Page 7 of Oracle's Reign
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Pianti must havesuspected that Peroen might try to run, for she had placed him on the far side of the courtyard from the door. The temptation to flee grew stronger as the evening wore on. The short breaks she allowed him between meeting with the oracles didn’t help him regain his equilibrium. They lasted only longenough for him to contemplate all the ways in which he could escape back to his studio, the familiar safety of his paints and instruments.
But he wouldn’t run. Unless Pianti planned to drag Sophenie back into the courtyard, Yslie was next.
He wanted to earn another of her smiles. He wanted to be himself, not a poised prince. He wanted; that was the crux of it.
Peroen waited, wondering if Pianti had arranged a longer pause, for the time stretched out in a way it hadn’t between his conversations with Odela and Triese. Finally, she made her way to Yslie’s side.
He wiped his hands on his trousers, thankful they were hidden from view below the table.
After a brief conversation with their host, Yslie made her way over. She bowed. “Dyela, allow me to apologize for not recognizing you earlier.”
He gestured for her to sit across from him. “Why should you have recognized me? Half the members of the court probably wouldn’t.”
The Emperor had never wanted Peroen to have anything to do with... well, anything. He didn’t care about preparing his heir for the future, too paranoid that Peroen would try to usurp his throne if given a chance. Peroen, in turn, had always found it safest to limit his pursuits to music and art, rather than court his father’s attention. The fact that he would choose his own bride, even if his options were limited, was an anomaly.
The Assembly paradoxically gave him agency as they stripped away his father’s—and the Emperor was too narrow-sighted to even recognize that the Assembly was far more dangerous to his rule than any socializing Peroen might engage in at court.
Yslie pursed her lips, clearly unwilling to contradict him, yet skeptical of his claim to obscurity. Peroen sighed. “You’ll see tomorrow night at the feast.”
Tonight was a concession to Peroen’s discomfort among the court. A chance for him to meet his future bride without his father interfering. Tomorrow was the official welcome, a night of pageantry the Emperor could preside over. A performance meant to fool him into believing he still had influence, though everything about the upcoming marriage was actually in the hands of the Assembly.
Peroen braced himself. When the banquet had come up in conversation with Triese, her voice had gone so shrill in excitement that he’d been hard pressed not to cover his ears. But Yslie was not Triese. She went rigid at his mention of the feast. Her lips froze in an expression he couldn’t stand to call a smile under her veil. “Growing up in the palace must have been a wondrous experience.”
Once more, he couldn’t help but contrast Yslie with the other oracle from the same village. Triese had expressed envy that Peroen had lived in the palace his entire life, bemoaning the prosaicness of her home village. Peroen had demurred that time, but now he answered honestly. “Nerve-wracking, actually. I preferred the seasons I spent away from Kalitalo.” As he grew older, those escapes had occurred less often. His father might not want to see Peroen, but he still wanted him under his eye.
Yslie’s lips parted, but she said nothing. Her exhale a moment later was enough to send her veil fluttering. Her inhale sucked it into her mouth. She spluttered, reaching up and ripping off the veil before her eyes went wide and she stared at Peroen, the scrap of sheer silk clenched in her fist.
He smiled, though he tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Not used to the veil, I take it? You don’t have to wear it.”
Fashions were changing. It used to be that every woman in Kalitalo wore a veil, though no one beyond the capital did. But since the establishment of the Assembly, with members coming from all over Pynth and not donning the veil, more and more women had chosen to set it aside.
“Pianti insisted.” Yslie fiddled with her veil, smoothing it out against the polished wood of the table. “She said we must wear a sheer veil to signal that we are here by choice.”
“Well, if you wore a dark veil, that would certainly make me wonder why you had bothered to come to Kalitalo.” A dark veil proclaimed the wearer uninterested in relationships of any sort. “But not wearing one at all has come to mean much the same as the light veil.”
“Pianti said veils are still required at court.”
“I suppose that is unsurprising. The courtiers would be the last to embrace a fashion made popular by the Assembly.” Peroen leaned forward, lowering his voice. “As I’ve mentioned, however, I am not really a part of the court. Feel free to do away with the veil around me.”
She hesitated, her lips pressed together in a way that drew Peroen’s eyes. Or perhaps it was just seeing her lips without even the flimsy barrier of the veil that held his attention. Either way, he hoped Yslie wouldn’t give in to the need to do what Pianti had told her was proper. He could have made the decision easier for her by expressing a stronger opinion. If he had said he preferred for her to leave off the veil, instead of only granting her permission to remove it, he knew she’d accede to his wishes.
He didn’t want her to reflect back at him what she thought he hoped to see. He wanted her to make the choice based on her own desires. Given the way she had torn off the veil, those desires did not include wearing the scrap of silk. Knowing that, he dared to give her a nudge, though he still left the decision in her hands. “I’ll warn you if Pianti comes this way, I promise.”
Her hand pulled away from the silk, leaving it on the table. “Thank you,dyela.”
He contemplated asking her to call him Peroen. He had never demanded the honors his father saw as his due, but he had also never waived them when they were offered. Peroen had so little authority in his father’s court that it was dangerous to give any up. But he didn’t want power over his future wife. The problem, of course, was that there were three other women who might fill that role.
If Peroen invited Yslie to use his name, he’d have to extend the same courtesy to the others. He already knew that encouraging that level of informality with Triese would be a mistake. She’d see it as proof of sentiments he didn’t have, even if he gave all four women permission. Odela would take advantage of such an invitation. He wasn’t sure how, but he didn’t doubt she’d find a way. He wouldn’t even attempt to speculate about Sophenie, the oracle who didn’t bother to hide her distaste toward the imperial family.
Then the moment was lost, his hesitation stretching too long. The quiet strains of music filled the silence, and Peroen let the melody sink into him, helping him rediscover his equilibrium.
“I am told that you chose thegohtadarplayer for tonight’s entertainment,” Yslie said, the music having caught her attention, too. She smoothed a finger over her veil once more, her eyes trained on the corner of the table. “He is excellent. I have never heard the like.”
The praise rang with sincerity, making Peroen smile. He didn’t think Odela or Triese had even noticed the music. “I’m glad you enjoy it. Milac is an excellentgohtadarplayer, but his true talent is composition. His works are my favorites to play, though I fear I do not do them justice.”
“You play?” A hint of relief colored her voice.
