Brandon Sanderson - Warbreaker

“Suit yourself,” Denth said. “Hope nobody suffers when your mission fails, though.”

Siri . . . .

“No,” Vivenna said, partially to herself. “I couldn’t take them.” It was true. Even the thought of letting someone else’s Breath mingle with her own—the idea of drawing another person’s soul into her own body—made her sick.

Vivenna turned back to the dying spy. His BioChroma was burning brightly now, and his sheets practically glowed. It was better to let that Breath die with him.

Yet without Lemex, she would have no help in the city, no one to guide her and provide refuge for her. She’d barely brought along enough money to cover lodging and meals, let alone bribes or supplies. She told herself that taking the Breath would be like using goods one had found in a bandit’s cavern. Did you throw it away just because it had originally been acquired through crime? Her training and lessons whispered that she needed resources badly, and that the damage had already been done. . . .

No! she thought again. It just isn’t right! I can’t hold it. I couldn’t .

Of course, perhaps it would be wise to let someone else hold the Breaths for a time. Then she could think about what to do with them at her leisure. Maybe . . . maybe even find the people they had been taken from and give them back. She turned back, glancing at Denth and Tonk Fah.

“Don’t look at me like that, Princess,” Denth said, chuckling. “I see the glint in your eyes. I’m not going to keep that Breath for you. Having that much BioChroma makes a man far too important.”

Tonk Fah nodded. “It’d be like hiking about the city with a bag of gold on your back.”

“I like my Breath the way it is,” Denth said. “I only need one, and it’s functioning just fine. Keeps me alive, doesn’t draw attention to me, and sits there waiting to be sold if I need it.”

Vivenna glanced at Parlin. But . . . no, she couldn’t force the Breath on him. She turned back to Denth. “What kind of things does your agreement with Lemex provide for?”

Denth glanced at Tonk Fah, then glanced back at her. The look in his eyes was enough. He was paid to obey. He’d take the Breath if she commanded it.

“Come here,” she said, nodding to a stool beside her.

Denth approached reluctantly. “You know, Princess,” he said, sitting. “If you give me that Breath, then I could just run off with it. I’d be a wealthy man. You wouldn’t want to put that kind of temptation into the hands of an unscrupulous mercenary, now, would you?”

She hesitated.

If he runs off with it, then what do I lose? That would solve a lot of problems for her. “Take it,” she ordered.

He shook his head. “That’s not the way it works. Our friend there has to give it to me.”

She looked at the old man. “I . . .” She began to command Lemex to do just that, but she had second thoughts. Austre wouldn’t want her to take the Breath, no matter what the circumstances—a man who took Breath from others was worse than a slaver.

“No,” she said. “No, I’ve changed my mind. We won’t take the Breath.”

At that moment, Lemex stopped his mumbling. He looked up, meeting Vivenna’s eyes.

His hand was still on her arm.

“My life to yours,” he said in an eerily clear voice, his grip tight on her arm as she jumped back. “ My Breath become yours! ”

A vibrant cloud of shifting, iridescent air burst from his mouth, puffing toward her. Vivenna closed her mouth, eyes wide, hair white. She ripped her arm free from Lemex’s grip, even as his face grew dull, his eyes losing their luster, the colors around him fading.

The Breath shot toward her. Her closed mouth had no effect; the Breath struck, hitting her like a physical force, washing across her body. She gasped, falling to her knees, body quivering with a perverse pleasure. She could suddenly feel the other people in the room. She could sense them watching her. And—as if a light had been lit—everything around her became more vibrant, more real, and more alive.

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?

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.