Page 14 of Oracle's Reign
The morning portraitsessions 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. Inany 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 ornon-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 hereyes 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 Icompletelylost 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 tothink 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 theghotadar, 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.
