never asked after the veracity of those remarks.
She and her mother had worked hard preparing the celebration and smoothing things over
between Qiro and Jorim. They’d both agreed to act on Jorim’s behalf without consulting
him. Jorim sometimes did not know what was good for him, and would eventually come
around to their point of view.
Several gasps from near the entrance caused Nirati to turn. She did so slowly, not
because her robe restricted her movement—there would be dancing later, after all—but
because calm patience in the face of any emergency was the hallmark of a successful
hostess. She braced herself for anything from a splash of spilled wine to Jorim’s entering
awash in blood. Despite her preparation, her breath did catch in her throat.
The Keru at the door had stepped aside to admit the Viruk ambassador and her consort.
Ierariach of Clan Nessagia likely would not have elicited the gasps herself. Her ebon eyes
always attracted comment, as did the thick flow of her jet-black hair, which she wore
unrestrained. Her pale green flesh, on the other hand, did make her inhuman nature
apparent. Of average height, she had chosen to wear a gown of sea green that
complemented her complexion. Her concession to the evening’s color scheme came in
the form of a large amethyst set in gold that she wore as a spider-shaped pendant above
her ample bosom.
But her consort was enough to take the breath away, and guarantee nightmares. Had he
stood up straight, he would have topped eight feet easily, and Nirati suspected that his
outstretched hand could touch the bottom of the catwalk. He wore only trousers and a
sleeveless overshirt that let everyone see the bony plates on his long, slender arms. The
hue of his flesh matched hers on throat, chest, belly, and the insides of his arms, though it
deepened to a pine green over the rest of him, including his face. His black hair was as
long as Jorim’s and could have benefited from similar braiding, though that would have
entailed plaiting it down the length of his spine. His fingers and toes ended in sharp claws.
The hooks on his elbows and the thorns on his head appeared not quite as sharp as the
claws, but when he smiled, an ivory row of needle-sharp teeth reinforced the idea that
while he carried no weapons, he was far from defenseless.
Nirati strode forward at a pace that would allow her to reach the Viruk at the same time as
her mother. Siatsi stopped ten feet from them and bowed. Nirati matched her in depth and
duration—which were both considerable given the Viruk relationship to Men. They
straightened in unison and smiled.
“ Dicairoun Nessagia, you honor us with your attendance.”
The ambassador smiled, but not without a little effort. “We were most pleased to receive
the invitation to celebrate the life of the man who has recovered much of the world that
was lost.”
Nirati kept her smile in place. Most of the people hearing those words would think the
ambassador referred to the Cataclysm and the resulting loss of contact with the rest of the
world, but Qiro’s granddaughter knew better. The Viruk had, millennia before, ruled over
an empire that encompassed all Nine Principalities, their provinces and more. The men
who lived there had been enslaved, along with other races, to serve the Viruk.
The Viruk capital, Virukadeen, had been located in what was now the heart of the Dark
Sea, but had been destroyed in a cataclysm of Viruk manufacture. The Viruk who lived
away from the capital, administering the provinces, suddenly no longer had the legions of
Viruk warriors to secure their positions. Revolts followed, and Viruk rule was overthrown in
places. Human freedom did not always last, but just over two thousand years ago, the
True Bloods had come in a vast armada, invaded the Viruk Empire, and driven them out of
what became the Principalities. Within the provinces, pockets of Viruk population still
existed, though
She and her mother had worked hard preparing the celebration and smoothing things over
between Qiro and Jorim. They’d both agreed to act on Jorim’s behalf without consulting
him. Jorim sometimes did not know what was good for him, and would eventually come
around to their point of view.
Several gasps from near the entrance caused Nirati to turn. She did so slowly, not
because her robe restricted her movement—there would be dancing later, after all—but
because calm patience in the face of any emergency was the hallmark of a successful
hostess. She braced herself for anything from a splash of spilled wine to Jorim’s entering
awash in blood. Despite her preparation, her breath did catch in her throat.
The Keru at the door had stepped aside to admit the Viruk ambassador and her consort.
Ierariach of Clan Nessagia likely would not have elicited the gasps herself. Her ebon eyes
always attracted comment, as did the thick flow of her jet-black hair, which she wore
unrestrained. Her pale green flesh, on the other hand, did make her inhuman nature
apparent. Of average height, she had chosen to wear a gown of sea green that
complemented her complexion. Her concession to the evening’s color scheme came in
the form of a large amethyst set in gold that she wore as a spider-shaped pendant above
her ample bosom.
But her consort was enough to take the breath away, and guarantee nightmares. Had he
stood up straight, he would have topped eight feet easily, and Nirati suspected that his
outstretched hand could touch the bottom of the catwalk. He wore only trousers and a
sleeveless overshirt that let everyone see the bony plates on his long, slender arms. The
hue of his flesh matched hers on throat, chest, belly, and the insides of his arms, though it
deepened to a pine green over the rest of him, including his face. His black hair was as
long as Jorim’s and could have benefited from similar braiding, though that would have
entailed plaiting it down the length of his spine. His fingers and toes ended in sharp claws.
The hooks on his elbows and the thorns on his head appeared not quite as sharp as the
claws, but when he smiled, an ivory row of needle-sharp teeth reinforced the idea that
while he carried no weapons, he was far from defenseless.
Nirati strode forward at a pace that would allow her to reach the Viruk at the same time as
her mother. Siatsi stopped ten feet from them and bowed. Nirati matched her in depth and
duration—which were both considerable given the Viruk relationship to Men. They
straightened in unison and smiled.
“ Dicairoun Nessagia, you honor us with your attendance.”
The ambassador smiled, but not without a little effort. “We were most pleased to receive
the invitation to celebrate the life of the man who has recovered much of the world that
was lost.”
Nirati kept her smile in place. Most of the people hearing those words would think the
ambassador referred to the Cataclysm and the resulting loss of contact with the rest of the
world, but Qiro’s granddaughter knew better. The Viruk had, millennia before, ruled over
an empire that encompassed all Nine Principalities, their provinces and more. The men
who lived there had been enslaved, along with other races, to serve the Viruk.
The Viruk capital, Virukadeen, had been located in what was now the heart of the Dark
Sea, but had been destroyed in a cataclysm of Viruk manufacture. The Viruk who lived
away from the capital, administering the provinces, suddenly no longer had the legions of
Viruk warriors to secure their positions. Revolts followed, and Viruk rule was overthrown in
places. Human freedom did not always last, but just over two thousand years ago, the
True Bloods had come in a vast armada, invaded the Viruk Empire, and driven them out of
what became the Principalities. Within the provinces, pockets of Viruk population still
existed, though
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