Page 9 of Oracle's Reign
Three
???
Slipping on along, saffron-colored vest, Peroen pictured the upcoming feast in his mind. On the rare instances he had joined the court in the past, he had allowed himself to fade into the background. Dressing in pale grays and tans helped. Tonight, though, he must sit beside the Emperor. He couldn’t disappear.
He imagined himself next to his father and grimaced, taking off the vest. The vivid yellow was all wrong. The Emperor favored bold, saturated colors: crimsons and violets most of all. The juxtaposition to the black worn by the members of his Will appealed to him. In a bright yellow, Peroen would be competing with him.
He wanted contrast, not a direct attempt to overshadow his father—an endeavor that would only lead to failure. Searching through his wardrobe, he found a vest in sage green. Perfect. It wasn’t his usual neutrals, but it would draw the eye as a calm oasis between the vibrant shades the others would wear.
Not that he wanted the attention, but Qilar’s words kept coming back to him. This time, he was at his father’s court, but he still couldn’t afford to diminish his own importance. If anything, it was more crucial than ever to assert himself. Whether he liked it or not, Peroen was now a player in the game of politics. It was either that or he’d continue to be a simplephanpiece for the rest of his life.
Too bad his moves were so limited.
Only four women, and no easy choice. Triese reminded him too much of Lhashiki, First of the Emperor’s Will. She used her beauty as a weapon, though she’d do well to take lessons from Lhashiki on subtlety. She regarded Peroen as a trophy to be won, not a person. Odela wasn’t much better. A bit too polished, she weighed her every word against a scale Peroen didn’t know. She had a goal, and Peroen suspected he was more an obstacle in her way than a prize. It was a situation he was intimately familiar with.
He didn’t even know if Sophenie was still in Kalitalo or if she had left after her outburst the night before. Even if she remained, however, she clearly didn’t want to marry him. She had a reason for coming to the city, but a union with a member of the imperial family wasn’t it. If she weren’t so antagonistic, that might have been in her favor.
Then there was Yslie. Yslie, who had drawn his notice from the first moment Peroen laid eyes on her. Yslie, who was kind without it being an act. Yslie, whom he could picture himself marrying and finding some measure of happiness with. Until the weight of being a princess—and one day an empress—for reasons that had nothing to do with her own desires turned her into a shadow of the woman who had caught his eye. If he married her, he’d have to watch the court drain her day by day, year by year. In the end, he’d probably end up more miserable than if he had simply married Triese or Odela.
It was a mess, and Peroen almost wished he hadn’t been given any say in the entire thing. He sighed. That was a lie. Even if he made the wrong choice, he wanted the choice to be his. This opportunity had impacted him more than he had expected. For the first time, he wasn’t content to stay passive and let life happen to him. He wanted to take control. He wanted to work with the Assembly. He wanted change.
But there would be no change tonight. Not under his father’s eye. Tonight would be an ordeal, but most likely an informative one. Seeing how the oracles behaved around him when everyone else treated him with contempt would be telling.
He left his rooms, knowing that the long walk from the isolated part of the palace where he spent his days to the dining hall would have him arriving after half the guests. Not so early that he’d be on display, but not so late as to attract attention, either. Not that he could avoid all attention.
Peroen entered the dining hall without hesitation, knowing better than to pause for a fortifying breath or even to let anyone see him squaring his shoulders in anticipation. He made his way up to the dais, where the Emperor sat behind an ivory table. There were three cushions on each of the long sides of the table, and Peroen’s father, of course, sat on the central one facing the rest of the hall. Lhashiki ushered Peroen to the spot at the Emperor’s right hand, an honor he would happily have gone the rest of his life without experiencing.
“Trying to usurp my throne already?” his father hissed when Peroen settled on the cushion.
He glanced at him in surprise, but the Emperor wasn’t looking at Peroen. “I don’t know what you mean. This is all the Assembly’s work.”
“Yes, despite some people’s efforts, the Assembly still recognizes that I am the Emperor. They knew that I was the only proper host for the oracles’ welcome to Kalitalo. But you had to go and meet them first.”
A small voice in the back of Peroen’s mind, one that often chimed up when he spoke with his father, but never before this loudly, insisted he point out thathewas the one who would end up married to one of the oracles. He had a right to meet them, even before the Emperor did. Instead, he shrugged. “That wasthe Assembly’s work, too, for they appointed Pianti to help the women acclimate, and she arranged the gathering.”
The Emperor’s expression darkened at the mention of Pianti. He blamed her for Qilar’s refusal to remain a member of the Will after the revolution. The Emperor couldn’t accept that it was his own treatment of his half-brother that had driven him away.
The distraction was enough to save Peroen from any more of his father’s chastisements before the oracles arrived. A young member of the Will led the four women to the dais. His clothes—shirt, vest, and loose trousers—were all black, making it clear he was more than a regular servant. Most of the Emperor’s elite servants had abandoned him the moment they had that choice, though a few remained. They were the Emperor’s loyal eyes and ears at court. This man was nothing more than a sop to the Emperor’s ego, a way to make it seem he hadn’t lost so many of his Will.
Except he hadn’t been raised from childhood to serve the throne and it showed. He didn’t have the proper bearing, the carefully cultivated grace and uncanny ability to show no expression other than awe of the Emperor. Moreover, when he reached the dais, he simply stepped back, allowing the oracles to vie for what they considered the best spots themselves.
Unsurprisingly, the two most ambitious women took the spots that offered easiest access to the Emperor. The oracles as a whole might hate the imperial family, but Odela—on the Emperor’s left—and Triese—across from him—wouldn’t let that stop them from currying his favor. With a frown, Sophenie, who hadn’t gone home, it seemed, took the cushion opposite Odela. Which meant Yslie, who had hung back, was left with the one opposite Peroen.
He tempered his excitement that he would spend the feast looking at Yslie with a dose of harsh reality. Tonight would notbe pleasant, not with his father seated next to him. Yslie would have a front-row seat to all the insults and disdain the Emperor hurled in his direction. Seeing that the prince she wanted to marry—whatever her reasons may be—had no power at court, that he didn’t even garner a modicum of respect, would change how she looked at him.
It didn’t matter that he had told her he had no importance at court. She hadn’t believed him. But tonight, she’d see. Tonight, she’d learn that whatever she hoped to gain by marrying him was an impossibility.
And he shouldn’t care so much when he had already realized that marrying her would most likely result in them both being miserable. Yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.
At least, not until his father made himself the center of everyone’s attention.
“Welcome,” the Emperor’s voice boomed through the hall. “Tonight we celebrate the future of the empire. Before the year is out, I will have an oracle as a daughter-in-law. The Tjawer Dynasty will continue with the power that united Pynth centuries ago in our very blood. Let us feast to the hope for the future!”
A cheer went up from every table except the one on the dais. Peroen studied the three women across from him. Yslie’s expression was a neutral mask. Triese was too busy taking in every sign of wealth on display to pay attention to the Emperor’s words. Sophenie looked ready to take up a scimitar and slice her way through the court... until she looked in Odela’s direction. Then, her shoulders dropped, and she stared at her plate.
Peroen wished he could see the final oracle’s expression himself, but that would require leaning across his father.
Lhashiki and the man who had guided the women to the table began pouring wine and filling plates. An awkward silence fell as the oracles adjusted to the ways of the Emperor’s tableand he waited for everyone else to keep him amused. Peroen could see Yslie getting more and more uncomfortable as she guessed how to act. Even Triese was at a loss for words.
