Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(47)
I give a dramatic huff and watch Tyrannius exchange pleasantries with King Etristo. “It’s awfully rude of everyone to try to use me to their own ends when I’m trying to do precisely that to them.”
When the next carriage pulls up and its door opens, I have to bite back a gasp. After the parade of men, the woman who steps out is a welcome shock to me before I remember that she’s also competing for my hand. Other women have never appealed to me in that way, though I realize she’s beautiful— strong and golden-skinned with long chestnut hair looped into elaborate braids. Even S?ren looks a bit enchanted by her.
“Empress Giosetta of Doraz,” he whispers to me as she approaches, sounding as surprised as I feel. “I didn’t think she would be coming.”
I have so many questions, but before I can ask them, she approaches me and kisses my hand, offering the usual introductions and flattery—did King Etristo send lines to be recited with his invitations?—before moving on to say hello to our host.
“Is an empress like a queen?” I whisper to S?ren.
“Doraz is not a matriarchy, though it isn’t a patriarchy either. Giosetta’s parents weren’t rulers—the last emperor chose her when she was a small child and adopted her. He raised her to be empress, just as she’ll choose and raise her own successor.”
I purse my lips. “That’s actually quite sensible, isn’t it?” I say. “Choosing a ruler instead of leaving it up to bloodlines. What will she want from me?”
S?ren shrugs. “Marriage in Doraz isn’t limited to being between men and women….”
“It wasn’t in Astrea either,” I tell him.
“In this specific case, I’m not sure what the protocol would be. It would likely be open to discussion; you may be able to get her to agree to the two of you being partner rulers.”
“That’s certainly preferable to the others,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “I’m sure she’d still want a cut of Astrea. Famed as they all say your beauty is, they wouldn’t have come all this way for that alone.”
Next up is Bindor and one of the high priests S?ren mentioned. He’s younger than I expected, with limbs he hasn’t quite grown into and a shaved bronze head that gleams in the afternoon sunlight. He looks at me with his nervousness clearly written on his face.
“His Holiness the High Priest Batistius has been raised in a monastery,” S?ren whispers to me. “And in the Bindor capital, women are strictly forbidden. It’s quite likely he doesn’t remember seeing one before.”
I have to stifle a giggle as he approaches me uncertainly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t kiss my hand, only bowing.
“May God smile upon you, Queen Theodosia,” he tells me, his voice shaking.
“And you as well,” I say, which seems to be the right answer. He gives a quick nod before turning to King Etristo.
“Still a no,” I whisper to S?ren. “And let’s try to get him home as soon as we can—something tells me Sta’Crivero might well be enough to kill him.”
I almost sag with relief when I realize we’ve reached the last carriage.
A man steps out in a tailored jacket-and-trouser set that matches the violet of his carriage perfectly. He must be around thirty, with milk-pale skin and dark hair that has been styled with so much pomade that it looks like it would be hard to the touch. He holds himself with a kind of practiced air that seems strange, though it takes me a moment to pinpoint exactly why—he holds himself like a man who had to learn to seem powerful, not one to whom power was a natural birthright. During our lessons on the ship, S?ren and Artemisia mentioned that there were some countries whose leaders were chosen by the citizens themselves, and I would wager this is one of them.
“Chancellor Marzen of Oriana,” S?ren whispers to me, confirming my guess. Chancellors are voted into power and so they can rise from anywhere. “And that will be his sister, Salla Coltania.”
Coltania follows her brother closely in a matching violet gown that hugs her figure. She’s younger than him, but older than me—twenty, perhaps. Her gaze is sharp and serious, her full, painted lips in a permanently straight line.
I open my mouth to ask S?ren what Salla means, but before I can, the Chancellor turns his gaze on me. He has the sort of contagious smile that elicits one in return. Even before he opens his mouth, there is something intrinsically compelling about him. I suppose it’s a handy trait to have if you’re going to convince people to vote you into power.
“Our neighbors to the west, my dear,” King Etristo explains. “In fact, they used to be under our domain before they demanded to run things themselves several centuries back.” He turns to the Chancellor. “From what I’ve been hearing, Marzen, many of your countrymen might be missing our unified country after the stress of the election.”
Though his tone is jovial enough, there’s no disguising the bite to King Etristo’s words. The Chancellor’s smile freezes but never falters.
“I can’t imagine that would be the case unless I quadrupled their taxes and put a toll on all imports and exports, as your grandfather did,” he says.
Both men fall silent and I half expect King Etristo to leap out of his chair—frail bones and all—and attack the Chancellor, but after a moment he laughs instead, a loud, wheezing sound. The Chancellor joins in and I force a laugh as well, even though I’m not quite sure what’s funny.