point out your display, then I would simply be undermining it. It would be like... shouting encouragement to the puppeteer as he gives his show."

Blushweaver raised an eyebrow. "But, didn't your very explanation do just that?"

"Only because you forced my hand, my dear," Lightsong said as the fireworks went off again. With two G.o.ds and their auras, the colors of the sparks grew quite powerful indeed. On the far side, some sparks left the Breath Auras, and these fell to the ground looking dull and weak. as if their fire were cool and insignificant enough that it could be picked up and tucked away.

"I see," Blushweaver said, eyeing the fireworks. "You seem captivated by the fire show. Is it that much more fascinating than I?"

"Not at all. It simply seems far less likely to burn me."

Blushweaver smiled. "Then you admit that you find me beautiful?"

"Of course. Why, my dear, you're positively rank with beauty. You're literally part of the definition of the word-it's in your name somewhere, I do believe."

"My dear Lightsong, I do believe that you're making sport of me."

"I never make fun of ladies, Blushweaver," Lightsong said, picking up his drink again. "Mocking a woman is like drinking too much wine. It may be fun for a short time, but the hangover is h.e.l.l."

Blushweaver paused. "But we don't get hangovers."

"Yes, of course. And that, my dear, is why I had to mock you. Please forgive me. It was but an inevitability forced on an unwilling servant."

Blushweaver opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. "Sometimes," she finally said, "I'm not certain when you are being silly and when you're being serious, Lightsong."

"Well, I can help you with that one easily enough," he said. "If you ever think I'm being serious, then you can know that you've been working too hard on the problem."

"I see," she said, twisting on her couch so that she was face down. She leaned on her elbows with b.r.e.a.s.t.s pushed up between them, fireworks lighting her exposed back. "So, then. You admit that I'm captivating and beautiful. Would you then care to retire from the festivities this evening? Find... other entertainments?"

Lightsong hesitated. Being unable to bear children didn't stop the G.o.ds from seeking intimacy, particularly with other Returned. In fact, from what Lightsong could guess, the impossibility of offspring only increased the laxness of the Court in these matters. Many a G.o.d took mortal lovers-Blushweaver was known to have a few of her own among her priests. Distractions with mortals were never seen as infidelity among G.o.ds.

Blushweaver lounged on her couch, supple, inviting. Lightsong opened his mouth, but in his mind, he saw... her. The woman of vision from his dreams, the face he'd mentioned to Llarimar. Who was she?

Probably nothing. A flash from his former life, or perhaps simply an image crafted by his subconscious. Maybe even, as the priests claimed, some kind of prophetic symbol. The face shouldn't give him pause. Not when faced with perfection.

"I... must decline," he found himself saying. "I am, unfortunately, too lazy for such things."

"Too lazy for s.e.x?" Blushweaver asked, rolling back onto her side and regarding him.

"I'm really quite indolent. A poor example of a G.o.d, as I keep telling my high priest. n.o.body seems to listen to me, so I fear that I must continue to be diligent in proving my point. Dallying with you would, unfortunately, undermine my entire basis for argument."

Blushweaver shook her head. "You confuse me sometimes, Lightsong. If it weren't for your reputation, I'd simply presume you to be shy. How could you have slept with Calmseer, but consistently ignore me?"