Six
After the day the prince had played for her, Yslie and Peroen had stopped pretending to spend their hour on art lessons. He still often had a sheet or two of sketching paper in front of him, his hands moving over the page in smooth strokes, but it was an absentminded sort of habit. Sometimes he showed her what he had drawn at the end of the hour, and she marveled over his ability to transform simple black and gray lines and smudges into art. Other times, he kept the paper tilted away from her and claimed it was too rough to share.
Yslie had grown comfortable walking into his studio and settling in for an hour of conversation. She didn’t bother wearing her veil, though she still followed Pianti’s advice and wore it to supper with the court—ridiculous when it remained dangling by her cheek for the entirety of the meal. Unlike in the ostentatious formal rooms, she felt at ease in this rarely used section of the palace. She looked forward to her time with Peroen.
But the day after meeting the Assembly, she hesitated outside the door. She had to warn him about what Brevin had said and had no idea how to do so without sounding presumptuous. Her cheeks burned thinking about casually announcing that the Assembly wanted to take away his choice and she had done her best to change a few minds.
As awkward as the conversation was bound to be, however, it was still better than standing in the hall and dithering until Triese showed up for her session. Yslie opened the door.
Peroen stood by one of the large windows in the room. He turned to face her, and the sun cast his features into sharp relief, deepening the grooves on his forehead. “Yslie. We need to talk about...” He trailed off, gesturing absently with his hand.
She didn’t know if that wave of arm was meant to encompass them, the palace, or everything. Her throat grew tight, and she stopped only a few steps into the room, the door swinging closed behind her. “About what?”
“Reality, I suppose,” Peroen said with a sigh. He moved over to the cushions where they generally spent their hour together and sat.
Yslie chose a cushion for herself, a little farther from him than usual, and sat with her spine stiff.
The prince sighed once more. “I’m fairly certain you already know this, but the Assembly wants more control over whom I marry. They are debating changing the terms so that they make the choice, not me.”
She nodded, unsure how else to respond. This was worse than having to break the news to him herself, she discovered. She didn’t know why he felt the need to tell her, and until she understood that, she couldn’t react.
“According to Pianti and Qilar,” he continued, “Odela has a sizable following among the Assembly members. Large enough that if they do claim the right to pick my wife, she would be the oracle chosen.”
“I see.” Yslie wasn’t surprised to hear Odela’s name. It was always going to come down to Odela and Triese. Odela had the political savviness to sway the Assembly and prove she could handle being empress. Triese had the charisma to win people over—especially men. Yslie didn’t want to think about what Peroen’s hour with her was like every day.
Perhaps she could step aside with a clear conscience if Odela was favored over Triese, though. She had come to the city to prevent Triese from gaining a crown. But would Odela be any better on the throne? Last night, Yslie had seen that she could make a difference. Not just by standing in Triese’s way, but through her own actions. The thought of stepping aside was no longer a relief.
Yslie looked over at Peroen. No, she didn’t want to step aside at all, and not only because she could help Pynth’s progress. The feelings growing inside her might not be reciprocated, but she and Peroen were friends, at the very least. She wouldn’t abandon him when the Assembly sought to control his life. Not unless he asked her to leave.
She gathered her courage and asked, “Do you want to marry Odela?”
Peroen flinched. “No. That’s why...” He ran a hand over his head. In her attempt not to look directly at him, she almost missed the way he couldn’t seem to look at her, either. He continued speaking to the cushions between them. “Qilar said you were convincing the magical races not to take away my choice. Pianti was impressed with how deftly you pricked their consciences. But the humans still need to be convinced. Pianti wants me to attend another Assembly event a few evenings from now.”
He lifted his head, his throat moving, though the words had stopped. His lashes lowered, casting shadows over his cheekbones. “I was hoping you’d join me, since you did so well last night.” Slowly, he looked up, and she was caught in his gaze. “But I don’t want you to feel like you must do this. I won’t force you to play politics if you don’t want to, Yslie.”
She didn’t look away. “But you don’t really have a choice, do you? Or I suppose your choice is between playing politics and ceding control over your life. If you really think I can help, I will gladly go with you.”
She did her best to sound pragmatic. It wasn’t Peroen’s fault that she wished he saw her as more than a political ally. “Tell me about this event.”
???
She had agreed to go with him. Help him. Yet Peroen couldn’t find it in himself to celebrate. Throughout the morning, Yslie had maintained a slight distance between them. Without knowing the cause, he couldn’t guess how to bridge that gap. Did she feel it was her duty to help him with politics since he had asked, but she’d really rather avoid such maneuverings? Did she doubt the depth of his feelings for her?
Peroen honestly wasn’t sure how Yslie could have missed that she was his choice, but he also didn’t dare reassure her on that account. Not if the real problem was that she wanted nothing to do with politics. Declaring his intentions would only make her feel more trapped. He refused to push her into a role she didn’t want. He needed to know the answer to the question she had avoided the first day they met. Why had Yslie come to Kalitalo?
He had to figure out what she saw as an unfortunate duty that she couldn’t ignore, and what she truly wanted. But to do that, he needed to talk to her more. Not just for an hour every other day. If Triese didn’t have her own session directly after Yslie’s, he thought their conversations could easily carry them through an entire day. But Triese’s arrival always interrupted them. Yslie would slip out of the studio, and he wouldn’t see her until their next session.
Maybe he should swap their times. Then he and Yslie could talk for as long as they wanted.
But that didn’t help him today. Which was why Peroen followed a piece of advice from Pianti he’d otherwise have ignored. She thought he should spend more time among the court. He conceded that socializing with the Assembly members and those who influenced them mattered, but Peroen saw little reason to waste his time with a court that would soon be a relic of the past.
But tonight he planned to try. The evening might turn out to be enjoyable. A talented musical group was scheduled to play after supper. Even before Pianti had urged him to make an effort at court, he had considered sneaking in for the performance. Mostly, though, he looked forward to seeing Yslie.
Or he had until Triese cornered him. He’d gone barely five steps into the dining hall, and hadn’t finished scanning the crowd for Yslie, when Triese pounced. Within minutes, and not exactly sure how it had happened, he ended up seated at a table with her and a host of the courtiers he least wanted to spend time with.
Shortly after that, he spotted Yslie. She saw him, but rather than coming to talk, she moved as far from the group as possible, settling next to Sophenie for the meal. He didn’t blame her.
Peroen reassigned the title of his most hated person in the palace. His father was beyond terrible, but he still mostly ignored Peroen. Unlike Triese. It didn’t matter how distantly polite he kept his responses to her questions—not that she asked many. He could bluntly state that he hated whatever superficial interest she started gushing about, and she accused him of being coy. Coy .
He doubted there was anything he could do, even if he gave up on subtlety and politeness, to halt her flirting. His best option was to limit his time with her. Which he tried to do. The moment the meal ended, Peroen stood, looking for Yslie. He might have missed the chance to dine with her, but they could still listen to the performance together.
“Oh, you can’t go. Not now.” Triese leapt to her feet.
Peroen, who had been formulating his excuses but hadn’t yet spoken, paused. “I didn’t say—”
“But you were about to.” Triese leaned in close, but didn’t lower her voice. “I know. I saw it. My visions are very accurate. Unless I act, they all come true. Truly, I should have been the last Emperor’s Oracle, for I am even more powerful than Auraelie, but I was still too young when the Emperor took the throne.”
Peroen couldn’t stop his frown. Did she really think he didn’t understand that Auraelie had been sent to his father not for her power, but for the limitations to that power? The oracles had never wanted the imperial family to benefit from their magic, though the treaty had required them to provide one of their number to each emperor.
If he had stopped to think about it, Peroen would have assumed that the women seeking out the position as his wife would still be the least powerful. For even now that a wedding was part of the agreement, he knew the oracles still distrusted sending any of their own to the imperial family.
Not that he believed Triese’s boasts about her own power.
“Of course,” she continued, saving him from needing to find a diplomatic response, “not everyone who came to Kalitalo respected the fact that only a powerful oracle should become empress. Yslie can’t even see the future at all.”
“She’s not an oracle?” Peroen knew that couldn’t be true, but what else could she mean?
Triese’s hand fluttered through the air as if the entire conversation was of little consequence. “Oh, technically she is, but Yslie can only see the past. She came to Kalitalo hoping to hide her deficiencies, but it is only fair that you know the truth.”
Too many objections occurred to Peroen. He didn’t know where to start.
Which gave Triese the opening to continue talking. She reached out, pressing her fingers to his upper arm. “You are absolutely right, dyela ,” she said as if he had spoken. “Seeing the past is positively useless. I truly don’t understand why she thought she could ever win over a prince. She really ought to know better by now.”
He didn’t shake his arm free, he simply looked at Triese until her fingers fell away. Then, in a clear voice that wasn’t a shout, but still held a strength Peroen hadn’t known he possessed, he spoke. “Your magic must not be as powerful as you think, for there was no possible future in which I ever would have agreed with you about Yslie. No, there is no future in which I agree with you about anything.”
Peroen didn’t take pleasure in the shock painting itself across Triese’s features. He didn’t care about the gossip he left in his wake. He had only one goal, to find Yslie.
But she was no longer in the dining room, and when he moved on to the room where the performance was to be held, she was not there, either.