“No. How could you think that?!”
“I caught your thoughts.”
“It was just a momentary weakness, I cannot control my every impulse. But I won't do that.”
“But you suffer no worse than your slave Adrian, he is also sad that he has become a slave, and every minute he reproaches himself for his cowardice”
“Don't compare me and a slave!”
“Yes, you're right, Adrian doesn’t hope for forgiveness, but you do.”
“I don’t hope for anything either, Demon who hides his true name and only pretends to be a pathetic half-blood.”
Nikto chuckled:
“You tried to read Zagpeace’s thoughts, what he thinks, but you failed.”
“It didn't work,” agreed Kors, “probably because he is not connected with you. And I can only “hear” those who belong to you.”
Nikto just smiled slightly and dipped the brush in gray dye. Not a single thought in his head contained even a hint of his conversation with Peace, and Kors didn’t “hear” or know anything. He couldn’t even imagine that Nikto and Peace had agreed on something.
Nikto painted Kors’ face with all the diligence, as he could, beautifully shading the cheekbones and making the facial features more expressive. Kors looked at himself in the mirror.
Nikto really emphasized his beauty, made him “mysterious”, but Kors was not at all happy about it, because he hoped so much that when the dye disappeared from his face, he would not have to apply it anymore. He hoped that Peace and his former comrades-in-arms would not find fault with him, and that his rash offense would be forgotten.
“I'll replace your jewelry,” Nikto said, appraisingly examining his work.
Kors was depressed and silent.
Nikto inserted a complex decoration into his punctures. The silver peaks in it were much longer and more massive than the previous ones. The central one bifurcated at the base, and its upper part was like a sharp spike, and the lower arc descended downward and, like a hook, clasped his chin.
Now, when Kors lowered his gaze, he could easily see them, and the hook, digging into his chin, prevented him.
“Gods,” he whispered, “for what?”
Nikto heard him:
“I'm not punishing you, it's beautiful.”
“They bother me.”
“Well, not as much as Arel’s cork, you will get used to it.”
“Now I have to wear a mask in the Fort.”
“Go to Arel!”
Kors looked at his tormentor in confusion.