Page 3 of Stranger's Choice
Chapter 2
Sebin wanted toswivel his head this way and that as he walked the length of the Emperor’s great hall. It wouldn’t do for the Emperor or his court to think Sebin was overawed, though. The display of wealth and power was just a show. Compared to the ostentation of his father’s throne room back in Moial, the imperial attempt to impress felt lackluster. But it was very different—especially the people—and that was what Sebin wanted to study.
The innkeeper back in Yenglie had been right. Kalitalo, the palace especially, was a different world than the villages and towns in the rest of Pynth. The citizens living here no doubt had distinct tastes and interests. Even their clothing was different.
“Remember, look down when you greet His Imperial Majesty and always stay at least three steps from the dais,” Tjalik whispered out of the corner of his mouth, distracting Sebin from his study of Kalitalan fashions.
Sebin planned to follow half of his guide’s directions. He appreciated Tjalik’s earnest desire to help him navigate through the imperial court, but the aspiring rebel did not have the best grasp on politics and the games played among the rich and powerful. His convictions were rooted in the games the rich and powerful played on everyone else.
Stopping three paces from the dais, Sebin met the Emperor’s stare. He bowed the same as he would for any foreign monarch back on his own continent.
Tjalik, meanwhile, folded himself nearly in two.
The Emperor paid no attention to his subject and continued to stare at Sebin.
The woman standing a step behind and to the left of the Emperor addressed Sebin. “Who approaches His Imperial Majesty, the Light of Pynth and Heart of the Empire?”
The hint of threat in the question should have been laughable. The woman looked like her smile was her deadliest weapon. Or perhaps her entire body was the weapon, but not in the same way as a warrior’s. A transparent veil covered the bottom half of her face, and her stomach was exposed from where her short bodice ended just below her breasts to where the full silky trousers started at her waist. She was closer in age to the Emperor than Sebin, but no one with sense would think her past her prime years. No doubt she could still outshine women twenty years her junior.
Sebin had no intention of underestimating her. He did not think her a physical threat, but he wouldn’t bet on it. Not when she was a member of the Emperor’s Will. Tjalik had warned him about the fanatic imperial servants. They were easy to identify, at least, for they dressed all in black. Everyone else in Kalitalo avoided that shade.
Of course, even if Sebin ignored the potential threat of the woman, the man flanking the Emperor’s other side was threat enough. He, too, wore all black: a long vest open over his bare chest and trousers similar to the woman’s. He had a scimitar sheathed at his waist, the scabbard a matte black to match the rest of him. The bodyguard was massive. Sebin doubted he needed the sword—he could snap a person in two with his bare hands.
Though Sebin was very aware of the woman and bodyguard, he did not take his eyes off the Emperor. Nor did he respond. It had taken a little work to convince Tjalik to serve as his translator, but Sebin wanted time to get a feel for the court before he admitted to speaking the language.
Tjalik’s voice wavered as he responded, still doubled over in his bow. “Prince Sebin Velor, the Champion of Moial, Kingdom of Cloth and Grains, greets His Imperial Majesty.”
Sebin kept his face impassive with difficulty. He had not expected the ridiculous title Tjalik used to introduce him, but after spending so long convincing the man to take the risk of accompanying him into the palace and supporting his subterfuge, he would not ruin things by laughing.
This time the Emperor spoke, keeping his attention, likewise, on Sebin. “We welcome Prince Sebin to the Empire of Spice and Gold. We hope you will find comfort and pleasure in our lands.”
Tjalik bobbed once more in his bow and slowly rose, though he kept his eyes lowered. He repeated the Emperor’s words in Continental. With time, Sebin hoped to convince the man to offer his insights during the times he was supposed to translate, but perhaps for this first time, in front of the Emperor, it was a bit much to hope for any useful advice.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Sebin said in Continental. “I am honored to experience the pleasures of your land.”
With Tjalik translating, Sebin and the Emperor exchanged a few more flowery words and empty blandishments. Finally, the Emperor invited Sebin to sit and be welcomed into the court.
Another black-clad servant produced a stool for Sebin. In a room where the only other seat was the throne, Sebin accepted the stool as the honor it was. Then a young woman, again dressed all in black, knelt at his feet with a bowl of water and a couple bits of folded cloth.
Tjalik stepped back, though she was nowhere near the translator.
He had warned Sebin to expect this. The woman was the Emperor’s Oracle, and the ritual washing of his feet gained her the proximity needed to scan his future in a way he could not avoid without giving insult.
Sebin did not tense. He did not rub at the ring circling the third finger of his right hand. He tried his best to pretend he wasn’t even aware of the woman on the floor in front of him, fumbling with his boots. It was difficult, but not because he shared Tjalik’s nerves.
Sebin was used to servants. He had grown up in a palace surrounded by them. But having a maid clean his rooms or even a valet help him dress was not the same as having servant washing his feet in public. Besides the awkwardness of the entire situation, Sebin had never found it particularly easy to ignore beautiful women, either.
The tight leather of his boots gave the oracle several minutes of frustration. When the first one finally slid from his foot, she lost her balance.
“Stupid foreign shoes,” she muttered under her breath once she caught herself. “Who would want to wear such things?”
He fought not to grin at her disgruntlement. The hint of personality made it a little less disconcerting to have her kneeling at his feet. And a little more distasteful. But she had a valid point. In the hot and humid air of Kalitalo, Sebin’s shoes—and the rest of his clothes—were not particularly comfortable. He looked forward to adopting local fashions. Besides, he was already wearing one of his only non-black suits. If he didn’t get more clothes, he’d have to wear the same things every three days.
The woman pried off his second boot with less difficulty. Then she rolled his socks off, careful not to brush so much as a fingertip against his skin.
Keeping his gaze on the men and women stepping forward to greet him, Sebin puzzled over the oracle’s careful movements. According to Tjalik, the Emperor’s Oracle did not need direct skin contact to see a person’s future. For all the man feared the oracle, though, he didn’t seem to have the greatest understanding of how her power worked. Perhaps he had been mistaken.
Or maybe Sebin’s charm had failed, and the oracle had already scanned his future, and avoiding skin contact now was simple etiquette for the ritual washing of his feet. Would etiquette still apply if she had seen a future that made him out to be a threat to the throne? Or would Sebin never be a threat?
