Page 18 of Oracle's Reign
Six
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After the daythe 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 peopleover—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.”
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She had agreedto 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.
