Brandon Sanderson - Warbreaker

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.

She didn’t own anything, yet could have whatever she wanted. Exotic foods, furniture, entertainers, books, art . . . she only needed ask. And yet, when she was finished, it was removed. She had everything and nothing at the same time.

She yawned. The interrupted sleep schedule left her bleary-eyed and tired. The completely empty days didn’t help either. If only there were someone to talk to . But servants, priests, and scribes were all locked into their formal roles. That accounted for everyone she interacted with.

Well, except him .

Could she even call that interacting? The God King appeared to enjoy looking at her body, but he’d never given her any indication that he wanted more. He simply let her kneel, those eyes of his watching and dissecting her. That was the sum total of their marriage.

The servants finished putting out her dinner then lined up by the wall. It was getting late—almost time for her nightly bathing. I’ll have to eat quickly, she thought, sitting at the table. After all, I wouldn’t want to be late for the evening’s ogling .

A FEW HOURS LATER, Siri stood bathed, perfumed, and dressed before the massive golden door that led into the God King’s bedchamber. She breathed deeply, calming herself, anxiety bringing her hair to a pale brown. She still hadn’t gotten used to this part.

It was silly. She knew what would happen. And yet, the anticipation—the fear—was still there. The God King’s actions proved the power he had over her. One day he would take her, and it could come at any time. Part of her wished he’d just be done with it. The extended dread was even worse than that first single evening of terror.

She shivered. Bluefingers eyed her. Perhaps eventually he’d trust her to arrive at the bedchamber on time. Each night so far, he’d come to escort her.

At least he hasn’t shown up while I’m bathing again . The warm water and pleasant scents should have made her relax—unfortunately, she tended to spend each bath worrying about either her impending visit to the God King or some male servant walking in on her.

She glanced at Bluefingers.

“A few more minutes, Vessel,” he said.

How does he know? she thought. The man seemed to have a supernatural sense of time. She hadn’t seen any form of timepiece in the palace—neither sundial, metered candle, nor water clock. In Hallandren, apparently, gods and queens didn’t worry about such things. They had servants to remind them of appointments.

Bluefingers glanced at the door, then at her. When he saw that she was watching him, he immediately turned away. As he stood, he started shuffling his weight from foot to foot.

What does he have to be nervous about? she thought with annoyance, turning to stare at the door’s intricate gold designs. He’s not the one who has to go through this every night .

“Do . . . things go well with the God King, then?” Bluefingers asked suddenly.

Siri frowned.

“I can see that you’re tired a lot of the time,” Bluefingers said. “I . . . guess that means you are very . . . active at night.”

“That’s good, right? Everyone wants an heir as soon as possible.”

“Yes, of course,” Bluefingers said, wringing his hands. “It’s just that . . .” He trailed off, then glanced at her, meeting her eyes. “You just might want to be careful, Vessel. Keep your wits about you. Try to stay alert.”

Her hair bleached the rest of the way white. “You make it sound as if I’m in danger,” she said softly.

“What? Danger?” Bluefingers said, glancing to the side. “Nonsense. What would you have to fear? I was simply suggesting that you remain alert, should the God King have needs you should fulfill. Ah, see, now it’s time. Enjoy your evening, Vessel.”

With that, he pushed open the door, placed a hand on her back, and guided her into the room. At the last moment, he moved his head up next to hers. “You should watch yourself, child,” he whispered. “Not all here in the palace is as it seems.”

Siri frowned, turning, but Bluefingers plastered on a false smile and pushed the door shut.

What in Austre’s name was that? she thought, pausing for what was probably too long a time as she stared at the door. Finally, she sighed, turning away. The usual fire crackled in the hearth, but it was smaller than previously.

He was there. Siri didn’t need to look to see him. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, she could notice that the fire’s colors—blue, orange, even black—were far too true, far too vibrant . Her gown, a brilliant golden satin, seemed to burn with its own inner color. Anything that was white—some of the lace on her dress, for instance—bent slightly, giving off a rainbow of colors as if seen through a prism. Part of her wished for a well-lit room, where she could experience the full beauty of BioChroma.

But, of course, that was not right. The God King’s Breath was a perversion. He was fed on the souls of his people, and the colors he evoked came at their expense.

Shivering, Siri undid the side of her dress then let the garment fall to pieces around her—the long sleeves slipping free, bodice falling forward, skirt and gown rustling as they dropped to the floor. She completed the ritual, sliding the straps of her shift off her shoulders, then dropping the garment to the floor beside the gown. She stepped free of both, then bowed herself down into her customary posture.

Her back complained, and she ruefully contemplated another uncomfortable night. The least they could do, she thought, is make certain the fire is large enough . At night in the large stone palace, it got chilly despite the Hallandren tropical climate. Particularly if one were naked.

Focus on Bluefingers, she thought, trying to distract herself. What did he mean? Things are not what they seem in the palace?