Page 1 of Stranger's Choice
Chapter 1
“You’ll wait atthe inn, Your Highness?” Tjalik wrang his hands. “I am sorry, but I must meet my contact in private.”
Sebin was putting down his pack and inspecting his room when his guide spoke. Busy trying to determine if there was a difference between the two separate piles of cushions—the people on this continent didn’t use beds as Sebin was used to them—he didn’t reply right away.
The silence must have been too much for Tjalik, though. He began talking in a rush. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, of course, Your Highness, but people worry. The Emperor’s Oracle will soon test you. It is not wise for my people to come to her attention.”
“Of course. I understand.” Sebin turned and smiled. He kept his voice solemn enough to appease his guide, not betraying any of his doubts. If Tjalik did not trust Sebin’s assurance that he could evade the oracle’s power, then he had already revealed too much of his plan for any precautionary measures to do any good at this point. “I’ll go downstairs and have a drink while you handle your business.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. I will be back before night has fallen.”
Tjalik scurried out of Sebin’s room. Sebin waited a minute before heading down to the common room—he didn’t want to make the poor man any more nervous by following too closely behind him. Once downstairs, he sat at an empty table and reflected on the changes in his guide’s manner the closer they came to Kalitalo, the capital of Pynth.
Back when Sebin had met him in Moial, Tjalik had been an obsequious lickspittle. As they traveled across the Mladin Ocean, he became an earnest tutor, helping Sebin master the Imperial tongue. But as they journeyed deeper into the Empire of Pynth, he became more and more anxious.
A middle-aged woman dressed in a thigh-length tunic and loose trousers approached Sebin. “What can I get you,mehta?”
She used the imperial word that had a meaning somewhere between sir and my lord, clearly uncertain about how to address Sebin. He stood out in his Moialan waistcoat and trousers—he had given up on wearing his jacket in the Pynthian heat. His clothes were of fine material and manufacture, but too different from local fashions for her to classify easily.
Sebin smiled to show he took no offense at the honorific—though technically she should have called himdyela. Luckily, Tjalik addressed him as Your Highness in Continental, even when they spoke Imperial. The woman might never learn that Sebin was royalty, if he was lucky.
He answered slowly, letting his accent lay heavy on each word. “A mug of ale, please.”
The woman’s brow furrowed. “Would you like anything to eat?”
“Not yet, but if you have a moment, I have a few questions. I am far from home and would appreciate local insights.”
“Certainly,mehta. I have time before the supper crowd descends. Let me fetch your ale, and I will answer your questions.”
This was the real reason Sebin did not mind his guide abandoning him at the inn for the afternoon. Tjalik could conspire with his fellow rebels, and Sebin would learn what he needed to know unobserved. The rebel might believe Sebin had journeyed all this way to help him overthrow the Emperor, but Sebin was not convinced Tjalik’s cause deserved his support.
No doubt there were as many injustices in Pynth as back home in Moial, but revolution was an extreme answer. A cure worse than the original disease did no one any good.
“Our finest ale,mehta.”
Sebin accepted the mug from the woman and gestured for her to sit across from him. “Thank you for indulging me. My name is Sebin Velor.”
“Welcome to Yenglie,mehta. I am Dasaki, the owner of this inn. You had questions about the village?”
“Not just the village. When I said I am far from home, I meant quite far indeed. I come from a kingdom called Moial, across the Mladin Ocean.”
Dasaki gasped.
Ships had begun reliably—though not terribly frequently—crossing the Mladin just over a year ago. The Storm Barrier, a miles-wide stretch of the ocean shrouded by never-ending storms, had prevented humans from making the crossing for centuries. Even when ships had survived the torrential rain, lightning, and rough seas, they almost never managed the crossing. Normal methods of navigation failed in the Storm Barrier, and ships entered one place and came out far away, but still on the same side of the Barrier.
Two years ago, a Moialan had discovered how to use his magic in conjunction with elemental artifacts to navigate the Storm Barrier. The crossing was still difficult, but some of the merchant Families considered the risk worthwhile.
“Yes,” Sebin repeated, “I am from across the ocean. I came to Pynth seeking new opportunities for trade, but I know so little about your homeland. What goods do the people here need or want?”
For every person he spoke to, Sebin had a different stated purpose. He allowed Tjalik to think his interest was in lending his support and authority to the rebels after they overthrew the Emperor. He convinced his father to send him because Pynth still had oracles, the magical race able to see the future; King Duirden was obsessed with obtaining an oracular crystal. The story he had told his cousins when arranging for a cabin aboard a ship had been closest to the truth: he needed out of Moial before his father forced him to marry.
Avoiding a marriage to Lady Celedra of Daalj was only a bonus, though. The truth was, Sebin wanted to get away. So long as his father remained on the throne, Sebin could only do so much to help the people of Moial, and it was exhausting working behind the scenes constantly. At least when his brother took the throne, Sebin would be able to work more directly. Aster had little interest in running the kingdom, and his wife even less. Sebin would only have to make up for their neglect, not counter his father’s poor decisions.
Dasaki inclined her head at Sebin. “You speak Imperial well,mehta. Yenglie does not represent all of Pynth, but here, we have what we need to get by, with little to spare for luxuries. Few could afford to buy your goods after they pay the tax collectors.”
Sebin had heard similar sentiments in other villages as he traveled from the port to the capital city of Pynth. But he never saw signs that people were struggling. He would have thought people claiming to have what they need to get by in the same breath as mentioning the burden of taxes would mean that they were barely scraping by, but they did not wish to insult the Emperor. Instead, it seemed to be the plain truth. Everyone had the necessities, even if few had anything beyond that.
Without Tjalik hovering at his side, Sebin could ask different questions this time. “No one in your village needs such things as seeds for planting, or simple cloth for everyday use?”
