Chapter I
Fame
"A young woman is here to see you, Master Joar," the chamberlain announced in a voice that was barely short of amusement, making it clear that he was not at all surprised at his master's caller, nor curious as to whom she was. He had served Joar Addam Nessosin for nearly six years, and had become accustomed to the number of female visitors he had to escort in regularly. And he was used to the looks he received in return from his master: always overdone, with more than just a dramatic pretense of annoyance at being disturbed. Joar spent hours alone, and often seemed to jump like a child caught doing something he or she should not have been when the chamberlain knocked on his door, either playing or composing his music, or, as the servant believed, really doing something that he should not – or, at least, something he should not be caught doing. Today was one of those days when it appeared he had been up to something, as he was caught quickly adjusting his tight black breeches and long grey coat.
"Let her in," said the man, who reclined on a long couch of velvet with satin pillows and silk sheets of bright colors, which were embroidered to death and draped over both arms, extending the full length of the couch with their ends trailing to the ground. Everything in the room screamed extravagance almost beyond comfort, though the bed, and the numerous couches and chairs in the room, all looked slightly disheveled. Either the chambermaid had been dismissed again, or she had spent the night in that unmade bed, as well, and had yet to gather up the courage to face her master again.
A woman dressed in a deep purple that came close to matching the couch entered Joar Addam's chamber, and greeted him with a twist of her lips that the man observed to be a clumsy attempt at a sultry smile. He smiled back, but only out of amusement. This girl had only been after him for a few weeks, and he was not sure if he was done playing with her yet. She was quite a bit more fun than some of the others; she was considerably bolder, while still equally as foolish. Her body was perhaps a bit lacking compared to some of the others who tittered over him these days, but recently he had not been looking so much for a pair of breasts as he had been for something with a great deal more uses. He made no effort to be discreet as he examined her, letting his eyes dwell longer on her more accentuated features merely for show. When they finally traveled back up to her face, he was pleased to see that it was a little redder than before. They were never as confident as they appeared.
"It is such a pleasure to see you again, Lady Arris," he said, still sprawled comfortably on his couch. He watched her eyes flit over his relaxed form, which paused briefly to examine closer what was clearly a protrusion at his groin. She was obviously flushed now, though she did a fair job of hiding it in her voice.
"As it is to see you, Master Joar, which is why I came." Her lips barely parted as she spoke, but her words were clear. It irked Joar that she formed her words in that way, and he wished that he could grimace after having his gaze drawn to her mouth. Remembering many a better pair of lips, he kept his voice as warmly fluid as before.
"I would think you were much too busy a woman to make calls purely out of pleasure."
"I am always able to make exceptions," Arris responded with a smile that sent more messages to the man before her than lifting her skirts ever would.
Joar laughed slightly as he looked away. This girl was quite bold, and clearly performed well under pressure. It had taken a bit of colour in her cheeks to get her appearance to reflect what she had in mind, and Joar was glad to see that he had been so successful in placing it there. But he knew he would grow tired of any games quickly. These noble ladies of Paaran Disen never could cease in playing every social interaction as a political dance.
"Take off your dress then," he said simply, drawing his eyes back to her with a smile playing on his lips. He titled his head to the side to gaze at her as he sat up. "That's what you're here for, isn't it?"
"I…you…"
Joar Addam watched as she spluttered and gasped, gaping at him and pulling her skirts to her, her knuckles turning white under her grip. Her mouth hung open for several moments, showing the true woman that lay beneath every mask she had ever donned at a ball. She was simply a girl who wore a tad too much powder on her face and carried herself as someone much more important than she really was. If there was any real political genius to her, her choice of playing her hand as a seductress was not a wise one. Her game was over, at least with him. The lord exploded with laughter.
"My dear Arris," he began after a few moments, grinning at her, and letting his hand lazily reach for a cup of wine set on the small table at the side of the couch. After taking a few sips, and stifling a few more giggles, he continued, "That act really doesn't suit you, you know. Come now, you're much too smart for that." The smile he flashed at her did wonders. She turned an even brighter red than before. "If you want information out of me, you need but ask. And, of course, I would be happy to oblige concerning any other reasons you might be here." Having placed his wine goblet carefully back down on the end table as he spoke, he jumped up from his reclining position and headed toward the fireplace with his back to Arris, where he knelt to pluck a few strings on his harp. He glanced behind him at the woman. "But please, a slut's wink does no good to your pretty little face."
Arris smiled meekly back at him, finally releasing her hold on her skirts. She was beginning to relax, and Joar kept his smiles soft. "Please, sit" he waved his hand carelessly behind him as he turned back to his instrument. "I will play for you."
Of course the music of Joar Addam Nessosin was somewhat legendary in those days. He was an excellent composer: no one really denied that. But no one was anywhere near bold enough to say that he was of the greatest of his Age. When those with a fine ear heard him play, or heard his compositions played by others who were masters of their instruments, they would recall it as a pleasurable experience. But very rarely did anyone say that the music reached into their very soul and left them changed. It seemed that this kind of metaphorical language had to be associated with their music in order for a composer to be considered one of the greatest. This left Master Joar Addam with much to be desired. To this man, whose ambition was greater even than his creativity, there was only one goal that would leave him satisfied: to be the greatest. It was all well and good that he could seduce any woman he chose using only his handsome features and his music, but he quickly grew bored.
Lady Arris did not leave Joar's quarters until the next morning, but once again he was left alone to stare at his instruments, several untouched now for many months. His harp he had not yet abandoned, nor one of his flutes. But the rest: the shama, corea, balfone, and obaen, they had been silenced by the crowds. He had refused to perform at his last concert, leaving the city of Deimor in an uproar due to his somehow insulting the governor there by declining the invitation. His creativity had not left him: the stacks of papers covered in lines and notes on his desk were proof of this. What was gone was his once fervent desire to please people. He used to relish in the smiles and the wistful looks that his songs could bring to the faces of thousands. But now, though hundreds would still be glad to attend one of his concerts, their simple pleasure was nowhere near enough.
Joar Addam was a rich man, and had been used to this life of luxury since his childhood. He had not been born into a noble family, nor a family of any wealth, but his fame was quick to come. He had been a child prodigy, and by the time he was fifteen, his own compositions were played all over the world. The expectations for him had been great, but he had stopped short of fulfilling them. Other men and women had risen in his place, leaving him as second rate. No pleasures, no amount of riches in the world would ever be enough to quench the rage that he felt due to being snubbed by fame. It was the greatest discomfort that he was not as recognized as he felt that he should be, and so he viewed his life as ruined, and was prepared to do anything to change it. He believed it necessary that he attain the kind of fame required to make his music immortal, knowing how fleeting life was, and how quick death could come, leaving both his body and all memories of his name to rot.