If I had hoped to blend in, I put those hopes behind me. Clearly, Senera meant for me to draw attention.
An old woman, who made Dorna look like a callow youth, tended the firepit in the room’s center, next to a pack of—no. Not wolves. They were hyenas, but white-furred and blue-eyed. The old woman whipped around to stare at me as soon as I stepped foot in the hall. She narrowed her eyes and gave me a scowl, suggesting she’d be tempted to hurl burning logs if I wandered too close. Then she threw me a toothy grin that resembled a dog baring its fangs more than a smile.
I’d never seen her before in my life.
“The god-king’s throne sat up above,” Senera said, pointing toward a staircase that echoed the angles of the wall and continued through a small door in the far-off ceiling. At the staircase’s base, several dozen women sat together at a single, long table.
“Who—?” I started to ask.
“The Hon’s wives,” she said. “Don’t worry. We won’t have to sit with them.”
“His wives?” I blinked. Senera had mentioned the Yorans had no problem with polygyny. Indeed, neither do the Joratese, but our partnerships consist of smaller groups, fully polygamous. Three people. On rare occasions, four. “Just how many wives does he have?”
“One from each of the forty-eight tribes.” She gestured toward the main tables. “Let’s go meet the others, shall we?”
Senera led us around the tables until I saw brighter colors than Yoran pastels, worn by men and women with Quuros skin tones. These people wore vivid colors in homogeneous hues. Colors denoting royals, I realized, feeling startled and disturbed. In theory, these people shaped the empire. So why would they share a table with the man so notorious for his hatred of the same?
Then I heard a familiar laugh: Sir Oreth.
He seemed to be fitting in just fine.
Guests had started drinking in advance of meal service. Servants made steady and regular passes around the tables in an unending quest to keep the glasses full.
Sir Oreth saw me staring and grinned nastily. He nudged the next man over, who wore head-to-toe blue. The other man grinned back and made a salacious gesture with his hands.
I looked away and wished I had my weapons.4
Relos Var walked over. He’d been sharing a table with two more royals—although these wore black instead of bright colors. They couldn’t have looked less similar otherwise; one looked sick and pale by Quuros standards, while the second man reminded me of Dango, if the muscled bandit had decided to shave off all his hair.
Relos Var took Senera’s hands and kissed her on the forehead. “The Hon is on his way. How are our guests behaving?”
“Janel’s been good, but I’m worried about the Vishai priest. We had to leave him in the room. There’s something wrong with him.”
I returned my attention to Relos Var, determined to have some input in the conversation. I never had the chance.
“Well, well, what bit of spice have you brought us today, Icicle?” A man jeered behind us. “I’d love a handful of that with dinner.”
And someone grabbed my rear.
I had meant to behave. Don’t forget I still felt weak after Senera had drawn her mark on me. The last thing I wanted was a fight. But I still had my pride. In my dominion, certain behaviors earned an immediate reaction. And this person hadn’t just given me a cute pat on the butt—he’d dug in, fingers curled in to touch places where they were not invited.
So I turned around and punched the man behind me as hard as I could.
In hindsight, I overcompensated. I no longer possessed supernatural strength, but I could throw a punch. Unfortunately, I hadn’t a clue how to do so safely.
I felt the cartilage in the man’s nose give way, and at the same time, something in my hand snapped. The pain was excruciating.
The man I’d hit had light brown skin, ice-blue eyes, and dark, curly hair. He’d just started to grow a Yoran-style beard, still too short for braiding or jewelry. And he hadn’t been expecting me to hit him.
I’d knocked him back into the lap of the man next to him, who I would later realize had been the man who’d actually spoken. A too-vain, too-egotistical creature with a handsome face, whose bright blue eyes managed to outshine his embroidered blue silks.
Even though we stood in a room full of warriors and wizards with hardened battle reflexes, nobody seemed to know quite how to respond. Everyone stopped talking. Even the musicians stopped playing.
I cradled my broken hand to my chest, tears in my eyes.
Silver flashed as Senera returned to my side. She grabbed my arm, trying to draw me behind her.
The young man I’d punched stood back up, mouth gaping, his hand going to his bleeding nose. “How dare—!” I think he’d have said more, but his broken nose affected his speech. He must have realized he sounded ridiculous.
Then he reached for his sword.
“Exidhar, what’s going on?”
The young man’s eyes widened in horror, while everyone else—even the royals—stood. And I recognized his expression: a guilty boy about to be dressed down by a parent before all his friends. The way those friends suddenly found the mountain view fascinating, the way they’d all jumped to their feet, told me said “parent” wasn’t a random guest.
Which meant I was in trouble.
I blinked the tears from my eyes, tried to focus past the pain, and took my first good look at Azhen Kaen, Duke of Yor.
Azhen Kaen was the most perfect example of everything a Yoran man should be I’ve ever seen, before or since. He stood tall, with broad shoulders and skin so white he made Senera look tan. Diamonds sparkled in his gray beard braids like ice crystals, the same color as his eyes. He was an older man, but still handsome, still powerful.
He also had a laevos.
That unnerved me to no end. His gray laevos had been coaxed into a standing position, either by magic or glue. I reminded myself that just as Quur had conquered Jorat using soldiers pulled from Khorvesh, Yor had been conquered by Quur using soldiers from Jorat.
The first governor of Yor, later the first Duke of Yor, would have been Joratese. A footnote that would have occurred less than a hundred years ago. He’d have been Duke Kaen’s grandfather or great-grandfather at most.
Exidhar Kaen looked like he planned to crawl under the table. “I was, uh … I mean, I—” He pointed at me with one hand, still clutching his bleeding nose with the other. “She hit me!”
Of course, it came out more like “She hith may!”
Duke Kaen raised an eyebrow at him, glanced at me, and then turned to Relos Var. “Am I correct in assuming my son just grabbed your newest wife’s ass?”
Behind Exidhar, the royal in blue cleared his throat and started paying attention to his wine. I ground my teeth, wondering if I had in fact punched the wrong man.5
Mind you, I wanted to punch them all, but that wouldn’t help me in the long run.
Relos Var seemed unconcerned. “I believe she’s already satisfied any demands of honor.”
“Two minutes,” Senera muttered. “We’ve been here less than two minutes.”
The royals sitting at the same table as Exidhar started laughing, clearly considering the whole encounter delightful. From the way Exidhar Kaen blushed, he didn’t think it was quite as entertaining.