Across the portico nearer to the doorway, Zola Thusini's contemplation of the frescos - or perhaps of the new entrant's outfits - was interrupted by the approach of Rame.
"You are Zola Thusini, yes?" He asked her as he stepped into her field of vision. "Sorry if I'm a bit forward; I was instructed to keep an eye out for you. The name is Rame Mountebank, Pilot." He nodded at her, once. A friendly and easy smile was on his lips, but his eyes and expression were both calculating. "I studied art at Eldva, specifically portraiture. I don't fancy I have a patch on the likes of your skills, of course, but my Lord determined I should be at hand to evaluate your materials and technique." He leaned forward and spoke in a falsetto whisper. "...And I am sorry about that. The House is somewhat suspicious of anybody from the mainland. I have heard the Grand Duke himself comment favorably in regards to your past work, if that makes you feel better."
Zola smiled. It was a small, perfunctory gesture. She did not, however, bow, for the people of the Sonveld never bowed.
"I am Zola, yes. And it is alright. My patrons would have been deeply mistrustful of you, had circumstances been reversed." She said as she reached for a dark olive. It had been years since she had tasted one, for the current Imbasala patrician cared little for them, and so she relished the taste with a little humming. "I was not aware that my work had reached as far as the Kawachian islands... nor had I ever heard of Eldva. I learned my art from my godmother, Lungile. She felt that my talents were unsuited for landscapes and architecture, and taught me her methods in portraiture."
She ate another olive, and has a sip of wine. The food, she thought, was satisfactory, but she felt the vintage was below the standards of her homeland.
"We had our differences, however." She continued. "For one, she thought I allowed too much of my youthful enthusiasm to spill into my portraits. She despised the wedding portrait I made for the previous Protector's wedding. She decried it as too colourful, too idealized, lacking in grit and richness. Yet the Protector and his wife approved, and insisted on placing it in the main dinning hall of the Sunstone."
Zola allowed herself to smile with veritable fondness as she remembered, and glanced at the couple's only offspring, many feet away, conversing with some strange man. Before the boy's birth, Alexandra had sent her a letter, asking her to paint a portrait of the couple with their firstborn. That small dream had perished with her.
"If you would like, I shall send you one of my pieces. I brought some with me."
“He was a man of conviction."
Felix II nodded, yet as he spoke, he did not fail to notice the latest arrivals. A thought crossed his mind: that the game of courtly intrigue, which he had dreaded since he read of the Emperor's passing, had finally begun.
"Thank you." He said, and there was sincere gratitude in his voice. "He was. He was not an idealist, which I must confess I am, but he was always mindful of the nature of his rank, and the duties that came with it."
He spared a glance at Jakinius and Sophsi Valarien. He knew of them both, but it occurred to him he did not truly know them, yet he was expected to choose the next Emperor from among them, and the other Valariens. The tyrant of the Sonveld was to play the part of a revered member of a community, and choose a tyrant for the whole continent. Except this tyrant would wear a crown, not a brooch, and be nothing like the tyrants that the people of the Sonveld had come to respect. This tyrant would be a monarch.
"I think many sovereigns forget that their duties extend far beyond the preservation of a bloodline, or the continued possession of a gilded chair." He said, and took a perfunctory sip of his wine. His thoughtful voice bordered on a whisper. "Our power was originally given to us because something far less selfish was expected of us. If we cannot fulfill those expectations, why should we rule at all?"
He turned to Terminus once again, and smiled, raising his glass to the imposing inquisitor.
"I believe that is the reason why he thought highly of you, despite all." He spoke with unfiltered sincerity. His eyes betrayed no courteous insincerity. Patricians were not fond of honeyed dishonesty, and Felix II was no exception. "You defied him, not out of a sense of noble entitlement, and not because you thought our bloodline was below yours, but because you were trying to fulfill your duty, and he was standing in your way. He was not glad about it, but he was impressed. I think, if given the opportunity, and if you had not been an inquisitor, he would have taken you under his wing."
He gave the inquisitor a small bow of his head and drank his wine. He left a different set of thoughts unsaid, because his sincerity only extended so far, and this was still Lalrial. He did, however, allow himself to ponder, and questions were raised in his mind: Who among these Valariens, these likely Emperors and Empresses, would keep men like Terminus, and the Dawnbringers who had conspired against his father, at bay? Who would rein in the Church? Did he even have the right, as an Arch-Elector, to allow that to be a factor in his decision? Did he have the right to seek to imbue the Empire's future with the spirit of the Sonveld's tyranny, if only in part?
