Hidden Empire - Kevin J. Anderson [17]
"I have already been to Earth, where I met with Old King Frederick," Reynald continued with an abashed smile, "though he didn't quite know what to do with me. I also met with Chairman Wenceslas, who was very polite—mainly because he wants me to give him more green priests when I become Father of Theroc."
"And now you have come here," Jora'h said, gesturing forward. "We will fill your eyes to bursting!" Laughing, he led Reynald and his entourage toward the nearest shimmering wing of the PrismPalace.
As the Prime Designate, Jora'h was endowed with a charisma and animal magnetism that made him extremely attractive. His lean face radiated charm. His eyes were smoky topaz, gleaming with starry highlights and reflections. Long hair, a sign of male virility among Ildirans, wreathed his head in a mane made up of thousands of thin golden cornrows, braids like delicate chains that were alive and faintly mobile. They writhed with an unusual energy.
Human merchants, visiting dignitaries, scholars, even well-to-do tourists came to visit the fabled seven suns of Ildira. Since the Ildiran Empire had provided the Hansa with a fast stardrive, many humans revered them as benevolent patrons, paternal figures. While accepting the human race as part of the galactic story told in the Saga of Seven Suns, many Ildirans had trouble understanding human impulsiveness and drive.
But Jora'h found this one quite likable. He and Reynald walked shoulder-to-shoulder into the promenade hall of arched ceilings and stained-glass mosaics. Rich colors vibrated around them, intense light shining through the primary filters of the stained-glass windows.
Reynald even spotted a single black Klikiss robot moving down a corridor on flexible legs, looking like a hulking mechanical beetle—the first one he had ever seen. None of the Ildirans paid it much attention.
At court, noble-kith women, as well as courtesans, artists, and singers, wore flowing diaphanous gowns with diagonal sashes across their breasts and shoulders. Striped sleeves extended down to the courtesans' knuckles, though they could be retracted into the curving shoulder pads.
Reynald smiled as they entered a large greenhouse banquet hall. "Will I be able to meet the Mage-Imperator?"
The golden chains of Jora'h's hair fluttered of their own accord. He sighed apologetically. "The Mage-Imperator of the Ildiran Empire cannot meet with representatives from every human-settled planet. There are so many of them! He is reluctant to give Theroc a greater status than other colonies in the Terran Hanseatic League."
Reynald responded stiffly. "Prime Designate, sovereign Theroc is an independent planet, not part of the Hansa." Then he smiled. "On the other hand, I think I'd enjoy your company more than your father's anyway."
Jora'h's star-sapphire eyes twinkled. "And the best part has not yet begun. I have sent for our greatest living historian."
Inside one of the Palace's many gemlike domes, Jora'h gestured to a long table set with a thousand exotic dishes. Courtesans and servers flocked around them as they took their seats.
The courtesan females were smooth-skinned, hairless, with lovely patterns painted on their faces and long, delicate necks—swirling curves that swept past the alluring eyes to the tops of their heads like flowing waves of water or licking tongues of fire. As the courtesans walked, the fabric of their garments changed color like living rainbows.
The women smiled politely at him, but beamed seductively at Jora'h. The Prime Designate had their full attention, as if he walked within a fog of pheromones.
"You are not married yet, Prince Reynald? Marriage is the accepted human custom, I believe, especially for royal families?"
"It is—and no, I have not yet chosen a woman to become Theron Mother beside me. There are political considerations as well as...romantic ones. On this peregrination I have received