Now that he had returned from Dobro and settled back into his chrysalis chair, the Mage-Imperator had important changes to make. Jora’h sent a message runner to summon his daughter Yazra’h; he wanted to speak with her about something that intrigued him far more than an endless succession of obsessively dedicated Ildiran pilgrims who wished to gaze upon him. Lately, it seemed a great many of them were coming from Hyrillka, possibly representatives to begin shipping shiing from the battered world.
The first of the day’s sycophants already waited outside the skysphere reception hall, and Yazra’h passed them as she bounded into her father’s presence. Her every movement seemed supple, as if her bones were made of solidified grace. The three tawny and powerful Isix cats accompanied her with their usual perfectly synchronized movement. The Ildiran nobles in the hall backed away, intimidated by the feline predators.
The Mage-Imperator sat up in his chair, smiling. “Must you always bring those pets with you? You are frightening my functionaries.”
Ascending the dais, Yazra’h smirked at the cowering courtiers with disdain. “Am I responsible for their silly fears, Liege? I keep my cats under control.” When she stopped at the top step, the Isix cats sat, one to either side of Yazra’h, the other behind and facing away from her. The pantherlike creatures were narrow, their faces pointed like greyhounds. They could run fast, attack swiftly, and kill in the blink of an eye.
Jora’h smiled indulgently. “Despite all the crises around me, Yazra’h, one look at you shows that our race has the strength to face any adversary. In fact, I pity anyone who would dare to go against you.”
She accepted the praise, but did not bask in it. Most noble females were beautiful, pampered courtesans, whose impeccably smooth skin glistened from lotions and photoactive paints. They adorned their shaved scalps, necks, and shoulders with swirls of shifting pigments, like chameleon stripes. Liloa’h, Jora’h’s first lover, had been one of them.
Yazra’h was not. She let her bronze hair grow into a loose wild mane. Her smoky topaz eyes glittered with a feral light. Though she’d always had the opportunity to be among noblewomen, Yazra’h preferred to train with soldier kithmen, developing her reflexes, honing her skills, keeping her body lean and powerful. Her activities would have made any other noblewoman an outcast, but the daughter of the Mage-Imperator was allowed her eccentricities.
Jora’h knew she was proficient at weapons work, though not as physically strong as the soldier kithmen. Yazra’h had taken many lovers, all of them guards or soldiers; she had never shown any interest in nobles, weakling bureaucrats, or preoccupied lens kithmen. When Jora’h had questioned her about this, she’d answered, “I’m afraid I might break them, Father.”
Now she tossed her long hair and met his eyes. “I’m always honored when you summon me. What service may I offer you, Father?” It was refreshing to have someone face him so directly. The batch of Hyrillka pilgrims still waited outside, and the nobles gradually went about their duties, though they continued to look askance at the Isix cats.
The Mage-Imperator leaned forward in his padded seat. “I wanted to ask your opinion, Yazra’h, about the current role of women in Ildiran society. I believe you have . . . somewhat different ideas than most Ildirans hold.”
“I certainly do. The females of some lower kiths, the workers and servants and soldiers, are treated as equals and contribute as much labor as the males. But look at the higher kiths, the nobles, the bureaucrats”—she gestured scornfully around the room—“the courtiers. What do the women do? They are just . . . decorations, and they are proud of it. If they are so evolved and intelligent, perhaps they should contribute more to our society.”
Jora’h grinned, knowing that most Ildirans would hear her words with horror. “And what about yourself, Yazra’h? Do you believe you can contribute as well?”
“I already have, and I expect to continue to do so.”
“Perhaps we’ll start with you, then. Our Empire is troubled. Through the thism I can sense that many things are wrong. Even here in the Prism Palace, some say I should be more wary. I’m inclined to heed that advice, though I can’t conceive of my own people turning against me.”
“From what I’ve read in the Saga,” Yazra’h countered, “many inconceivable events have occurred in our history.”
Jora’h settled deeper into his chrysalis chair, glad to know that she read the Saga on her own, rather than just listening to the dramatic distillations in rememberer performances. “Yazra’h, many guard kithmen are assigned to watch over me, but my father selected Bron’n as his special personal guard. Bron’n was ultimately responsible for the Mage-Imperator’s safety. I have not yet announced who will serve me in that capacity.”
Yazra’h gave him a stern look. “You should not wait, Liege. I can offer advice. I know many of the guards, and I can tell you which are the most dedicated, which are strongest, which would serve you best.”
Jora’h waved his hand. “I’m not interested in them. I’ve already made my decision.” She showed no indignation that he had not consulted her. “I have selected you, Yazra’h. I want you to be my personal bodyguard.”
Caution warred with hope in her topaz eyes. “But, Father . . . there are more qualified fighters.”
“I have seen you train, Yazra’h. I know you are superb with weapons. Your Isix cats obey your every command.” He smiled proudly. “Besides, would not a daughter do anything to protect her father? The thism shows me that your loyalty is without question.”
Yazra’h made no further objection. They both knew the obvious drawbacks. The selection of a female as the Mage-Imperator’s personal bodyguard—a woman not even of the soldier kith, but noble-born—would cause much discussion and consternation. Already the nobles in the reception hall were filled with dismay at Jora’h’s startling breaks from tradition: standing and walking around the Palace on his two feet, leaving Ildira to visit Dobro, sitting in the chrysalis chair only when it suited him, and now choosing his daughter for a position always reserved for a different kith.
Yazra’h made the slightest gesture, and all three of her Isix cats got to their feet, dynamos of golden fur and rippling muscle. They all faced the Mage-Imperator. “I would be honored to serve in such a capacity, Liege. I will never fail you, and I will protect you to my last breath. I will make you proud.”
“I know. That is why I chose you.”