Oracle’s Reign (Treaties of Moial #5)

One

His Highness, Prince Peroen Daitano Tjawer, did his best to wait patiently. Tonight, he would meet his future bride. Within a matter of weeks, he would have to choose between the oracles who had come to the city specifically to vie for that position.

Only four women had volunteered to visit Kalitalo and meet him, even with the future title of empress as enticement. Granted, there were probably other women in Pynth willing to marry him, but his bride must be an oracle, and the oracles had hated the imperial family for centuries. With justification, of course.

Hopefully, this meeting outside the palace walls would allow him to get to know them, and they him, without too much pressure. Then again, while he was currently sitting in the back room of a private residence, nothing about this evening felt informal. If it had been, he wouldn’t have to wait, hidden away, until the optimum moment for his appearance. Splatters of paint would cover his clothes, not intricate embroidery.

The doorknob turned. Peroen rose to his feet, but the woman standing in the doorway wasn’t the escort he had expected. He hoped she was one of the oracles, for a single glance at her was enough to make him yearn for a paintbrush, to capture her essence on canvas. It wasn’t her beauty—though she was undeniably beautiful—but an indefinable quality Peroen had learned to recognize over the years. Some models, no matter how stunning, no matter the skill of the artist, ended up flat and lifeless when painted. Others brought vibrancy to even the most amateur sketches.

He could see the painting of this woman in his mind already. She’d stand by the window, half in shadow, half bathed in sunlight. Her face would only be visible in profile, her veil obscuring her lips just enough to make the viewer doubt whether what they saw underneath was a smile or a frown. Her eyes, focused on something out of view, would give the entire piece an air of mystery. Peroen wanted to pick up a brush and palette and start painting immediately. He knew, as if he were an oracle himself, that it would be the best painting of his life.

But in the coming weeks, Peroen’s only models would be the oracles. The portrait sessions had been his idea to foster relationships between him and the bridal candidates. A situation where he might actually feel comfortable, unlike tonight’s small gathering or tomorrow’s banquet.

He tried to memorize this woman, in case she wasn’t an oracle. Her eyes were a captivating golden brown above the veil that obscured the rest of her face. At first glance, her hair appeared black, but it was actually the darkest of sable browns. When the light hit it, the rich auburn undertones glinted like stained glass. The thick strands fell in loose waves to the bottom of her shoulder blades.

He longed to move closer to her, to reach out and touch.

The urge took him by surprise. Peroen rarely wanted to get closer to anyone. Even when he was too lost in his art to be shy, he only cared about studying people visually. He longed to recreate textures with strokes of his brush, not feel them himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said with a shallow bow, her voice pulling at Peroen as strongly as everything else about her.

He didn’t have the musical talent for composition, but he wanted to pick up his instruments and find a tune that harmonized with her nearly as much as he wanted to start painting. He was so distracted by thoughts of which instrument would suit her best that he forgot to respond.

Her hand remained on the doorknob, slender fingers pale against the burnished bronze. “I had a question for Pianti, but obviously you’re not her.”

The woman began to back up, and Peroen found his voice just before the door swung closed with her movements. “Then it is I who should be apologizing to you. I am a poor substitute if you are seeking answers.”

She let go of the door, though she didn’t step into the room. Her smile was good-natured under her sheer veil, with none of the practiced charm that he so often saw. “You don’t even know what my question is. Perhaps you are the perfect person to answer it.”

Unlikely. Peroen might be the imperial heir, but he had no power, no influence, and almost no experience at court. If it weren’t for the newly formed democratic Assembly that had wrested a large portion of power from his father in the recent revolution, he wouldn’t even have a say in whom he married.

“Unless you wish to know how best to blend colors to get the exact shade of a hibiscus flower, I feel confident saying I will only disappoint.” Peroen kept his tone teasing, but he couldn’t help but feel the truth of his words. The likelihood she’d feel for him even a tenth of the fascination he felt for her wasn’t even worth considering.

Her smile grew. “You’re an artist? That’s wonderful. I can’t draw at all, and am always amazed when people can turn a few lines into something recognizable.”

Peroen stepped around the teak table and velvet cushions, needing to get closer to this woman who regarded his passion as something to admire rather than ridicule. He wanted to see the truth in her eyes, didn’t want to miss a single twitch of her lips. “Most people tell me painting is a waste of time.”

“I’d argue that it is more of a waste to ignore talent, but honestly, skill isn’t what matters. So long as you enjoy painting, how can it be a waste? If I actually enjoyed drawing, I wouldn’t let my lack of skill prevent me from finding that joy in life. The world would be a happier place if we all did what we loved.”

“And what do you love?”

Behind the veil, her teeth sank into her lower lip. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

There was pain behind those words, a tacit admission that she had spent her life in pursuits she didn’t love. But there was also determination, a willingness to push forward, that Peroen admired.

“You said you had a question,” he reminded her, unwilling to let the conversation end. “I doubt I can provide the answer you seek, but I’m willing to try.”

It was hard to tell under the veil, but he thought her cheeks flushed. “Oh. Well. I hadn’t decided on the exact question, but since you are an expert on colors, I shall start there. Do you happen to know the prince’s favorite color?”

Before Peroen recovered enough to even attempt to answer, she glanced to the side and let out a squeak that brought to mind a tiny field mouse. “Oh no. I’ve been spotted, and I don’t think I’m supposed to be wandering around.” She granted him one last smile and disappeared, the door snicking closed behind her.

His favorite color? That was the question she had hoped to ask Pianti? She had been right, after all. He did know the answer she sought. And though he wouldn’t put anything beyond Pianti, he rather doubted she knew that information.

In Peroen’s mind, colors were tied to memories and evoked certain moods. He didn’t have a set favorite, his preferences changing at any moment. Right at that instant, though, he knew what his answer would have been. Looking into the woman’s golden-brown eyes, only one color would have occurred to him. He wondered how long amber would remain his favorite color.

The door opened once more, and though it still was not Pianti on the threshold, Peroen figured this was the summons he had been expecting. Qilar, Pianti’s husband, raised a brow. He must have seen the woman standing in the doorway before she left.

“Was she one of the oracles?” Peroen asked.

Qilar nodded. “Yslie. Not the one I would have expected to seek you out ahead of the others.”

“She didn’t. She was looking for Pianti. She gave the impression she had no idea who I was, though I suppose it could have been an act.”

“What do your instincts tell you?”

Peroen thought it over. He had been too enthralled to evaluate her critically, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say he had been deluded by her beauty. That first shock had been purely physical, but that included how she held herself, the naturalness of her expression. And when she spoke, his impression of her had gained depth—and stayed favorable. Yslie hadn’t dismissed his passion or tried to stroke his ego. She had simply spoken of the importance of finding joy in life. Peroen felt confident when he answered, “It wasn’t an act.”

Another nod. “If she is acting, she is excellent, but I agree.”

Peroen inhaled deeply, then slowly let the breath out. While he’d like nothing more than to stay in this back room and forget that there were still three more oracles for him to meet, he knew he couldn’t do that. “I assume it is time for the grand entrance Pianti has planned for me?”

He’d get through the evening. Conversing with Yslie hadn’t been painful—far from it. With any luck, his introductions to the rest of the oracles would go as smoothly. And even if they didn’t, he would get to talk to Yslie once more. He wondered how she’d react when she learned his identity.

Qilar eyed him critically. Until the revolution, he had served as the Emperor’s bodyguard. He was, in fact, Peroen’s uncle, though that connection had never been acknowledged. Peroen had spent more time with him in the past week, preparing for the oracles’ arrival, than in all the previous years put together. Nevertheless, Qilar would have watched Peroen on the fringes of the court during those years. No sliver of tension would slip past him, and Peroen had far more than a sliver. After a brief, but thorough, inspection, Qilar crossed his arms. “This isn’t Envaho’s court.”

“I know.” Peroen took a deep breath. Tonight felt much like the evenings when he had to attend court functions, but Qilar and Pianti were no longer a part of that court—where no one would dare use the Emperor’s name for fear of giving offense. They had shifted their focus to the Assembly at the very dawn of the revolution.

They were committed to entrenching the new political body into the government of Pynth and recognized what Peroen’s father didn’t—that the imperial throne lost more power with each month that passed. Peroen’s marriage was a symbol of that transition, a concession made to allow the Emperor to keep his title, while trying to right the wrongs perpetrated by the imperial family for generations.

An oracle as an empress, that was the term of the deal reached when the people rose up against the Emperor. Peroen was merely the conduit through which that future would pass. He had expected to be married off within weeks of the revolution, but there had been too many other pieces to put into place first. It had taken over a year for the Assembly to reach a state where they were ready to follow up, and then another few months to arrange everything in a manner that satisfied the majority.

Qilar continued to study Peroen, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you truly understand what it means that you are no longer at court? Envaho’s shadow won’t reach us tonight.”

“I know,” Peroen repeated. “The Assembly has the power.”

Not that any members of the Assembly would be present. But apart from Peroen and the oracles, everyone would be tied to that body, not the court.

“No,” Qilar corrected. “You have the power tonight. You are the prince, and tonight, here, that means something. Do not diminish your own importance.”

Peroen had never had any importance to diminish. Which he supposed was the type of thinking Qilar was warning him against. It didn’t matter what his father or the court thought of him. The Assembly had given him a voice. He couldn’t hide. He couldn’t cower.

He squared his shoulders. “I’ll do my best.”

Qilar said nothing else, merely gesturing for Peroen to follow, but he didn’t mind. That his uncle had said anything at all was a wonder.

???

Yslie hurried upstairs to her bedroom, hoping she wouldn’t be in trouble for wandering around. She wanted to talk to someone about the man she had met, but she couldn’t confide in the other oracles. For a moment, she wished she were back home, but nothing would be better there. She’d still be isolated.

At least in Pianti’s home, Yslie had a few material comforts to offset the emotional pains. A few days in the city, and she knew she’d never look at her home village the same way. She wondered how much more opulent the palace would be when she moved in there. Would it cross the line into too much, or would it spoil her and make everything she faced afterward feel that much duller?

Yslie suspected she wouldn’t grow as attached to the palace as she already felt for her calm room here. Pianti and Qilar had only a few servants, and even tonight’s gathering, with the imperial prince as the guest of honor, would be intimate. From what Yslie had heard, the palace hosted feasts, parties, and dozens of courtiers on a nightly basis.

She had to remember that she had stepped into a foreign world. that ran on appearances and connections. Even a small event like tonight’s required careful choreography. If she had taken the time to think it through, Yslie would have realized that Pianti was too busy with the handful of guests attending tonight to answer foolish questions about the prince’s interests. At least the man hadn’t laughed when she asked about the prince’s favorite color. Though she hadn’t stayed long enough to hear what his answer would be, either.

She wondered which of the guests Pianti had invited he was. There were supposed to be a few men attending this evening in order to lighten the social load placed on the prince. Or more accurately, to keep the other oracles entertained while the prince spoke with each individually.

Worry about that scheduled private conversation had pushed Yslie out of her room early. Her ability to put people at ease and encourage them to talk about themselves was the one advantage she had over Triese, an oracle from her home village. But she still didn’t know a single personal fact about the prince to start that conversation.

Yslie flopped onto the cushions in her room and admitted the truth: she didn’t have any advantages over Triese. If the other woman had volunteered first, Yslie never would have had the courage to offer to travel to Kalitalo and meet the prince. After years of being overlooked and being judged not even second-best, but unworthy of notice, thanks to Triese’s presence, Yslie knew better than to compete.

She hadn’t seen marrying the prince as a competition, though. She’d never have expected to win his favor over anyone else. But she hadn’t been sure anyone else would even volunteer. Which had left her very aware of the duty she owed her people.

If there hadn’t been a revolution, then one oracle still would have been sent to serve the crown prince when he ascended the throne: her. The useless oracle who couldn’t even see the future, and therefore wouldn’t give the throne too much power. She had always been meant to be the sacrifice made to the imperial family this generation. She’d have gone to Kalitalo as a servant, not a bride, though everyone knew being a member of the Emperor’s Will was not servitude so much as slavery.

Even with the revolution, and the promise of a wedding, her people didn’t trust this new arrangement. Change was coming too quickly to Pynth for the oracles to see the future with any clarity, and so they trusted the lessons of the past. No one wanted to tie themselves to the imperial family in any way. However, the one stipulation for the prince’s future bride was that she had to go of her own free will. The elders among her people couldn’t force anyone.

They couldn’t force, but Yslie had been taught for years what she owed her people. So, she had volunteered. At which point, Triese had realized that Yslie might become empress. The other woman couldn’t stand to see a future in which Yslie might have power over her—not that her power allowed her to see more than a minute in advance, anyway. But that minute she saw with unerring accuracy, making her an oracle whose power was respected.

Yslie should have reversed her decision the moment Triese had volunteered. But she hadn’t wanted to do so in front of a crowd. Then Heolin, the earth sprite who had visited the oracle villages seeking volunteers, had taken the two women aside to evaluate their sincerity. It was his job to ensure none of the candidates had been coerced.

“I know that going to Kalitalo is traditionally a fate every oracle wishes to avoid,” he had told them once they were away from the rest of the villagers. “That you are willing to take this chance speaks to your flexibility, a characteristic that will serve you well in the capital as we all navigate this transitional time.”

“The oracles have done their duty to safeguard the interests of all the magical races for centuries, to our own detriment.” Triese said with a sniff. “I could hardly be willing to do less than the last Emperor’s Oracle, Auraelie, did for our people.”

“Exactly.” Heolin nodded, but Yslie had the impression that his placid expression hid a measure of the same distaste for Triese’s grandstanding as Yslie herself felt. “I do have faith, however, that should you marry the prince, you will not be making a sacrifice. He is not like his father, and unlike Auraelie, you will have the Assembly to watch over you.”

Yslie doubted the newly created governing body would have the energy to spare to care what happened to a lone oracle. They had too much to do as it was, trying to counter the emperor’s excesses. She kept that thought to herself. There were more important matters to discuss. Even if she no longer intended to go to Kalitalo. “How will the Assembly decide which oracle is to marry the prince?”

“They won’t.” Heolin gestured for them to sit, then settled himself in one of the chairs around the large circular table filling the room. “We have quite a bit to discuss, so make yourselves comfortable. Before we get into the details, I should like to know your names.”

“I am Triese, and my power is to see the immediate future without multiple possibilities muddling my visions.”

Heolin hadn’t asked about their powers—he knew better—but Yslie understood exactly why Triese had volunteered the information that most oracles hid from those not of their race. She told herself not to rise to the bait, but after Triese’s answer, just giving a name felt inadequate. “My name is Yslie. I see the past. Of people, not objects.”

“I am honored to meet you, Triese and Yslie. Before I answer your questions, I want to tell you a little about my task. Some of this you will have heard before, but some of the information might be new to you.” He cleared his throat. “As you know, in exchange for dissolving the treaty between the oracles and the imperial family, the magical races agreed that an oracle would marry the crown prince. What you may not know, is that before she left Pynth, Auraelie made me promise to ensure that the woman who married the prince did so of her own free will. There will be no repeat of the Emperor’s Will. You may decide at any time that you no longer wish to be considered, and none will gainsay you. Even if you are standing in front of the altar and suddenly have second thoughts, you can always walk away.”

Yslie's shoulders relaxed. Heolin would understand when she said she was no longer interested. She didn’t have to go to Kalitalo.

“I won’t change my mind,” Triese declared. “No matter how odious the prince is, I can serve the magical races this way. I can do no less than Auraelie.”

When had Auraelie gone from an oracle to be pitied to a hero to emulate in Triese’s mind? Auraelie had endured the future Yslie would one day have experienced if not for the revolution, and Triese had never shown any empathy for her plight. Then again, Auraelie had escaped her fate. How ironic, that the moment the last Emperor’s Oracle had acted against the treaty, refusing to suffer under the Emperor’s control any longer, had inspired Triese’s sudden willingness to martyr herself.

Not that Triese would have volunteered if she believed marrying the prince would be martyrdom.

Heolin didn’t remark on the fact that Triese’s vow directly contradicted the protections he was trying to offer. He simply nodded and turned to Yslie. “And you? Why did you volunteer to meet the prince?”

She couldn’t admit the truth: that Heolin had looked so dejected standing behind the podium, his speech done, and only the rustles of fabric as her people shifted on the benches answering him. Nor did she want to admit that she felt it was her duty, even now that she no longer had to become the next Emperor’s Oracle. Instead, the words that spilled free in their place came from somewhere deeper inside her. “Because pursuing change means taking a risk and trusting that things will be better.”

The corners of Heolin’s eyes crinkled. “Well said.”

Triese glared at her and Yslie had realized she couldn’t back out. Stepping back and allowing Triese to become empress, knowing she would abuse that sort of power, wasn’t an option. Yslie might never be able to catch the prince’s eye, but to satisfy her own conscience, she had to at least try.

Except she knew nothing about the prince. It didn’t matter that she had been raised knowing she’d one day serve him. Her lessons had been about how to protect her people and give the emperor she served as little power as possible without ever breaking the terms of the treaty. And the gossip that reached Garaea from the palace had never included anything about the prince, only the Emperor and his sordid parties.

Without a starting point for the conversation, Yslie wasn’t sure she’d be able to even talk to the prince, let alone catch his attention. Too bad it hadn’t occurred to her to ask anyone about his interests earlier. Somehow, during the journey to Kalitalo, the prince had rarely come up as a topic of conversation. Triese and another oracle, Odela, had been too interested in what life in the city was like to care about the man they were attempting to marry. They had bombarded Heolin with questions. Sophenie, the final member of their group, had mostly kept to herself. Yslie had tried drawing the other woman into conversation during the journey to the capital city, but had quickly realized she preferred silence.

The dusk bell chimed, the sound carrying over the streets and through the bedroom’s open window. It was time, whether Yslie was ready or not. She leaned toward not, but forced herself to stand, anyway.

She straightened her tunic and checked that her veil was securely attached, then stepped into the hallway. Triese was already hurrying to the courtyard, Odela not far behind her. Yslie didn’t see Sophenie. She hesitated, debating knocking on the final oracle’s door, when she stepped out.

Sophenie acknowledged her with little more than a look and they fell in step together. They walked considerably slower than the other women, falling further and further behind. Yslie didn’t think Sophenie was nervous like her, however. From the few things the other oracle had said during the journey, she suspected her hesitation came from a different internal battle. Sophenie was pushing herself to do something she absolutely didn’t want to do.

It made Yslie wonder why Heolin had allowed her to come. He had been ruthless about denying anyone he suspected of being under external pressure. Then again, the factions warring within Sophenie all seemed to be internal.

By the time they reached the courtyard, Triese and Odela already sat beside Pianti. The large open space in the center of the household was bathed in the last golden rays of sunlight, a few lamps hanging from columns providing extra light, but not too much. Yslie had spent most of her time in Pianti’s home in this courtyard, and had been impressed by the understated luxury, but tonight nothing was understated.

Towers of food, far too much for the number of guests, sat next to a fountain of what appeared to be wine. Silk draped over the tables, heavy with gold embroidery. There was even a small stage that hadn’t existed before in the corner, a man playing the gohtadar seated upon it. Yslie preferred when the only focus had been the flowers dotting the courtyard. The lush blooms that took so much effort to maintain in the Kalitalan heat were a sufficient display of luxury, in her mind.

But flowers weren’t an appropriate backdrop for a prince. And Pianti’s courtyard was the prince’s court tonight. Neither Yslie nor Sophenie made any effort to move deeper into the space. They’d have to cross the entire courtyard to reach Pianti and the others. She couldn’t see the person they faced, but she knew it would be the prince.

She spotted Qilar, not far from the archway where she stood, and his presence pushed her into motion. Just like when she had stood in the doorway of that back room earlier, he didn’t have to say anything to remind her that she was not where she was supposed to be. She walked down the center of the space, wondering if she had really seen a glint of amusement in Qilar’s eyes when he looked at her.

A little over halfway across the courtyard, Yslie got her first look at the prince, seated behind a table draped in crimson fabric and covered in gold dishes.

It was him.

The man who had proclaimed he had no worth apart from making art.

Her feet slowed, but it was too late. He spotted her. The women facing him noticed his shift in attention and turned.

“Ah, and our final two visitors are here.” Though there was nothing but excitement in her tone, Pianti’s smile when she turned it on Yslie held a touch of censure. The oracles were supposed to have arrived in a group.

“I apologize for the delay.” Yslie directed a shallow bow toward Pianti, then a much deeper one at the man who had to be the prince. “A thousand pardons, dyela , if we kept you waiting.”

While she spoke, Sophenie made her way to the cushion next to Odela, leaving Yslie with the one next to Triese. Wonderful. Not only had she already made herself out to be a fool by not recognizing the prince and asking a stupid question, but now she would be directly contrasted with Triese throughout the entire conversation.

“No apologies necessary,” the prince told her, though he frowned as he said it.

Pianti stretched out her hand in a graceful movement that managed to take in both Yslie and Sophenie without cutting across the women who sat closer. “ Dyela , allow me to introduce Yslie, who comes from the same village as Triese, and Sophenie from Opiesa. Ladies, His Imperial Highness, Prince Peroen.”