The Adorned Read Free

Gaelta?”
    “Half,” I said. “My mother was Keredy.”
    He nodded; my features told that tale clearly enough. “Why are you here?”
    “I’m looking for work.”
    “Have you any money?”
    I nodded and showed him my letter of credit. He snorted a half laugh. “Fifteen ral? That won’t last you long.”
    “I’m here to find work,” I repeated, a sour clench in my belly.
    “All the luck to you, then. You can go.”
    We rolled into the narrow streets. They were a bewildering tangle, crisscrossing every which way. There was a smell to the city, a perfume that I’d caught only a hint of outside its thick walls: stone and sewage, the smoke thrown up by chimneys and temples, the broiling of a hundred cook-pots, acres of sweating skin. A soft hammer was beating on the inside of my skull, and sparkling stars danced on the edges of my vision.
    “You all right, boy?” the corn seller asked over his shoulder.
    I nodded and grew dizzier for a moment. I breathed deep, not caring about the scent; I needed air. My vision cleared and again I nodded. “I’m fine. Can you tell me where the banks are?”
    After I’d cashed my letter of credit, I wandered the streets, purse heavy at my side. Soon enough I was lost; there were streets in the Grey City wider than Lun’s quarry, wider than the river that fed its wells. I tried to keep an eye on the turns and corners, but the crowd around me kept snaring my attention.
    In Lun all had the Lowlander look, save those Gaelta who came to do a summer’s stonework. Here there were dark Southerners, Lowland folk, Northerners, a few pale-haired islanders in their heavy grey robes, and more Gaelta than I had ever seen in Lun. When Kered had swallowed up their lands, two centuries back, they’d followed their stolen stones. The Grey City was half built from their quarries, and by their hands.
    A man passed, tall as I’d ever seen, with hair like gold. He was head to toe in sumptuous robes, with heavy rings worn over silk gloves. Not an inch of his skin could be seen, save on his face and where his high collar rose against an elegant neck. His eyes flickered to me for a moment. At the edge of his collar there was a curl of color on his skin; he tugged at the fabric so once again it lay hidden.
    An Adorned, I thought, a tattooed courtier. Save the nobles of Blood and Sword, they were the only ones allowed to wear tattoos, though they hid them in public. One of them had visited Lun, once, merely passing through; her veils and jewels had drawn everyone’s eyes—including mine. I’d hidden myself in the loft of the inn, trying to catch a glimpse of her ink, but she had been too careful for a boy’s curious eyes. Only the Blooded and their favored few had the privilege of seeing her unclothed; the Adorned were made for them alone.
    The man passed by—I watched him for a moment, unable to stop myself from it. The crowd passed around me as if I were a ghost; then there was a lull in it, and I could see the edges of the buildings once again. They loomed around me like giants.
    “Greeneyes, hey!”
    I turned toward the voice, swift as if whipped. A tall, bony man in a ragged soldier’s uniform half ran up the street to meet me. He grinned, crooked as the scar across his cheek. “Welcome to the Grey City. How about a bit of charity for a veteran, eh?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “I said, ‘How about some charity? ’”
    He wasn’t begging, not exactly. I tightened my grip on my bag. Two others, in the same ragged blue, strolled up. There was a woman with them, almost a girl. Her smile was hollowed out; she was missing most of her teeth.
    “These young men deserve some consideration,” she said. “After keeping you safe from the dogeaters.”
    I fished a half ral out of my pocket and held it out to him. “I’m—I’m sorry, I don’t have much.”
    He seized my wrist and wrenched it sideways. I cried out. The crowd around us kept moving.
    “Perhaps you don’t understand me,