The Adorned by John Tristan Page A

and the entire alcove was lined with mirrors from floor to ceiling. They made a small infinity of sight between them, my reflection multiplied. The light from the windows was cunningly reflected, cool and gleaming: I could see every angle of myself bathed in it. It was strange. It was like seeing through a stranger’s eyes.
    I was about to leave the little alcove when I heard footsteps, and voices. They were raised, though not enough for me to make out the words, and coming closer. Too soon, they had reached the door of the atelier. I froze, drawing back against the mirrors. I was not supposed to be here.
    The voices entered: I heard Isadel’s and Tallisk’s. Was it only the two of them? I waited, silent. I caught the tail of Isadel’s words.
    “All that I am saying—”
    “I know what you’re saying,” Tallisk said. He made a noise halfway between growl and sigh, and I heard the rustle of papers.
    “Roberd, listen.” Isadel had said his name. It was the first time I’d heard it spoken in this house since Maxen Udred had left. Tallisk did not rebuke her, as I’d half expected, but simply ignored her. She sighed and went on. “Count Karan’s eye might not be keen entirely for my art—”
    He barked a short laugh.
    “But there are others,” she went on, “who see me when he contracts me. Others who mark your work.”
    “Those ‘others’ are not my patron. ” He growled out the word. “What when he tires of you, Isadel?”
    She went quiet for a moment. When she next spoke, there was venom in her tone. “Perhaps I should recommend the boy to him, then.”
    “The boy,” Tallisk said, in a low tone, “has no ink, as of yet.”
    She laughed. “What does it matter, if he doesn’t contract for the art?” When Tallisk said nothing, she spoke again, her voice now light with feigned airiness. “You have a design planned for him, then?”
    “Of a sort.”
    “You’ll begin on it soon?”
    “That seems self-evident.” There was a noise, a snap: a book dropped heavily on the desktop. I flinched.
    “And what about me?”
    “I inked you not an hour ago.”
    “A show,” she said. “For the boy. You’ve left the flame unfinished. You know I can’t show myself until it’s done. When will you complete it?”
    “When I decide it.”
    “ Fine ,” she said. “I don’t suppose you recall it is my contracts with Count Karan that put the wine on your table?”
    “I recall it well enough,” he said, almost spitting out the words.
    “So you have no love for him,” she said. “Does that mean his money is worthless?”
    “I’ll decide what has worth or not, in this house.”
    “And I suppose you reckon the boy to be worthy indeed.”
    There was a hush; then the low rhythm of Tallisk’s breathing and his steps across the room. Isadel let out a startled cry.
    “Let go of me!”
    He steered her to the door; she trailed curses behind her.
    “I said let go! ”
    “With pleasure. Now, you leave. ”
    She did. I heard the retreating patter of her steps. Tallisk caught his breathing. He paced around the room. I heard his heavy footsteps come nearer and nearer to me, as if he were a circling wolf. My heart skidded a painful beat. I held my breath.
    “Come on out of there,” he said. He nudged the curtain aside with his foot.
    I closed my eyes a moment, wishing myself away from my own stupidity, then shuffled out of the alcove. As my head emerged, he thrust his fingers into my hair, dragging me out of the mirrored sanctum. He gave me a shake, then another, like you might to chastise a dog, then let me go. I rubbed my head and looked up at him. His cheeks were reddened, and his mouth twisted in a grimace, on a knife’s edge between smiling and shouting.
    “Get out of here,” he said. “And don’t let me see your face for a while. Understand?”
    My lips moved to frame an apology.
    He made a rough, sweeping gesture, hands brushing me aside. “Out!”
    I went, then, as fast as I could without