Four
Two days after the feast, Yslie stood outside the prince’s studio. She hadn’t realized when Pianti first mentioned the portraits that the prince would be the one doing the painting. She had assumed he’d be posing with each oracle, the sessions nothing more than an excuse for the women to have an hour of relative privacy with him every other morning. Yslie had been relieved that they’d have a chance to talk without the weight of the court or the Assembly pressing on them.
Now, she suspected she had the reasoning for the unconventional socializing backward. The time was certainly about allowing the prince to get to know each of his potential brides, but the painting was to make him comfortable, not them.
After the feast and performance, Yslie felt like she had a good sense of the prince. What she knew should have made it easier to knock on the door and dive into this next hour of private conversation. Unfortunately, hope was a terrifying emotion for her. Drexlir had taught her how much worse a fall could be when she let hope lift her up first.
Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she hadn’t come all the way to Kalitalo to give up. Maybe she couldn’t beat Triese at her own games, but Yslie wasn’t playing a game. No one should play when it came to such important matters. Not only the empire, but the prince himself deserved better.
She knocked on the door.
The prince welcomed her inside, standing back as she looked over the studio.
It was a medium-sized room, with several windows along the back wall and an arched doorway, covered only by a beaded curtain, to the side. A folding screen hid one corner next to a washbasin with a chipped and stained bowl. Near the center of the room, the prince’s collection of art supplies was arrayed neatly on several tables, with a padded stool in front of an easel.
Several instruments, from the common gohtadar , flute, and drums to more exotic instruments she couldn’t name, lined one side wall. The room was comfortable, with the air of frequent use rather than display. Yslie took it all in, breathing easier as the serenity of the space sank into her.
She turned to face the prince and realized he was nervous. The last of her own nerves disappeared. She reached up and unhooked the veil that still caused her problems, allowing it to dangle on one side of her face. “Your studio is lovely.”
He stared at the veil for a long moment. No, Yslie corrected herself, her cheeks growing warm. He was staring at her lips.
“ Dyela ?”
He startled, as if he hadn’t even noticed he was staring. “Sorry, I was imagining how I could paint you. I know the space is a bit bare, but there are plenty of props in the next room we can use to set the scene.” He gestured at the curtained doorway. “If you want something I don’t already have, I’ll get it before our next session.”
“I assumed you would choose the pose, dyela .”
He shook his head. “No, this portrait is to highlight your personality.”
“I’m not an artist. I wouldn’t know where to begin.” Yslie’s heart pounded. It felt like a trap—a test she was doomed to fail. Yet she didn’t think the prince wanted to trick her. “It sounded like you already had an idea. Why don’t we do that?”
He frowned. “You are the person the portrait is meant to portray. I don’t want to paint my version of you, but the true you.”
Yslie doubted either would make for much of a portrait. The more she thought about it, the less she liked the idea of any portrait altogether. The prince might be more comfortable with a paintbrush in hand, but she’d never relax while she posed for him. What she needed was a way to rekindle the ease with which they had spoken before their identities were revealed.
“Will the painting be shown to anyone else?” she asked.
“Not unless you wish it.”
“Then I don’t want to pose at all.”
His shoulders drooped. “While no one plans to check on the portrait, I think people will notice if we don’t meet.”
“I’ll still come,” Yslie reassured him. She couldn’t decide if he was worried about getting in trouble or disappointed by the thought of not painting her. Surely he couldn’t care that much about having her as a subject? “If we stay in your studio, no one has to know you aren’t painting my portrait.”
“If we still meet, I don’t think they’ll care. The portraits were my idea. I thought it would be better than playing phan over and over. I’m afraid I’m not the most riveting of conversationalists.”
Yslie raised a brow. “You could talk about paint drying and it would still be more interesting to me than posing for a portrait.” She smiled as the perfect solution to make them both comfortable came to her. “Actually, that’s what we should do.”
“Talk about paint drying?”
“In part. But I meant talk about painting in general. You could teach me. I’d much rather join you behind the easel.”
“You want me to teach you how to paint?”
Her excitement waned. “Unless you object, dyela ?”
“I’ll do it on one condition.”
“What?” she asked warily.
“I’ll teach you to draw if you call me Peroen. None of this dyela business.”
Teeth sinking into her lower lip, she considered the possible consequences. “I don’t think that is wise,” she said after a moment. “Not unless you plan to ask all of us to call you by name.”
If Triese heard Yslie call him Peroen, when she hadn’t been extended the same privilege... Yslie didn’t want to learn what the other oracle would do in retaliation.
“Only here then,” he said, conceding her point. “When I am teaching you to draw, you will use my name.”
“I suppose that would be all right.” Yslie smiled. “Peroen.”
???
“Which instrument were you playing?” Yslie asked as she settled onto the cushions in Peroen’s studio for her third session with him. He stood near his art supplies, gathering paper and charcoal, but she knew he had been playing something before she entered the room. A whisper of music had carried down the hall, stopping when she was still several feet from the door.
Peroen blushed. “The xizar .”
“Which one is that? I don’t recognize half your instruments.”
He pointed, which told her nothing, as all the instruments were stored in the same part of the room. Yslie studied him. “Why are you so shy about your music, but not your art?”
“I am proud of my skill with a paintbrush. But, while I love music, I cannot create it as well as I would wish.”
“The little I heard was beautiful. And you are saying you aren’t good enough?”
He shook his head. “You weren’t even in the room. I doubt you could hear it that clearly.”
“Then play for me now. I’ve never heard the xizar before.”
Peroen froze.
Yslie couldn’t hide her disappointment, but she immediately tried to set him at ease. “Never mind. You don’t have to play for me. I shouldn’t have asked like that. You did tell me you don’t perform.”
He set down the art supplies. “One song. Because you’ve never heard the instrument before.”
She clasped her hands together, trying not to look too excited in case it made Peroen more nervous.
He walked over to the instruments and picked up an instrument made of dark wood with a bulbous body and long neck. Eight strings stretched down the length of the instrument. Sitting on a stool near where he had picked it up rather than moving to the cushions by Yslie, he settled the body of the xizar on his thigh. One hand held the neck, his fingers loosely curled over the strings. The other hovered over the hole in the body of the instrument. He began to play.
Yslie wasn’t sure what sort of magic Peroen wanted to create with the instrument, that his current skill level left him dissatisfied. She couldn’t imagine the music being any better. He had chosen a well-known ballad that she had heard many times before, but she couldn’t think of a single performance that had felt more moving. His fingers flowed over the strings with apparent effortlessness, with no stumbles or hesitations.
The song ended.
Yslie remained silent.
Peroen slowly looked up, his face losing the serenity that had washed over him as he played, to be replaced with a brittle mask. “Now you understand why I don’t perform.”
“I do not,” Yslie objected, finding her voice once more. “That was extraordinary. I’ve never heard a better rendition of Beautiful Dreams . Will you play me another song? The xizar might be my new favorite instrument. Oh, but I still have never heard some of the others. Are they all that hauntingly lovely?”
Peroen blinked, then he hung the xizar back on its hook. Yslie pressed her lips tight, stifling her objection. But then he lifted another instrument from its spot and played.
He played every instrument in the room before their hour ended. Sometimes the melodies were ones she recognized, other times not. But each was a joy to hear.
It was only after Yslie returned to her room that she realized every song she had recognized had a name that included either the word “hope” or “beautiful.”
???
The morning portrait sessions were both the best and worst part of Peroen’s days. Well, every other day it was both the best and worst. He didn’t have very strong feelings about the days when he painted Odela and Sophenie.
Odela had chosen to pose in the style of several past empresses whose portraits hung in the palace gallery. She wore a short bodice and a long skirt, heavy with embroidery. It was an outfit that evoked the past, both regal and elegant. Standing in three-quarter profile, she was almost distant during their sessions, although she made it a point to talk to him. Her polished conversation rarely required more from him than superficial politeness.
Sophenie had promptly chosen to pose seated on a selection of cushions with a book open in front of her. No conversation necessary or desired. Peroen still didn’t understand why she had agreed to come to Kalitalo as a prospective bride. It was clear she didn’t intend to marry him. However, despite her hatred for his family, he found her to be his second favorite of all the oracles. Perhaps her hatred was the draw—he, too, hated his father. In any case, her cool disdain for him was infinitely preferable to Triese’s exaggerated efforts to win him.
Triese was undoubtedly his last choice. The woman reminded him of all that was rotten in his father’s court. It hadn’t surprised him when she went a step further than Odela in her choice of pose. Triese didn’t limit herself to the styles of an empress. She portrayed herself as a goddess. Of course, she’d claim any similarity was accidental. She wasn’t pretending to be a particular goddess. No. She had simply chosen to dress herself in the exact fashion that had been popular about a century ago for every depiction of a goddess.
Pynth was a vast land, with people who worshipped innumerable gods. The custom of drawing every goddess in the same pose, draped in similar garments—though the colors and symbols changed—ensured that no one ever mistook a deity for a mere mortal. That custom had faded over the years, but the style was still easily recognized across the empire.
Peroen had hoped to get a solid impression of the oracles based on the poses they chose, but he hadn’t expected them to be quite that obvious.
The hour he spent with Yslie every other day passed in the blink of an eye, but his hour with Triese stretched into eternity.
“Of course, he admitted the color suited me better,” she prattled as she changed behind the screen in the corner. She always told Peroen about how she had spent the evening before when she first came in. It never occurred to her that if he wanted to know what happened among the courtiers, he’d be at the same events as her. “Flenden, the dear, pointed out that every color suits me better. Don’t you agree?”
Peroen pulled out the only detail he had caught in her monologue. He knew from experience he didn’t need to pay close attention. Triese needed almost no encouragement to believe he was enthralled by her chatter. An occasional nod or non-committal grunt usually sufficed. This time, he managed a little more. “Emerald is a very good color for you.”
“Much better than for her.” Triese stepped out from behind the screen and began pulling on the multitude of gold jewelry she had chosen as part of her outfit. “Yslie should stick with her drab colors.”
Wait. She had been comparing herself to Yslie? Peroen went to contradict this statement—quite apart from anything else, the two oracles had almost identical coloring, any shade that suited one would suit the other—but then he stopped himself. Even if he kept his response neutral, which he doubted he could, Triese would hear it as praise for Yslie. She might not need encouragement to believe Peroen was charmed by her, but she’d certainly notice if he complimented the other oracle.
Not stroking Triese’s ego was a risk he was willing to take, but he refused to paint a target on Yslie.
She had never said anything to him about Triese, and that told him all he needed to know. She had told him numerous stories about growing up in Garaea at this point. To avoid all mention of Triese had to be deliberate. On the other hand, this was far from the first time Triese had disparaged Yslie. If Peroen said anything in Yslie’s favor, Triese would escalate. Insults would no longer be enough.
He hated ignoring the comment, letting Triese believe he agreed. But ultimately, what she believed didn’t matter. Yslie mattered.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his fingers clenched around his paint brush. He wouldn’t be able to start until he could relax his grip, but Triese wouldn’t know what he was doing behind the easel.
Triese ran her fingers through her hair a few times, fluffing the waist-length black locks, stepped into the spot between two windows, and posed. “Ready.”
His thoughts still on Yslie’s stories, Peroen did something he never had before with Triese. He asked a question. “What was it like growing up in Garaea?”
She groaned. “You don’t want to hear about Garaea. The village is so boring. Especially compared to Kalitalo. I think Yslie deciding she had a chance of becoming empress and volunteering to meet you was the most entertaining thing that ever happened there.”
“Any willing oracle had a chance,” Peroen pointed out. “The only other limit the Assembly set was an age range.”
“Technically. But you’ve met Yslie. Can you imagine her as empress?”
Peroen could. He still had trouble picturing himself on the throne, but once he got that far, adding Yslie to the image was simple. In this new era of an elected Assembly creating laws and limiting imperial power, Peroen didn’t need a political or social shark at his side. An empress who understood compassion would serve Pynth far better.
“The only requirement to become empress,” Peroen said once he felt in control enough not to snap, “is to marry an emperor.”
Triese laughed, as if he had said the most marvelous joke she had ever heard. “Exactly! Yslie doesn’t stand a chance.”
???
Yslie had her eyes on her plate, but not seeing Triese didn’t mean she couldn’t hear the other woman when she entered the dining hall.
“Sorry I’m late,” Triese giggled at a tableful of courtiers. “The prince and I completely lost track of time.”
Yslie tried not to think too hard about what that meant. Unfortunately, she knew without mulling it over that Triese’s portrait session should have ended nearly an hour ago. It hurt to think that Peroen would want to spend so much extra time with Triese, but Yslie couldn’t blame him. Her fellow oracle had a way of charming people, especially men. It didn’t hurt that she could scan the next minute of her own future at will and adjust her comments based on how people reacted in her visions. Triese corrected all missteps before they happened.
If Yslie and Peroen could lose track of time during her hour, only realizing they had run over when Triese showed up, then it made sense that Triese’s sessions ran long sometimes, too. And since no one was scheduled after her, they wouldn’t notice how much time had passed until hunger made itself known.
Yslie had to remember not to fool herself. Yes, Peroen had played for her. But that only proved that he was kind—or that he felt sorry she hadn’t heard more than the ghotadar , flute, and drums before. How a person treated her when they were alone was not indicative of how they’d treat her around others. She knew that. She could enjoy their portrait sessions, but she had to armor herself against the knowledge that the easy conversation between them likely meant nothing.
Triese was good and reminding Yslie of reality, even when she wasn’t trying. Snippets of her conversation with the courtiers reached Yslie over the course of the meal, driving home the lesson that Triese was popular and Yslie was no one.
After the midday meal, Yslie had intended to stay with the court. A xizar player was scheduled to perform that afternoon, and she wanted to hear it. But she heard Triese agree to attend with her friends among the court, and Yslie knew she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the music with them nearby. Which left her with nothing to do.
Exiting the dining hall, she spotted Sophenie a few paces ahead of her. She wasn’t heading toward the performance or their rooms. Yslie quickened her pace and reached the other oracle’s side before she turned the corner. “What are your plans this afternoon, Sophenie?”
She didn’t slow. “I’m going to the city library.”
“Can I come?”
Sophenie’s quick side-eye might have been annoyance or confusion. “The library is open to the public.”
Confusion, Yslie decided. She hoped. “I meant, would you mind if I walked there with you?”
“It hardly makes a difference to me. So long as you don’t plan to chatter at me once we reach the library.”
“I won’t distract you from your books once we get there,” Yslie assured her. “And I’ll make my own way back to the palace.”
She probably wouldn’t stay at the library for long at all. Yslie would explore the city for a few hours before supper. She was happy enough to do that on her own. It was only traversing the halls of the palace by herself that filled her with dread. It didn’t matter that Triese and her friends should be heading in the opposite direction. With Yslie’s luck, she’d walk directly into the group and have to hear Triese gush about Peroen.
She and Sophenie made it out of the palace without passing anyone but servants. A block away from the palace, however, they crossed paths with Odela. She hadn’t been at the midday meal, and though she was near the palace now, she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to return, for she fell into step with them, flanking Sophenie on the opposite side from Yslie.
“Library?” she asked.
“Of course,” Sophenie replied.
The two had clearly made this walk together before. Even without conversation, Yslie felt awkward, like the others had a routine that did not fit her. Then Odela looked around Sophenie and addressed her. “Do you have an interest in the library, too?”
“I have an interest in Kalitalo. I thought I’d accompany Sophenie to the library, then explore from there.”
“The district the library is in isn’t particularly interesting. If you want to explore the city, you should start at the Lotus District.” Odela pointed down a cross street. “It is only two blocks east and one south from here. We’ll go several blocks west to get to the library.”
The dismissal was clear. It was also polite, and Yslie had attached herself to Sophenie unexpectedly. Ignoring the hint would accomplish nothing but annoy two of the only people Yslie knew in the city.
Yslie inclined her head. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll save myself a hike, then.” She smiled at Sophenie. “Perhaps I’ll see the library with you another day.”
Her brow furrowed. “You don’t need me. It is open to the public, remember?”
“Right. Well, enjoy.”
Yslie turned down the street Odela had indicated. And she might have walked a little slower than normal, her footfalls intentionally soft, but she heard nothing from the other women. Her curiosity about why Odela hadn’t wanted her around would have to go unsatisfied.