Two
Yslie had changed . Not her clothes, but her entire demeanor was different from when she had opened the door to that back room. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and her lips stayed pressed closed under her veil.
He wondered if he had changed in her eyes, too.
He was trying to live up to Pianti’s expectations. Trying to internalize Qilar’s advice to remember that he was important. Pianti had certainly set the scene to highlight his rank. She had him playing emperor of this courtyard, seated where he could overlook everyone, and everyone could watch him.
He felt like an imposter.
“The city is so exciting,” Triese announced, and he realized he had been staring at Yslie for too long.
He shifted his attention to Triese. She had similar coloring to Yslie, though her hair was a flat black and her eyes a shade of brown that he had seen a hundred times before. The jewel tones she wore flattered her, but Peroen couldn’t help but compare them to the pastels Yslie wore and feel they were too loud. Everything about Triese demanded attention, which only reminded him of the court.
She continued talking, gesturing at herself as she did. “Why, the lace on this tunic comes from all the way across the Storm Barrier.”
Peroen glanced at the trim on her tunic, as he knew he was supposed to. The lace had an intricate pattern he hadn’t seen before, its cobwebby texture a sure sign that it hadn’t been made in Pynth.
“Exquisite. I’m glad to hear our markets don’t disappoint.” Was he supposed to pretend he had influence over such things? Was that what being important meant, taking credit for things he had no say in? No. Peroen wouldn’t lie. “I hope the Assembly furthers our trade agreements with the countries across the Storm Barrier once domestic matters are a little more settled.”
The fourth oracle, who hadn’t said a single word yet, suddenly went rigid. Her hair was the same shade as the teak table in front of them, pulled back in a braid that made the lines of her face almost harsh. Or perhaps that was simply the effect of the glare she leveled on Peroen. “I wonder if Auraelie would urge her foreign prince not to trade with us after everything she went through at imperial hands.”
The look she gave him ought to have incinerated him on the spot. Thank the stars she was an oracle and not a fire sprite. He didn’t know how to respond, but a quick look at Pianti told him not to say anything. Her lips had thinned slightly behind her veil, though they hadn’t lost their gentle upward curve. She leaned forward, angling herself to look at Sophenie. “Prince Sebin was instrumental in establishing our new Assembly. Neither he nor Auraelie would hold the actions of the Emperor against the people of Pynth as a whole.”
“He only stepped in to negotiate between the revolutionaries and the Emperor because he was present, partaking in the Emperor’s excesses himself.”
The ground trembled beneath them. Everyone turned, noticing Heolin’s approach for the first time. The earth sprite—the former ambassador for the magical races in the imperial court and a principal figure from the revolution—had been entrusted with finding oracles willing to marry Peroen specifically because he was friends with Auraelie. She had made him promise that no oracle would be forced into a political marriage.
Another burst of earth magic brought him to Sophenie’s side in a single stride. “Were you present as we planned our strategy? Were you a part of the revolution yourself?”
The outspoken oracle gulped, but didn’t back down. “The Elders of Opiesa said—”
“Your Elders used their visions as an excuse to ignore the unjustness of the Imperial-Oracle Treaty for centuries. They did nothing, waiting for Prince Sebin to save Auraelie and all future oracles himself.” Heolin closed his eyes and the faint tremors finally stopped. After several heartbeats, he looked at Sophenie again, his expression schooled into careful mildness. “I hope, for your sake, that you do not plan to follow in their footsteps if you become empress, Sophenie. You would do well to learn from the past and act in the present rather than only obsessing over the future.”
“I don’t... I didn’t...” Sophenie bowed her head. “I apologize, Heolin. I was not there, and there are no written accounts of what happened from the people who were for me to study. I should not make assumptions without any evidence.”
She rose and walked away, directly out of the courtyard without sparing Peroen a second glance. He put her out of his mind for the moment, needing to focus on the oracles still present. He’d have to consider whether her outburst meant he could disregard her completely later. For all he knew, the others would have even more prejudices against his family—for which he wouldn’t blame them.
Heolin watched Sophenie’s exit for a moment, then turned back to the group. He exchanged a glance with Pianti, and at her nod turned to the two women on her right. “Triese and Yslie, my cousin wanted to speak to you about the forests around Garaea. Allow me to introduce you.”
Triese pouted as she followed Heolin away, which Peroen noticed because she blocked his view of Yslie. Only Pianti’s delicate clearing of her throat reminded him that one oracle still remained by him.
Dressed in a pale pink that complemented her darker complexion without washing her out, Odela projected an air of innocence that he instinctively knew was a front. If she had met him in the back room earlier, even if she had said the same words as Yslie had, he’d have known her appearance was no accident but a ploy to make a good impression on him.
Her blush when Pianti left them alone was too perfect, her downcast eyes not obscuring the glitter of avarice in their depths. She’d pretend demureness because she thought it would get her what she wanted.
At least Peroen could recognize the scheming. He’d chat with her until Pianti arranged her departure, but wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking he had met the real her. Meanwhile, he’d hope that Yslie wouldn’t hide behind a facade of formal politeness when it was her turn to talk with him, and she’d once more be the woman who had been delighted to learn he was an artist, not a prince.
???
Because the introduction to Heolin’s cousin had been nothing more than an excuse to give Odela time alone with the prince, Yslie soon found herself drifting through the courtyard alone. It was the perfect opportunity to relive every moment of her conversation in the back room. Thanks to her power—Yslie was the most useless sort of oracle, one who saw the past rather than the future—she didn’t even have to rely on mundane memory. No, she got to see every humiliating instant in complete detail.
She’d be lucky if she overcame her embarrassment enough to say a single sensible thing to the prince before he married whichever of the other oracles caught his eye. She had always known her chances of being his choice were slim. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t try, but if it hadn’t been for the likelihood of Triese becoming empress, she wouldn’t have cared about failing. But now... now she cared. Now she had motivation beyond protecting Pynth from a selfish empress.
She liked the prince.
She had expected... well, she had expected him to be a male version of Triese, truth be told. Not a man who apologized when she barged in on him. Not a man who asked what she loved. Yslie wasn’t sure anyone had ever bothered to ask what she liked before, let alone loved.
Once the nature of her power had become apparent, her worth as an individual had disappeared. No one cared what the next Emperor’s Oracle thought or felt, so long as she served her purpose. Her father had never looked at her the same once the elders announced Yslie would serve in that role. He had wanted a child who could be his legacy, someone like Triese, as he’d told Yslie on numerous occasions.
Her mother had never been a part of her life.
No one wanted to befriend the next Emperor’s Oracle, either. There had been people over the years who had been kind enough, or pitying enough, that Yslie hadn’t been completed isolated, but she’d never developed a deeper relationship. And the one time she had thought that perhaps a man... no, she wouldn’t even think about that incident.
Especially not now, when she felt a slow pull of attraction that warmed her blood and made her skin tingle in anticipation in a way it never had for Drexlir. It wasn’t because of how the prince looked, either. Yslie had expected him to be handsome. His ancestors had chosen their consorts for their beauty for generations. She knew better than to fall for such superficial traits as broad shoulders, deep brown eyes, and dense black curls that absorbed the light.
If he hadn’t sounded so sincere, hadn’t looked at her and actually seen her, she wouldn’t have even noticed his appearance except to note that Triese would be overjoyed to learn he matched her so well.
In an effort to prevent herself from staring at the prince and daydreaming about stroking her hands over his head, tugging on those curls, Yslie wandered over to the gohtadar player near the entrance to the courtyard. Seated in the center of the small platform, he wore clothes that stood out for their simplicity, though their quality was fine. The table in front of his cushion was polished to a high shine, the dark surface contrasting with the bone-pale wood of the instrument atop it. The musician’s hands flew over the instrument, his fingers flexing, causing the tiny hammers he held to strike the strings at a speed Yslie could hardly follow.
She let the music wash over her, but though she had never heard such a mesmerizing performance before, it couldn’t drain the tension from her limbs.
She was going to have to spend the next several weeks watching the prince fall for Triese. Yslie should have been used to such things. Everyone fell for Triese in some manner, from the elders and her father who saw her as the epitome of what an oracle should be, to the women who wanted to be her friends, to the men who dreamed of more than friendship. Of course, the prince couldn’t keep his eyes off Triese. Hearing him compliment her outfit shouldn’t have surprised Yslie. No, that wasn’t the right word. She hadn’t been surprised. She’d been disillusioned. Hurt that the man who had been so friendly in that back room hadn’t immediately seen through Triese’s brand of charisma and had instead extended the same courtesy to both of them.
Yslie sighed. She’d have to watch herself. If Triese got even the smallest inkling that Yslie was attracted to the prince, she’d redouble her efforts to win him. Her greatest joy was to steal anything that brought Yslie a measure of happiness. That was why Yslie hadn’t been able to answer the prince’s question about what she loved. If she had found something to love, Triese would have ruined it. It had been safer not to look.
“Aren’t you supposed to be talking to Prince Peroen?” The low rumble of Qilar’s voice jolted Yslie from her reverie.
She turned to face him. His calm demeanor and clear love for Pianti had quickly helped her move past feeling intimidated by his size and watchful eyes. “It’s not my turn yet.”
“That didn’t stop you before.”
She blushed. “That wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t even realize he was the prince.”
“And now that you know, are you disappointed?”
“Disappointed?” She was in a way, but only because it made him out of her reach, despite the fact that she was in Kalitalo to be considered as his bride. But she didn’t think that was what Qilar meant. “I am only disappointed that I made a ridiculous first impression. He must think I am a fool.”
“I doubt that.”
“A schemer, then. He probably believes I purposefully tried to meet with him before the others.”
“No. He believed you when you told him you had been looking for Pianti.”
Yslie tried not to let it show how much that faith impacted her. “It was the truth.”
“Were you hoping to arrange preferential treatment, like getting the first—official—private conversation with the prince?”
Yslie couldn’t help but look over to where Odela still sat across from him. “Did she really? And Pianti agreed?”
Qilar shrugged. “My wife wants to know that the future empress will survive at court. She will reward anyone who shows they have the right mindset.”
She looked down at her toes. “I’m afraid that won’t be me.”
“What did you intend to ask Pianti?”
“I had hoped she could tell me a few of the prince’s personal interests. It occurred to me that I know nothing about him apart from who his father is. I wanted to find a topic we could both be comfortable discussing.”
Qilar smiled and gestured at the gohtadar player. “Prince Peroen chose tonight’s musician. When he isn’t painting, he is usually playing or listening to others perform. If you want to set him at ease, I’d focus on the music itself, not his own accomplishments.”
She gaped. “Are you giving me an advantage when your own wife favors Odela?”
“Pianti has not made up her mind. And her focus on finding an oracle who can navigate the court is not the same as mine, which she knows.”
Feeling daring, Yslie asked the obvious question. “What is your focus?”
“That this union, despite its political nature, is one that brings at least contentment to both parties, if not true happiness.”
???
Pianti must have suspected that Peroen might try to run, for she had placed him on the far side of the courtyard from the door. The temptation to flee grew stronger as the evening wore on. The short breaks she allowed him between meeting with the oracles didn’t help him regain his equilibrium. They lasted only long enough for him to contemplate all the ways in which he could escape back to his studio, the familiar safety of his paints and instruments.
But he wouldn’t run. Unless Pianti planned to drag Sophenie back into the courtyard, Yslie was next.
He wanted to earn another of her smiles. He wanted to be himself, not a poised prince. He wanted; that was the crux of it.
Peroen waited, wondering if Pianti had arranged a longer pause, for the time stretched out in a way it hadn’t between his conversations with Odela and Triese. Finally, she made her way to Yslie’s side.
He wiped his hands on his trousers, thankful they were hidden from view below the table.
After a brief conversation with their host, Yslie made her way over. She bowed. “ Dyela , allow me to apologize for not recognizing you earlier.”
He gestured for her to sit across from him. “Why should you have recognized me? Half the members of the court probably wouldn’t.”
The Emperor had never wanted Peroen to have anything to do with... well, anything. He didn’t care about preparing his heir for the future, too paranoid that Peroen would try to usurp his throne if given a chance. Peroen, in turn, had always found it safest to limit his pursuits to music and art, rather than court his father’s attention. The fact that he would choose his own bride, even if his options were limited, was an anomaly.
The Assembly paradoxically gave him agency as they stripped away his father’s—and the Emperor was too narrow-sighted to even recognize that the Assembly was far more dangerous to his rule than any socializing Peroen might engage in at court.
Yslie pursed her lips, clearly unwilling to contradict him, yet skeptical of his claim to obscurity. Peroen sighed. “You’ll see tomorrow night at the feast.”
Tonight was a concession to Peroen’s discomfort among the court. A chance for him to meet his future bride without his father interfering. Tomorrow was the official welcome, a night of pageantry the Emperor could preside over. A performance meant to fool him into believing he still had influence, though everything about the upcoming marriage was actually in the hands of the Assembly.
Peroen braced himself. When the banquet had come up in conversation with Triese, her voice had gone so shrill in excitement that he’d been hard pressed not to cover his ears. But Yslie was not Triese. She went rigid at his mention of the feast. Her lips froze in an expression he couldn’t stand to call a smile under her veil. “Growing up in the palace must have been a wondrous experience.”
Once more, he couldn’t help but contrast Yslie with the other oracle from the same village. Triese had expressed envy that Peroen had lived in the palace his entire life, bemoaning the prosaicness of her home village. Peroen had demurred that time, but now he answered honestly. “Nerve-wracking, actually. I preferred the seasons I spent away from Kalitalo.” As he grew older, those escapes had occurred less often. His father might not want to see Peroen, but he still wanted him under his eye.
Yslie’s lips parted, but she said nothing. Her exhale a moment later was enough to send her veil fluttering. Her inhale sucked it into her mouth. She spluttered, reaching up and ripping off the veil before her eyes went wide and she stared at Peroen, the scrap of sheer silk clenched in her fist.
He smiled, though he tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Not used to the veil, I take it? You don’t have to wear it.”
Fashions were changing. It used to be that every woman in Kalitalo wore a veil, though no one beyond the capital did. But since the establishment of the Assembly, with members coming from all over Pynth and not donning the veil, more and more women had chosen to set it aside.
“Pianti insisted.” Yslie fiddled with her veil, smoothing it out against the polished wood of the table. “She said we must wear a sheer veil to signal that we are here by choice.”
“Well, if you wore a dark veil, that would certainly make me wonder why you had bothered to come to Kalitalo.” A dark veil proclaimed the wearer uninterested in relationships of any sort. “But not wearing one at all has come to mean much the same as the light veil.”
“Pianti said veils are still required at court.”
“I suppose that is unsurprising. The courtiers would be the last to embrace a fashion made popular by the Assembly.” Peroen leaned forward, lowering his voice. “As I’ve mentioned, however, I am not really a part of the court. Feel free to do away with the veil around me.”
She hesitated, her lips pressed together in a way that drew Peroen’s eyes. Or perhaps it was just seeing her lips without even the flimsy barrier of the veil that held his attention. Either way, he hoped Yslie wouldn’t give in to the need to do what Pianti had told her was proper. He could have made the decision easier for her by expressing a stronger opinion. If he had said he preferred for her to leave off the veil, instead of only granting her permission to remove it, he knew she’d accede to his wishes.
He didn’t want her to reflect back at him what she thought he hoped to see. He wanted her to make the choice based on her own desires. Given the way she had torn off the veil, those desires did not include wearing the scrap of silk. Knowing that, he dared to give her a nudge, though he still left the decision in her hands. “I’ll warn you if Pianti comes this way, I promise.”
Her hand pulled away from the silk, leaving it on the table. “Thank you, dyela .”
He contemplated asking her to call him Peroen. He had never demanded the honors his father saw as his due, but he had also never waived them when they were offered. Peroen had so little authority in his father’s court that it was dangerous to give any up. But he didn’t want power over his future wife. The problem, of course, was that there were three other women who might fill that role.
If Peroen invited Yslie to use his name, he’d have to extend the same courtesy to the others. He already knew that encouraging that level of informality with Triese would be a mistake. She’d see it as proof of sentiments he didn’t have, even if he gave all four women permission. Odela would take advantage of such an invitation. He wasn’t sure how, but he didn’t doubt she’d find a way. He wouldn’t even attempt to speculate about Sophenie, the oracle who didn’t bother to hide her distaste toward the imperial family.
Then the moment was lost, his hesitation stretching too long. The quiet strains of music filled the silence, and Peroen let the melody sink into him, helping him rediscover his equilibrium.
“I am told that you chose the gohtadar player for tonight’s entertainment,” Yslie said, the music having caught her attention, too. She smoothed a finger over her veil once more, her eyes trained on the corner of the table. “He is excellent. I have never heard the like.”
The praise rang with sincerity, making Peroen smile. He didn’t think Odela or Triese had even noticed the music. “I’m glad you enjoy it. Milac is an excellent gohtadar player, but his true talent is composition. His works are my favorites to play, though I fear I do not do them justice.”
“You play?” A hint of relief colored her voice.
“Yes.” Peroen tried to understand why she would be relieved that he played gohtadar . Most members of his father’s court saw the arts as something that should be done by others for their pleasure. They couldn’t understand finding pleasure in the creation itself.
Yslie was silent for a moment, and he realized she had expected him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she gave him another prompt. “I hope to hear you perform while I am in Kalitalo.”
He recognized what she was doing now. He had seen a few members of the Emperor’s Will use such techniques when sent to serve a member of the court. They would say just enough that the courtier didn’t feel like they were monologuing, turning everything into an invitation for more boasts. Did Yslie think that was who he was? A man who wanted that sort of attention?
“I don’t perform.”
She flinched slightly at his curtness, and he wanted to curse himself. Snapping at her wouldn’t show her that he wasn’t like those courtiers. Peroen searched for something to say, some way to soften his reaction.
Despite how easily they had spoken in the back room, before they knew each other’s names, this conversation proved harder than the ones with the other two oracles. With them, Peroen barely needed to talk. They molded themselves into the form they thought would most likely win them the title of empress, then flaunted their suitability.
Yslie, in contrast, hid herself. She tried to become nothing more than a blank canvas upon which Peroen could display himself. Too bad he preferred to sit behind the easel.
“Why did you come to Kalitalo?” he asked, the question escaping before he could censor himself.
She flushed. “I’d . . . I’d rather not say.”
Peroen pressed his lips together. What had he expected? He should be thankful she had been honest enough to refuse to answer rather than giving him some platitude.
Fire and hell. He knew the answer. The four oracles wanted nothing to do with him. They had traveled to the city to become empress. Only, that answer didn’t fit. Not for Yslie. Whatever her reason was, it had nothing to do with gaining the title for herself. Her desires would be the last thing she factored into the decision.
He had to ignore the pull he felt toward her, the conviction that she complemented him perfectly. He didn’t yet know the full breadth of the palette that made up Yslie’s personality, and he couldn’t fall for the illusion his mind created with only a limited sample. It didn’t matter that after a single evening, even without taking into account their conversation in the back room, he thought Yslie was the oracle who most suited him. Peroen would rather be a stepping stone for his wife’s ambition than the altar upon which she sacrificed herself.