The side of Taran’s mouth quirked in dark humor. “But I didn’t contribute anything? I must have looked incredibly petty. Did I not approve?”
I was not immune to the irony of Taran imagining that he’d been jealous, but bursting into nervous laughter was not going to get me out of his line of questions.
Truthful words wouldn’t help either.
You seemed really happy about it, in fact.
Taran had been proud and beaming for our vows, then uncharacteristically wine-drunk after a few dozen toasts, enough to let his hands roam in a way that younger me had found very thrilling. I’d spun his ring on my finger and smiled until my cheeks hurt.
Taran took my silence as agreement.
“So I didn’t approve,” he decided with some satisfaction. “I’m sure I didn’t think he was good enough for you.”
“And you should have found me someone better?” I curled my lower lip over my teeth to hide a smirk, because if I didn’t get to enjoy this small joke at his expense, I really didn’t have enough to live for.
Taran hummed thoughtfully, then tucked my ring into his belt pouch.
“I should have gotten you a nicer ring, at least,” he said, holding out his arm to escort me from the room.
26
The palace whereGenna lived was the largest in the City, visible from any point within it, but I’d never been inside. The forest of gilded columns that held up the green slate roof stretched high above our heads and as Taran and I slowly approached, I could finally appreciate its true size.
This late in the day I was limping badly, but that only gave me more time to gawk at the curtains of blossoms that hung down from a ceiling that vanished in the growing shadows. Flowering plants had been trained to climb over every surface, and even the tiled floors were spread with a springy moss that wafted green musk with each step. The only illumination came from blown-glass lamps set in iridescent clusters on the floor, and the under-lighting turned faces into masks.
Music and conversation spilled out into the evening from every direction; there were no walls to the palace, only pierced wooden screens that trellised more flowering plants, and alcoves created by drapes of golden fabric that twisted around the columns without any beginning or end. Most places in the City felt empty, or at least under-full, but Genna’s palace was crowded and alive.
As soon as we stepped under the roof, Taran reached across hisbody to cover my face with his free hand, fingers spread to leave me only a tiny crack of vision.
“Eyes forward,” he said.
I thought he was making a joke about the scene. It sounded like a large party was going on, a wilder one than Lixnea had hosted for the dark night of the Moon, because there was a rowdier edge to the laughter and a harder beat to the music that swirled around us. The air smelled like floral perfume and warm bodies, but it wasn’t wholly unfamiliar to me.
“Stop it,” I complained, tossing my head to dislodge his palm. “I have been in temples of Genna before, you know.”
As the chief fertility goddess of the pantheon, her temples had murals that ranged from merely suggestive to quite explicit, and her rites could span the same spectrum. Young acolytes of the Maiden had been advised not to look too closely at what was going on if Wesha’s service took us there. We just delivered the babies; we didn’t need to know where they came from.
I’d looked anyway. So I was prepared.
“And you must have been so brave about it, my darling, but I’m sure you don’t want to see this.”
I made a noise of frustration. I was going to trip and get grass stains on my dress. “I’m a virgin because I was in a celibate order, not because I’m a prude.”
“You are all those things, and there’s nothing wrong with that; in fact, it gives me something to think about at night. But trust me on this, don’t look.”
I yanked at his wrist until Taran gave a shrug as though to say it was my funeral and took his hand off my eyes. After a moment, I wished he hadn’t.
The statues and mosaics visible through the moss were what I’d expected, and maybe some of the embraces I could just make out in shadowed corners. I’d known it was a party, with performers anddrinking and dancing. I’d known that Genna’s followers were uninhibited.
But for every golden goblet of wine that brushed lips, for every hand that bent to strings or drums in music, there were lips that touched bare skin instead. Hands that clutched at shoulders or thighs. Heads bent not in conversation but in ecstasy. Everywhere. In twos and threes and more, in shapes I recognized and some my mind reeled at. As casually as an ordinary guest might accept a drink or attend to a singer’s performance.
I could still have pretended to be unfazed, even for the sheer scale of it…but for the number of entangled bodies that were dressed or half-dressed in Genna’s saffron livery. Mortal priests caught in immortal arms. Not just pouring the wine or making the music, as I’d expected, but pressed against vine-wrapped columns or into beds of loose cushions and flower petals.
“Oh,” I said, and the sadness in my voice made Taran look at me sharply.
I was tempted to hide my face in his shoulder, but if the peace-priests could bear this in their eternal service, I could stand to look. The immortals, for their part, probably wanted to be looked at if they were doing this in public.
We walked farther inside in mutual silence, though I was examining the faces of the priests for signs that they were fighting against their vows, and Taran’s attention was locked on mine.
