Brandon Sanderson - Warbreaker

“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.”

“No,” Bluefingers said, chuckling. “The conception room? Of course not.”

“Then where?” Siri asked.

“Vessel,” Bluefingers said. “In a way, this entire palace is yours. I don’t see why you’d need specific rooms. Ask to eat, and your servants will set up a table. If you wish to rest, they will bring you a couch or a chair. Seek entertainment, and they will fetch performers for you.”

Suddenly, the strange actions of her servants—simply bringing her an array of colors to choose from, then doing her makeup and hair right there—made more sense. “I see,” she said, almost to herself. “And the soldiers I brought with me? Did they do as I commanded?”

“Yes, Vessel,” Bluefingers said. “They left this morning. It was a wise decision; they are not dedicated servants of the Tones, and would not have been allowed to remain here in the court. They could do you no further service.”

Siri nodded.

“Vessel, if I might be excused . . . ?” Bluefingers asked.

Siri nodded distractedly, and Bluefingers bustled away, leaving her to think about how terribly alone she was. Can’t focus on that, she thought. Instead, she turned to one of her serving women—a younger one, about Siri’s own age. “Well, that really doesn’t tell me what to spend my time on, does it?”

The servant blushed quietly, bowing her head.

“I mean, there seems to be a lot to do, if I want,” Siri said. “Maybe too much.”

The girl bowed again.

That’s going to get very annoying very quickly, Siri thought, gritting her teeth. Part of her wanted to do something shocking to get a reaction out of the servant, but she knew she was just being foolish. In fact, it seemed that many of her natural impulses and reactions wouldn’t work here in Hallandren. So, to keep herself from doing something silly, Siri stood up, determined to examine her new home. She left the overly black room, poking her head out into the hallway. She turned back to her servants, who stood obediently in a line behind her.

“Is there any place I’m forbidden to go?” she asked.

The one she was addressing shook her head.

Fine, then, she thought. I’d better not end up stumbling upon the God King in the bath. She crossed the hallway, opened the door, then stepped into the yellow room she’d been in the day before. The chair and bench she’d used had been removed, replaced by a group of yellow couches. Siri raised an eyebrow, then walked through into the tub room beyond.

The tub was gone. She started. The room was the one she remembered, with same red colorings. Yet, the sloped tile platforms with their inset tubs were gone. The entire contraption must have been portable, brought in for her bath, then removed.

They really can transform any room, she thought with amazement. They must have chambers full of furniture, tubs, and drapings, each of a different color, waiting upon the whims of their god.

Curious, she left the tubless room and moved in a random direction. Each room appeared to have four doors, one on each wall. Some rooms were larger than others. Some had windows to the outside, while others were in the middle of the palace. Each was a different color, yet it was still difficult to tell the difference between them. Endless rooms, pristine with their decorations following a single color’s theme. Soon, she was hopelessly lost—but it didn’t seem to matter. Every room was, in a way, the same as any other.