Imperial

34. Soraya

"So you've arrived," Soraya greeted her guest. She bowed low, a gesture that was rare for her these days, and gestured to the table laden with food and the two seats around it. "Welcome, Lord Goshtab."

Lord Goshtab of House Varaz met her gaze with surprisingly clear eyes for the old man's age. And his age certainly did show, however much power he held in the palm of his hands. He was not a small man, but his stooped posture and thin arms gave him the appearance of a wilting lily.

His face was drawn and thin, the lines of it creased in patterns of pain and hard won strength. His light brown eyes poured out defiance and arrogance in waves.

Lord Goshtab was dressed to fit his station. He wore the traditional robes in the style of the east, long billowing sleeves pinched in at the wrists and trousers decorated with beads of jade and pearl.

His jewelry was extravagant. He wore a crisp white turban upon his head decorated with one of the most beautiful ornaments Soraya had ever seen. It had a golden piece shaped like a peacock, decorated with tourmaline, emerald, and opal. A bright golden feather stuck up out of the cloth.

The old lord leaned on a cane for support. It was a magnificent jewel unto itself. The cane was carved completely out of jade, the mottled green stone glinting beautifully in the dimming lights of the torches in the tent. He leaned on it heavily as he walked forward, though his steps were as strong and sure as that of a marching soldier's.

Goshtab sat down upon the cushion set on the floor before the table. Soraya honored him with the respect customarily given to elders, only sitting down herself after him. Usually, her position as empress would have made such formalities irrelevant, but with Goshtab she would not take any risks.

"I'm honored to dine with you tonight," Soraya said. "And I of course must offer you my sincerest gratitude for your support of my cause."

"Of course," Goshtab repeated, the slightest cryptic note coloring his voice. His voice was as steady as his gaze.

Goshtab slowly began to pick at some of the food laid before them on the table. He looked at the prime cut of meat on his plate and wrinkled his nose, pushing it away.

"Stomach can't deal with such rich things nowadays," he grumbled, reaching for a small bowl of dates instead. "I prefer sweet things anyways."

Soraya gave a halfhearted laugh, not quite sure if that was meant to be a joke.

"I hope that-"

"It must be a pain to have to cater to a senile old man's peeves and preferences, but I'm sure you'll manage it," he interrupted her. "My armies won't be enough to guarantee your victory, but they'll give you a strong chance to be sure. Now, what should such a powerful woman such as yourself offer in thanks to such a magnanimous savior? Dates and cheese and meat? No!" His voice rose to such a great volume so suddenly that Soraya flinched back in her seat. "A marriage, my child. Such is the way of the empire and its houses. I gave you my full support without demanding any promises- you can count yourself lucky for that. Now, however, after all the help I've provided, you dare to refuse my request!"

"Lord Goshtab," Soraya said coldly, recovering herself from her sudden reaction. "I will be happy to discuss the possibility of a marriage alliance with you after the war is won. Until then, however, I will make no such promises."

Goshtab only scoffed, tearing another bite out of a date. "After the war, all of the power will be in your hands. What leverage will poor old Goshtab have to negotiate a deal with you then?" He said. "No, I won't settle for anything less. I want my son on that throne, and the line of House Varaz merged into the royal succession. Otherwise, I can't guarantee that my armies won't turn to support Esfandar or Roshani at their first offer of amnesty."