Warbreaker Part 28

They nodded. "Using modern Command words," one said, "and it even has ichor-alcohol instead of blood. Took us the better part of the night to catch the thing!"

"I see," Lightsong said, standing. "But the intruder escaped? Ran away, did he?"

"Yes, your grace," one of them said.

"What do you suppose he was after?"

The priests wavered. "We don't know, your grace," one of them said. "We scared him away before he could obtain his goal-one of our men saw him fleeing back out the way he had come. Apparently, the resistance was too much for him."

"We think that he must have been a petty thief, your grace," another said. "Here to try and sneak into the gallery and steal the art."

"Sounds likely enough to me," Lightsong said, standing. "Good work with this, and all that." He turned, walking down the hallway. He felt a strange sense of surrealness.

The priests were lying to him.

He wasn't even certain how he could tell. Yet he knew it-knew it deep inside, with some instincts he hadn't realized that he possessed. Instead of bothering him, for some reason the lies excited him.

"Your grace," Llarimar said, hurrying up. "Did you find what you wanted?"

"That was no Idrian who broke in," Lightsong said quietly as they walked into the sunlight. "It was an Awakener."

Llarimar raised an eyebrow. "There have been cases of Idrians coming to Hallandren and buying themselves Breath, your grace."

"And have you ever heard of one making a Lifeless?"

Llarimar fell quiet. "No, your grace," he finally admitted.

"Idrians hate Lifeless. Consider them abominations, or some nonsense. Either way, it wouldn't make sense for an Idrian to try and get in like that. What would be the point? a.s.sa.s.sinating a Returned? That would only bring retaliation."

"So you believe that it was a thief?"

"Of course not," Lightsong said. "A 'petty thief' with enough Breath that he can waste one creating a permanent Lifeless, just for a distraction? Whoever broke in, he was already rich. Besides, why sneak through the servant's hallway? There are no valuables there. The inside of the palace would have held far more wealth."

Llarimar fell quiet again. He looked over at Lightsong, that same curious expression from before showing on his face. "That's... some very clever reasoning, your grace."

"I know," Lightsong said. "I feel positively unlike myself. Perhaps I need to go get drunk."

"You can't get drunk."

"Ah, but I certainly enjoy trying."

They walked back toward his palace, picking up his servants on the way. Llarimar seemed unsettled. Lightsong, however, simply felt excited. Murder in the Court of G.o.ds, he thought. True, it was only a servant-but I'm supposed to be a G.o.d for all people, not just important ones. I wonder how long it's been since someone was killed in the Court? Hasn't happened in my lifetime, certainly.

Those priests were hiding things. Why had the intruder released a distraction-particularly such an expensive one-if he was simply going to run away? The servants of the Returned were not soldiers or warriors. So why had he turned back so easily?

All good questions. Good questions that he, of all people, shouldn't have bothered to wonder about. And yet, he did.

All the way back to the palace, through a nice meal, and even into the night.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Siri's servants cl.u.s.tered around her uncertainly as she walked into the chaotic room. She wore a blue and white gown with a ten-foot train. Scribes and priests looked up in shock; some immediately scrambled to their feet, bowing. Others just stared as she pa.s.sed, her serving women doing their best to hold her train in a dignified manner.

Siri continued, determined, through the chamber-which seemed more like a hallway than a proper room. Tables lined the walls, stacks of paper cluttered those tables, and scribes-some in brown, some in the day's colors-worked the papers. The walls were, of course, black. Colored rooms were only in the center of the palace, where the G.o.d King and Siri spent most of their time. Separately, of course.

Though, things are a little different at night, she thought, smiling. It felt very... conspiratorial of her to be teaching him letters. She had a secret that she was keeping from the rest of the kingdom, a secret that involved one of the most powerful men in the entire world. That gave her a thrill.

She supposed that she should have been more worried. At times-when she was more thoughtful-the reality of Bluefingers' warnings did worry her. That's why she had come to the scribes' quarters.

I wonder why the bed chamber is out here, she thought. Outside the main body of the palace, in the black part.

Either way, the servants' section of the palace-G.o.d King's bedchamber excluded-was the last place that the scribes expected to be disturbed by their queen. Siri noticed that some of her serving women shot apologetic glances at the men in the room as Siri arrived at the doors on the other side. A servant pushed open the door for her, and she entered the room beyond.

A group of priests stood leafing through books in the medium sized chamber. They looked over at her. One dropped his book to the floor in shock.

"I," Siri proclaimed, "want some books!"

The priests stared at her. "Books?" one finally asked.

"Yes," Siri said, hands on hips. "This is the palace library, is it not?"

"Well, yes," the priest said, glancing at his companions. All wore the robes of their office, and this day's colors were violet and silver.

"Well, then," Siri said. "I'd like to take some of the books. I am bored with normal entertainment and shall be reading to myself in my spare time."

"Surely you don't want these books, Vessel," another priest said. "They are about boring topics like religion or city finances. Surely a book of stories would be more appropriate."

Siri raised an eyebrow. "And where might I find such a 'more appropriate' volume?"

"We could have a reader bring the book from the city collection," the priest said, stepping forward with a smooth gait. "He'd be here shortly."

Siri hesitated. "No. I do not think I like that option. I shall take some of these books here."

"No, you shall not," a new voice said from behind.

Siri turned. Tridees, High Priest of the G.o.d King, stood behind her, fingers laced, miter on his head, frown on his face.

"You cannot refuse me," Siri said. "I am your queen."

"I can and will refuse you, Vessel," Tridees said. "You see, these books are quite valuable, and should something happen to them, the kingdom would suffer grave consequences. Even our priests are not allowed to bear them out of the room." He paused, eying her. "If you absolutely must read them, you can stay in here and do it."

She glanced at the room and thought of the stuffy priests standing in a flock around her, listening to her sound out words, making a fool of herself.

"Are there any books on history?" she asked.

"Alas, Vessel," Tridees said. "Those are kept in the city collection. We could have a reader come and-"

"No," Siri said. "Perhaps another time." She eyed the stacks on shelves. There weren't as many as she had expected, but still, she was so close... "And if I ordered you to let me take some of these?" she said to Tridees.

"You are our queen, Vessel," he said. "But you are not Returned. These are the property of a G.o.d. Susebron has made it clear that he wishes the books to stay here."

Oh he has, has he? Siri thought, remembering her conversation-written, halting, yet open-with the G.o.d King the night before. He was getting quite good at his letters. For Tridees and the priests, having a tongueless G.o.d was very convenient. The priests could claim that he'd told them whatever seemed good at the moment, and he could never correct them.

"I'll be going, then," she said, trailing out of the cramped room.

I told you that they would not let you have the books, the G.o.d King wrote.

Siri rolled her eyes. Flopping back on the bed. She still wore her bulky evening dress. For some reason, being able to communicate with the G.o.d King made her even more shy. She only took off the dresses right before she went to sleep-which, lately, was getting later and later.

She looked up. Susebron sat in his usual place-not on the mattress, as he had that first night. Instead, he had pulled his chair up beside the bed. He still seemed so large and imposing. At least, he did until he looked at her, his face open, honest. He waved her back toward him where he sat with a board, writing with a bit of charcoal that she'd smuggled in.

You shud not anger the prests so, he wrote. His spelling, as one might expect, was awful.

Priests. She had pilfered a cup then had hidden in the room. If she used it and listened against the wall, she could sometimes faintly hear talking on the other sides. After she did her nightly moaning show, she could usually hear chairs moving and a door closing. After that, it grew silent in the room.

Either the priests left each night once they were sure the deed was done or they were suspicious and trying to fool her into thinking they were gone. Her instinct said the former, though she made certain to whisper when she spoke to the G.o.d King, just in case.

Siri? he wrote. What are you thinking about?

"Your priests," she whispered. "They frustrate me! They intentionally do things to spite me."

They are good men, he wrote. They work very hard to mayntayn my kingdom.

"They cut out your tongue," she said.

The G.o.d King sat quietly for a few moments. It was nesisary, he wrote. I have too much power.

She moved over. As usual, he s.h.i.+ed back when she approached, moving his arm out of the way, keeping her from touching him. There was no arrogance in the posture. She was beginning to think that he just had very little experience with touching.

"Susebron," she whispered. "These men, they are not looking after your best interests. They did more than cut out your tongue. They refused to teach you to read and they speak in your name, doing whatever they please."

They are not my enemes, he wrote stubbornly. They are good men.

"Oh?" she said. "And then why do you hide from them the fact that you're learning to read?"

He paused again, glancing downward.

So much humility for one who has ruled Hallandren for fifty years, she thought. In many ways, he's like a child.

I do not want them to no, he finally wrote. I do not want to upset them.

"I'm sure," Siri said flatly.

He paused. You are shur? he wrote. Does that mean you beleve me?

"No," Siri said. "That was sarcasm, Susebron."

He frowned. I do not know this thing. Sarkazm.

"Sarcasm," she said, spelling it. "It's..." she trailed off. "It's when you say one thing, but you mean the opposite."

He frowned at her, then furiously erased his board and began writing again. This thing makes no sense. Why not say what you mean?

"Because," Siri said. "It's just like... oh, I don't know. It's a way to be clever when you make fun of people."

Make fun of people? he wrote.

G.o.d of Colors! Siri thought, trying to think of how to explain. It seemed ridiculous to her that he would know nothing of mockery. And yet, he had lived his entire life as a revered deity and monarch. "Mockery is when you... say things to tease," Siri said. "Things that might be hurtful to someone, but you say them in an affectionate or in a playful way. Sometimes you do just say them to be mean. Sarcasm is one of the ways we mock-we say the opposite, but in an exaggerated way."

How do you know if the person is affekshonate, playful, or mean?

"I don't know," Siri said. "It's the way they say it, I guess."

The G.o.d King sat, looking confused but thoughtful. You are very normal, he finally wrote.

Siri frowned. "Um. Thank you?"

Was that good sarcasm? he wrote. Because in reality, you are quite strange.

She smiled. "I try my best."

He looked up.

"That was sarcasm again," she said. "I don't 'try' to be strange. It just happens."

He looked at her. How had she ever been frightened of this man? How had she misunderstood? The look in his eyes, it wasn't arrogance or emotionlessness. It was the look of a man who was trying very hard to understand the world around him. Earnestness.

However, he was not simple. The speed at which he'd learned to write proved that. True, he'd already understood the spoken portion of the language-and he'd memorized all of the letters in the book years before meeting her. She'd only needed explain the rules of spelling and sound for him to make the final jump.

She still found it amazing how quickly he picked things up. She smiled at him, and he hesitantly smiled back.

"Why do you say that I'm strange?" she asked.

You do not do things like other people, he wrote. Everyone else bows before me all of the time. n.o.body talks to me. Even the priests, they only okashonally give me instrukshons-and this they haven't done in years.

"Does it offend you that I don't bow, and that I talk to you like a friend?"

He erased his board. Offend me? Why would it offend me? Do you do it in sarcasm?