Vanya could only nod. If he was to win this game of whispers and rumors against Joelle, then he needed to put aside the lingering disquiet of Callisto’s visit and her words that echoed in his ears more as a threat than a blessing.
Eight
VANYA
“Remember, there is no bloodshed allowed during a Conclave,” Taisiya said as their motor carriage rolled to a gentle stop in the front drive of the estate belonging to the House of Kimathi in Calhames. Gatherings were held in the mornings or evenings to escape the midday heat, and the drive was crowded with vehicles already.
“Only poisonous words,” Vanya said as a valet swiftly opened the motor carriage door for him.
He stepped out beneath the late-morning sun, the gold crown on his head a weight Taisiya had not suggested he leave behind. The Conclave of Houses was a dance of whispers and words, of quiet promises of loyalty in exchange for promises kept. Vanya could admit, standing on the grounds of a House he knew would rather see him dead, that he had not done enough since his mother’s death to sway a majority of the Houses to his side.
He would need to rectify that now.
As her right for calling the Conclave, the first political salvo was a morning gathering put on by the House of Kimathi and overseen by Joelle. She would, he knew, have the advantage. Which meant he needed to take it from her, a feat easier said than done.
“Do not lose your temper,” Taisiya murmured for his ears alone as they headed for the door to the estate. Thepraetorialegionnaires who had escorted them in two other vehicles followed behind.
Vanya said nothing to that, aware of all the ways he knew Joelle would attempt to force him into a corner. They were met not by anyone of the House but the household, Joelle’s majordomo bowing to the precise degree for greeting an emperor and no more.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” the majordomo said. “Valide. The House of Kimathi bids you welcome.”
“Do they?” Taisiya drawled. “I see no House present. A shame Joelle has forgotten her manners. A poor reflection on her mother’s teachings.”
The majordomo was too well-bred to say anything, keeping her face impassive, though Vanya knew she would repeat back to Joelle every word he and Taisiya spoke. “I’ll lead you both to the garden.”
The House of Kimathi was old, and their claim as a major House could be seen in the size of the estate in Calhames. They were led through half a dozen halls until they reached a courtyard that acted as the entrance to the estate’s gardens at the rear of the property.
The welcome from other guests in the courtyard was rote but a far cry warmer than the one they received when Vanya and Taisiya made their entrance to the gardens—which was precisely none. The musicians serenading the Conclave of Houses did not break their performance for the pair’s arrival, continuing with their music. Vanya allowed himself a smile that was all teeth as he took in the clusters of men and women dripping in gold and jewels pretending to not see them, House colors and symbols on full display.
The gas lamps lining the garden pathways in intervals were cold in the light of day. Vanya uncurled his left hand and reached for the aether far outside himself and the starfire it could provide. It came to him the same way breathing did—easy and thoughtless. He flexed his fingers and sent it skipping over the tops of every gas lamp in the garden that he could see, tiny tongues of flickering flames nearly as bright as the sun above crackling into existence.
Heads snapped around to look at them, bodies shifting on their feet. A sour note or two lingered on the air before the musicians rallied again. Vanya rubbed two fingers against his thumb, starfire twisting against his palm before he let it fade away. Taisiya offered him a dry look. “It is summer.”
“One can never be too warm,” Vanya replied blandly.
Taisiya let him go, holding her chin high as she left his side to do her duty to their House. Vanya strode forward, the pristine white fabric of his robe brushing against the tailored trousers as he walked. The guests nearest him bowed or curtsied deeply, greeting him with quiet murmurings of his rank and well-wishes. How true the latter were remained to be seen.
A familiar face appeared in moments, Amir bowing over his cane as far as his girth comfortably allowed. “Your Imperial Majesty.”
“House of Vikandir,” Vanya said, using the formal greeting as required by the rules of the Conclave.
Amir managed a smile, though it was thin beneath his mustache. “House of Sa’Liandel. Shall we help ourselves to the wine?”
“Only if it isn’t poisoned.”
Amir laughed, turning on his feet. “There is but one way to find out.”
The flagstone path Amir took him down passed by a servant standing beneath the shade of a small tree and carrying a tray of wineglasses. Vanya picked a wineglass at random, as did Amir, glancing at the fruit floating within. He didn’t hesitate to drink it because to hesitate would indicate distrust. While he did not trust Joelleat all, he trusted she wouldn’t try to poison those she hoped to sway to her side.
Not at first, at least.
Amir sipped at his glass as they walked, attention on the people around them. Vanya took note of the space accorded them and knew nothing good could come of that.
“The odds do not favor your House,” Amir said in a quiet voice.
Vanya kept his expression calm, the grip on his own wineglass easy. “Is that so?”
“By my count, you have my House, several minor ones who hail from yourvasilyetaround Calhames, and perhaps the House of Dayal.”
