He paused, eyeing her. “I also make certain that everyone stays on schedule and does what they are supposed to.”

Some of the younger girls—wearing brown, like the ones bathing Siri—began bringing pitchers of water to the side of the tub, and the women used these to rinse Siri’s hair. She turned about to let them, though she tried to keep a waterlogged eye on Bluefingers and his serving boy.

“Now,” Bluefingers said. “The palace tailors are working very quickly on your gown. We had a good estimate of your size, but final measurements were necessary to complete the process. We should have the garment ready for you in a short time.”

The serving women dowsed Siri’s head again.

“There are some things we need to discuss,” Bluefingers continued, voice distorted by the water in Siri’s ears. “I presume you have been taught the proper method of treating His Immortal Majesty?”

Siri glanced at him, then looked away. She probably had been taught, but she didn’t remember—and either way, she wasn’t in a frame of mind to concentrate.

“Ah,” Bluefingers said, apparently reading her expression. “Well then, this could be . . . interesting. Allow me to give you some suggestions.”

Siri nodded.

“First, please understand that the God King’s will is law. He needs no reason or justification for what he does. Your life, like all of our lives, is in his hands. Second, please understand that the God King does not speak with people such as you or me. You will not talk to him when you go to him. Do you understand?”

Siri spit out a bit of soapy water. “You mean I’m not even to be able to speak to my husband?”

“I’m afraid not,” Bluefingers said. “None of us can.”

“Then how does he make judgments and rulings?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

“The Council of Gods handles the kingdom’s more mundane needs,” Bluefingers explained. “The God King is above the day-to-day governance. When it is necessary for him to communicate, he gives his judgments to his priests, who then reveal them to the world.”

Great, Siri thought.

“It is unconventional that you are allowed to touch him,” Bluefingers continued. “Fathering a child is a necessary encumbrance for him. It is our job to present you in as pleasing a way as possible, and to avoid—at all costs—irritating him.”

Austre, God of Colors, she thought. What kind of creature is this?

Bluefingers eyed her. “I know something of your temperament, Vessel,” he said. “We have, of course, researched the children of the Idrian monarchy. Allow me to be a little more personal, and perhaps a little more direct, than I would prefer. If you speak directly to the God King, he will order you executed. Unlike your father, he is not a man of patience.

“I cannot stress this point enough. I realize that you are accustomed to being a very important person. Indeed, you still are that important—if not more so. You are far above myself and these others. However, as far as you are above us, the God King is even farther above you.

“His Immortal Majesty is . . . special. The doctrines teach that the earth itself is too base for him. He is one who achieved transcendence before he was even born, but then Returned to bring his people blessings and visions. You are being given a special trust. Please, do not betray it—and please, please do not provoke his anger. Do you understand?”

Siri nodded slowly, feeling her hair bleach back to white. She tried to steel herself, but what courage she could gather felt like a sham. No, she wasn’t going to be able to stomach this creature as easily as the Lifeless or the city colors. His reputation in Idris wasn’t exaggerated. In a short time, he was going to take her body and do with it as he wished. Part of her felt a rage at that—but it was the rage of frustration. The rage that came from knowing that something horrible was coming, and from being unable to do anything at all about it.

The serving women backed away from her, leaving her half-floating in the soapy water. One of the servants looked to Bluefingers and nodded her head in respect.

“Ah, finished are we?” he asked. “Excellent. You and your ladies are efficient, as always, Jlan. Let us proceed, then.”

“Can’t they speak?” Siri asked quietly.

“Of course they can,” Bluefingers said. “But they are dedicated servants of His Immortal Majesty. During their hours of service, their duty is to be as useful as possible without being distracting. Now, if you’ll continue . . .”

Siri stayed in the water, even when the silent women tried to pull her out. Bluefingers turned around with a sigh, putting his back to her. He reached over and turned the serving boy around as well.

Siri finally allowed herself to be led out of the bath. The wet women left her, walking into a side room—probably to change—and several others led Siri toward a smaller tub for rinsing. She stepped down into the water, which was much colder than the other bath, and gasped. The women motioned for her to dunk, and she cringed, but did so, cleaning off most of the soap. After that, there was a final, third tub. As Siri approached, shivering, she could smell strong floral scents coming from it.

“What’s this?” Siri asked.

“Perfumed bath,” Bluefingers said, still turned away. “If you prefer, you may have one of the palace masseuses rub perfume onto your body instead. I advise against that, however, considering time restraints. . . .”

Siri blushed, imagining anyone—male or female—rubbing her body with perfume. “This will be fine,” she said, climbing down into the water. It was lukewarm, and the floral scents were so strong that she had to breathe through her mouth.

The women motioned downward, and—sighing—Siri dunked beneath the scented water. After that, she climbed out, and several women finally approached with fluffy towels. They began to pat Siri down, their touch as delicate and soft as the previous scrubbing had been hard. This took away some of the strong scent, for which Siri was glad. Other women approached with a deep blue robe, and she extended her arms, allowing them to put it on her, then tie it shut. “You may turn around,” she told the steward.

“Excellent,” Bluefingers said, doing so. He strode toward a door at the side of the room, waving for her. “Quickly, now. We still have much to do.”

Siri and the serving women followed, leaving the maroon room for one that was decorated in bright yellows. It held a lot more furniture, no bath, and a large plush chair in the center of the room.

“His Majesty is associated with no single hue,” Bluefingers said, waving to the bright colors of the room as the women led Siri to the plush chair. “He represents all colors and each of the Iridescent Tones. Therefore, each room is decorated with a different shade.”

Siri sat, and the women began to work on her nails. Another tried to brush out the snarls that had come from the hearty washing. Siri frowned. “Just cut it off,” she said.

They hesitated. “Vessel?” one asked.

“Cut off the hair,” she said.

Bluefingers gave them permission, and a few snips later, her hair was in a bunch on the floor. Then Siri closed her eyes and focused.

She wasn’t certain how she did it. The Royal Locks had always been part of her life; altering them was like moving any other muscle to her, if more difficult. In a few moments, she was able to get the hair to grow.

Several women gasped softly as the hair sprouted from Siri’s head and moved down to her shoulders. Growing it made her feel hungry and tired, but it was better than letting the women fight snarls. Finished, she opened her eyes.

Bluefingers was watching her with an inquisitive expression, his ledger held loosely in his fingers. “That is . . . fascinating,” he said. “The Royal Locks. We have waited quite some time for them to grace the palace again, Vessel. You can change the color at will?”

“Yes,” Siri said. Some of the time, at least. “Is it too long?”

“Long hair is seen as a sign of beauty in Hallandren, my lady,” Bluefingers said. “I know you keep it bound up in Idris, but here, flowing hair is favored by many of the women—particularly the goddesses.”

Part of her wanted to keep the hair short just out of spite, but she was beginning to realize that such an attitude could get her killed in Hallandren. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused again. The hair had been shoulder length, but she extended it for several minutes, making it grow until it would reach all the way down her back once she stood.

Siri opened her eyes.

“Beautiful,” one of the younger serving women whispered, then flushed, immediately returning to her work on Siri’s toenails.

“Very nice,” Bluefingers agreed. “I will leave you here—I have a few things to deal with—but will return shortly.”

Siri nodded as he left, and several women moved in and began to apply makeup. Siri suffered it pensively, others still working on her nails and hair. This wasn’t how she had imagined her wedding day. Marriage had always seemed distant to her, something that would only happen after spouses had been chosen for her siblings. When she’d been very young, in fact, she’d always said that she intended to raise horses instead of getting married.

She’d grown out of that, but a part of her felt a longing for such simple times. She didn’t want to be married. Not yet. She still felt like a child, even if her body had become that of a woman. She wanted to play in the hills and pick flowers and tease her father. She wanted time to experience more of life before she was forced into the responsibilities of childbearing.

Fate had taken that opportunity away from her. Now she was faced by the imminent prospect of going to a man’s bed. A man who wouldn’t speak to her, and who wouldn’t care who she was or what she wanted. She knew the physical requirements of what would be involved—she could thank Mab the cook for some candid discussions on that point—but emotionally, she just felt petrified. She wanted to run, hide, flee as far as she could.

Did all women feel this way, or was it only those who were being washed, primped, and sent to please a deity with the power to destroy nations?

Bluefingers eventually returned. Another person entered behind him, an elderly man in the blue and silver clothing Siri was beginning to associate with those who served the God King.

But . . . Bluefingers wears brown, Siri thought, frowning. Why is that?

“Ah, I see that my timing is perfect,” Bluefingers said as the women finished. They retreated to the sides of the room, heads bowed.

Bluefingers nodded to the elderly man. “Vessel, this is one of the palace healers. Before you are taken to the God King, you will need to be inspected to determine if you are a maiden and to insure that you don’t have certain diseases. It’s really just a formality, but one that I’m afraid I must insist upon. In consideration of your bashfulness, I did not bring the young healer I had originally assigned to the job. I assume an older healer will make you more comfortable?”

Siri sighed, but nodded. Bluefingers gestured toward a padded table on the side of the room; then he and his serving boy turned around. Siri undid her robe and went to the table, lying down to continue what was proving to be the most embarrassing day of her life.