Page 21 of Oracle's Reign
Yslie looked at the floor. “She told you about my power. You know how useless I am now.”
“You aren’t useless.” He straightened. “Even if I agreed that seeing the past was useless—which I don’t—you are more than your power.”
“Don’t lie. I heard you agree with Triese last night.”
Peroen reached out again, and this time, he didn’t stop until his fingers brushed the underside of her chin, urging her to look up at him. “I never agreed with Triese. She claimed to agree with me, pretending she had seen my response in the future, but I never would have said anything like that. She lied, Yslie.”
“Then why—?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question. Hope and trepidation battled within her.
“I swapped your sessions because I was tired of her arrival cutting short our time together.” His hand was still raised, his fingers resting against her skin. His thumb stroked over the line of her jaw. “I want to spend time with you, Yslie.”
She leaned into his touch ever so slightly. She trusted him, yet she hardly dared to believe him. “No games?”
“No games.” His thumb moved back and forth, then slid higher, not quite touching her lower lip. “May I come in, Yslie?”
The question drew an inelegant sound from her. “I’m fairly certain this is your room.”
“May I come in?” he repeated.
Yslie nodded, moving out of the doorway. She missed Peroen’s touch the instant she moved. He stepped into the room and gently closed the door. When he turned back to face her, his expression was serious. He held out his hands. “Look into my past, Yslie. See what really happened with Triese.”
“No. I know you both well enough to trust that if you say it was a trick on her part, then it was. I believe you.” The doubt that had sent her running had been instinctive, but upon reflection, it was entirely misplaced.
He didn’t lower his hands. “You still need to see it for yourself. I don’t want you ever to wonder.” She started to shake her head, but he moved his hands closer. “Please.”
She looked down at his hands, calloused from his instruments and stained with paint. She trusted him, but he was right to think she’d wonder about what exactly had happened. If she didn’t look into his past, there’d always be a sliver of unease—not doubt—over what had happened. Peroen would know, and her discomfort would in turn hurt him.
Yslie didn’t need direct contact. Standing this close, she could easily scan his past. She wrapped her fingers around his anyway.
She plunged into the past, going only far enough to see how Triese had finagled the whole encounter.
Triese stood between two windows, her shoulders back, her chin high. She wore a long length of crimson silk draped over her shoulder, the shape coming solely from the gold belt resting on her hips. Matching bracelets and earrings elevated the deceptively simple outfit. “I don’t think I have the angles right,” she pouted.
Peroen didn’t even glance up from where he was putting away the paints he had used for the session. “We can check them next time. We are out of time today.”
“But it needs to be perfect.”
“We’ll spend the first few minutes next time getting everything right.”
“But I need to practice! If I don’t, I’ll keep shifting and then my portrait will be ruined.”
With obvious reluctance, Peroen looked up from his tools. “Your chin should be a little higher and tilted to the left.”
“How much higher? How far? Show me.”
His jaw clenched, but Peroen wiped his hands on a rag and rose from his stool. He walked over to Triese and nudged her chin.
“Like this?” she asked, lowering it once more when he started to back away.
“I really think it will be easier if we wait until next time.” Peroen didn’t meet Triese’s eyes; he was looking more at the wall over her shoulder. So he didn’t see her hands unclasping the gold belt.
With a single tug, the crimson silk slithered down her body. The doorknob turned, and Triese reached out, ensnaring Peroen’s wrist and pulling his hand against her body. He didn’t notice, his attention turning toward the door. “Yslie.”
Yslie watched herself run away, Peroen shaking off Triese’s grasp and chasing after her. Her power faded, and she stared into Peroen’s eyes. There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation, not a single instant Triese’s ploy tempted him.
Her throat was tight, her thoughts too scattered to form a coherent response. Not about what mattered, at least. So, she said the only thing she could. “She posed as a goddess?”
Peroen’s lip twitched. “And Odela mimicked the styles from the oldest portraits of empresses past.”
