Chapter 3
Three
RODIAN
Lidiya, the experienced aide assigned to Rodian by the palace, subtly leaned toward him after the ivoryan he’d been speaking with walked away.
The noble in question had been quite blatant in presenting her daughter to him, a girl who had just turned twenty, the country’s legal majority age, and who had been quite shy.
“It might behoove the Isar to accept a dance or two.”
Rodian hid his grimace behind the glass of ika in his hand, sipping at the clear liquid.
It burned pleasantly on his tongue, the fourth such drink he’d had that evening.
The traditional alcohol could be drunk in various infused flavors, but Rodian had always preferred it plain.
At this rate, he might empty a whole bottle. “I am not dancing tonight.”
For one, he didn’t know how to dance. No one had thought to ask him if he could.
Everyone had been more focused on bringing him up to speed on Urova’s politics over the last few weeks.
Something as mundane as dancing hadn’t crossed anyone’s mind until the coronation ball had been mentioned.
Rodian never had any use for dancing at formal balls up north because they never had any.
He wasn’t about to make a fool of himself before the country’s peerage, not when those same people would be needed to help implement his rule.
So every hinted request for a dance had been met with a polite smile and even more polite refusal.
The men and women vying for his attention all evening had eyed the empty spot to his right where a consort would stand if he’d had one like hungry bears.
But Rodian had never married, and so every single ivoryanin in Matriskav was coming out of the woodwork to fight for the prize of being his consort, wanting only power.
Rodian’s heart was secondary to that, and he resented that fact with a bitterness he dared not show.
Lidiya straightened and inclined her head slightly at his request. She would not push him on it again, he knew.
A decade his senior, she was an incredible teacher of Urovan law, especially in the face of their ruined reputation on the world stage.
But she wasn’t a member of the ivoryanin.
She would never be welcomed into their ranks.
He needed someone who could help him navigate the deep waters of the royal court, and she could not do that.
So far, he felt as if he were drowning.
Rodian gritted his teeth through three more introductions of people whose names she knew he needed to remember but which slipped through his mind like water.
When the notes of the next song filled the air, several matriarchs with their of-age children in tow headed his way, eyeing him like a tundra wolf might eye prey.
Rodian attempted a quick escape out of the glittering ballroom for the veranda beyond the glass doors—and ran directly into an ivoryan heading inside.
“Oof!” The surprised cry had Rodian automatically reaching out to steady the man he’d nearly knocked over.
“My apologies,” Rodian said, mentally cursing himself as he waved off the palace guard who’d instantly moved his way at the collision. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Clearly,” the ivoryan drawled as he straightened his splendid long-vest. The deep blue brocade fabric of it was woven with a gold design depicting the Bear constellation in honor of the Midnight Star.
The blue sash tied about his waist over the long-vest held gold fringe at the ends that looked soft to the touch. “Though you should never apologize.”
“Excuse me?”
The ivoryan looked up through a fringe of thick lashes from the perusal of his clothing, a smile quirking the corner of his full mouth.
Rodian blinked, recognizing him as the figure in the crowd during the coronation who had been just a beat behind everyone else’s obeisance.
The distance between them at that time hadn’t done the stranger justice.
Up close, he was taller than Rodian had expected, though not as tall as himself.
The perfect tailoring of his clothes accentuated a lean body that had probably done nothing more strenuous than wallow in comfort for his entire life.
His brown hair was surprisingly long, twisted up in a knot held in place by a pair of thin metal hair sticks tipped in jewels.
His eyes were a startling pale blue, reminding Rodian of a glacier, with a depth to his gaze that was just as mysterious.
The intelligence in them was at odds with his youthfulness, for he appeared to be barely past the country’s majority age.
“You are the Isar. One such as yourself should never apologize,” the ivoryan said with a lightness to his voice that belied the serious look in his eyes.
“If I am at fault for something, I would not hold back an apology.”
“Then they shall eat you alive.”
“They?”
The young man tilted his head in the direction of the ballroom Rodian wanted to escape. “Why, the ivoryanin, of course. We’re all searching for new roles after so many of us were massacred by rionetkas.”
“And are you on the hunt as well?”
He chuckled, the sound holding none of the flirtatiousness everyone else’s had that night. The young man carried himself with a sureness Rodian could appreciate. Competency had always won him over more than pretty words. “I would be lying if I said no.”
That was the first truthful thing Rodian had heard all day, couched in none of the doublespeak that came with court politics.
The social masks people wore in the capital weren’t anything those up in the far north would ever even think of putting on.
His family never had, and his sister would disdain the political maneuverings of Rodian’s new life.
Sakka had no patience for people who did not speak plainly.
He missed his younger sister terribly, but she had elected to remain in Verdlovsk to finalize the transfer of Rodian’s rulership to a cousin.
She and her son, Heike, would be traveling to Matriskav within the week.
He had not yet formally announced his nephew as his heir, but the paperwork had all been finalized alongside his coronation.
Rodian hummed thoughtfully and stepped further onto the balcony.
The palace guards discreetly blocked the entrance behind him, allowing him a much-needed break from the clawing attention of the court.
That he had wanted to be alone and now wasn’t did not seem like such a terrible thing at the moment.
“And yet, I have not seen you in the ballroom before now with all the others,” Rodian said.
One dark brow arched high, amusement finally seeping into that cool gaze. “Would you say yes to a dance if I asked, Isar?”
Rodian couldn’t quite hide his grimace, which caused the ivoryan to laugh. It wasn’t mocking, though, more a quiet sort of amusement, as if they shared a secret. “What is your name?”
“Ah, my apologies, Isar.” The ivoryan drew to his full height and pressed a fist over his heart, bowing to the royal degree. “I am Ivoryan Arkadi.”
“Have you been in Matriskav for long?”
Arkadi straightened, letting his arm fall back to his side.
He didn’t shift on his feet or flutter about like some of the other guests did when confronted with Rodian’s attention.
He knew he could come across as intimidating because of his size, but he’d long since learned how to encourage people to feel safe without making himself be small.
With Arkadi, he didn’t feel he needed to do that, not with the easy way the younger man acted around him—calm and open, with no nervousness in his carriage.
“My family has called the capital home for generations. Most of my family serve in the Star Order, but we are ivoryanin. Our bloodline has been listed in the nobility genealogies since the Poison Accords were signed. My grandmother, beloved vicious matriarch that she is, prefers a few of us to be at court, and I quite like it.”
Rodian could see how court would be entertaining for someone like Arkadi, who seemed as if he’d thrive as the center of attention. “If you like the royal court, then you must know everyone here tonight.”
Arkadi nodded slowly. “I do. I also knew many of those lost as rionetkas.”
Rodian had never seen a rionetka, only heard of them in the never-ending reports he’d been tasked with reading—people whose hearts had been replaced by a clockwork one and forced to go on living their life as if they weren’t living a lie, hidden in plain sight.
Such horrific control magicians had wrought through magic was the stuff of nightmares, and it had almost crippled their government.
“You survived.”
Arkadi lifted his chin, those icy eyes going flinty. “My loyalty has never been in question.”
“Good.” Rodian cleared his throat. “Then perhaps you could enlighten me as to the desires of the ivoryanin.”
Arkadi blinked a few times in surprise, thick lashes a shadowed fringe around his eyes. “Pardon?”
Rodian gestured at the ballroom behind them, full of people he had nothing in common with.
“As good as the teachers are that the palace administration has provided me, I know nothing of the capital or its people or its bloodlines. Three weeks ago, I was herding reyndeer with my family, and the most I had to worry about was the upcoming tax deadline for my town. I don’t know the rules here, and I need to. ”
He tried not to let the panic seep into his voice, throttling it before it slipped past his teeth. He knew it was risky asking for such help from someone not vetted by the palace, but it was too late to take the words back.
And Arkadi, to his credit, didn’t immediately fall over himself to accept. He merely stared at Rodian with a calmness that made some instinct in Rodian—the one that kept him alive outside his old town’s walls while herding reyndeer—tell him he’d made the right choice with this offer.
“You have an aide,” Arkadi said after a moment.
“She is not ivoryanin.” Rodian might have grown up in the far north, considered backward by the majority of city-folk for where he hailed from, but they would never deny he was ivoryanin.
He would always have a place with them, while Lidiya would never be welcome where he could walk.
She might know the world of the court, but she did not live it.
Not how they did.
It was in their blood, after all.
“Far be it from me to deny the Isar what support I can give,” Arkadi finally said, inclining his head. “I am at your disposal until you say otherwise. Would you like to start now?”
Before Rodian could answer, someone cleared their throat very politely behind him.
He looked over his shoulder and found Lidiya standing in the balcony doorway, staring at him expectantly.
Her keen gaze flicked from Rodian to Arkadi, and the faint way her mouth tightened told him she wasn’t pleased with Arkadi’s presence for whatever reason.
“Your guests await you, Isar,” Lidiya politely said, not giving him an order but very clearly reminding him of his duty.
“Perhaps I can assist another time. That might be for the best,” Arkadi murmured.
Rodian did not want that, but Arkadi gave him a parting serene smile and left the balcony before Rodian could find his tongue again.
Rodian watched him go, brow furrowed thoughtfully, gaze lingering on the younger man’s long legs, the hem of his calf-length long-vest fluttering about them.
Once he was gone, Lidiya found no reason to hide her frown from him.
“That one is not an ivoryan you should make acquaintances with. Any other of his family would be a better choice,” she said, her tone more a warning than an admonishment.
Lidiya was very careful in giving him the respect his rank as Isar required, but she did, at least, tell him the truth of a situation, as he had requested when they first met. Rodian wasn’t interested in sycophants.
“Why not?” Rodian asked.
“He is prone to gossip. If you wish to keep secrets, he is not one to confide in.”
Rodian might be new to court, but he wasn’t ignorant of the currency social rumors could contain. But if anyone would know the undercurrents of the royal court, he was certain it would be Arkadi.