Potent: Book 1

Chapter 10: Pomp

If Alisia noticed, she didn't comment. "Good," she nodded approvingly. "I think everyone will be relieved to see you up and about. What do you need," and here she glanced over at Treesa again, just for a heartbeat, and back, "to be ready for the engagement? Should I send a servant?"

"Please," he said, a little airily. "That would be very helpful. Call Aymon. He should do quite well. He's been very patient with my progress."

By now, Treese was awake watching Alisia blankly.

Alisia moved to leave, then turned back. "Please," she said to him, "Will you allow me to order you a healing brew? Or even a fortifying one? You could be improving so much more fast than you are."

"Faster," he corrected, almost by rote.

"Faster," she said, a little frustrated, "than you are. Bryn, I know you would feel better."

"No," he said. "I told you, I want none of it. I have had plenty of standard salves and ointments administered to me in the past few days, and if I need more, I will ask you."

"But nothing imbued," she said. "Just think—"

He cut her off. "Yes. Nothing imbued. Precisely." She took a breath as if to continue, and he said simply, "Thank you. I will see you in the hall."

Alisia looked absently at a spot on the far wall, then turned and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Treese looked up at him with a sleepy smile, and he leaned down and kissed her forehead, inhaling her scent.

"I'll want you later," he whispered to her, and she nodded.

After she'd gone, his gentlemen of the bedchamber entered to help him dress. Aymon was short and compact, with quick hands and a stoic manner.

"Good morning, Imperial Majesty," said Aymon.

"Morning, Aymon."

The manservant had brought Beynon's festival regimentals, clean and freshly pressed. "Still the burgundy and grey today, Imperial Highness?"

"Yes," replied Beynon. He meant to properly honor Daitak and all it stood for.

The hall was absolutely packed with people.

It surprised him every year. He always thought he had a fairly steady idea of what a typical gathering of nations looked like, and he was always a bit off. Eighteen long wooden tables lined the hall, and at each table sat eighteen of the most important representatives of their respective countries.

Everyone was dressed in their holiday finery.

Those from Eral, the Urdan colony, wore tight, thin clothing in a dazzling array of colours. Eralians were generally fair, with blonde hair and light eyes. There were guests from Ruradîn, Boradîn and Tengue, all dressed a bit too heavily for the weather, with high collars and even some hats. Guests from Cam and Forcannon were draped in oversized swaths of richly printed fabric, and had drenched themselves in jewelry and baubles to demonstrate their wealth. And the Urdinese had turned out in spectacular numbers, having traveled here from all over the continent.

Beynon took his place at the inner landing and peered out over the handrail into the hall. This part of the palace had been constructed specifically to amplify the voice of a speaker standing precisely in his location.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bryn noticed the interpreters rising from their tables so that they could translate everything he said to their parties. This motion drew all eyes upward, and the room began to still.

Longren, Kreen, Pineas, and several other officials stood nearby, and armed guards surrounded the emperor.

He took a breath and gave them his most dazzling, most imperial smile.