The Sea of Time Read Online Free

blue robe spangled with silver stars. Jame recognized a high priest when she saw one. After all, Krothen was a god-king.
    Where, however, was he? Presumably, taking a break from his duties. When he arrived, perhaps he would recline on that dais piled high with silken pillows near his high priest.
    Then the mound shifted.
    A head perched on top of it, wearing a snowy turban. Heavily lidded hazel eyes regarded her speculatively across the room out of rolls of fat. Beneath that, rosebud lips pursed over a fringe of ginger beard which in turn was mounted on too many chins to count. Trinity, was that all him, beneath that sprawl of white damask? He shifted again and released a muted, subterranean fart. Incense covered the smell, but not that of so much overheated flesh.
    Krothen, God-King of Kothifir, selected a candied slug from a plate held out to him by a lackey and popped it into the moist hole that was his mouth. As he chewed and swallowed, Jame saw that the dais on which he reclined hovered a foot above the floor and that the hems of his robes floated about him as if in a slow ocean current. Here was a god-king indeed.
    An emissary clothed in layers of white lace stood before him, impatiently waiting to capture the monarch’s wandering attention.
    “Ahem,” he said. “Sire, we understand that you have a complaint against our fair Rim city of Gemma.”
    “Yes.” Krothen’s voice was a surprising nasal tenor, as if all of that fat had pinched his throat into a thin pipe. “Gemman raids on our trade caravans have increased of late. We understand that your governing council now sells letters of marque to such enterprising bandits.”
    “They have official sanction, yes, which you refuse to recognize.”
    Krothen opened his eyes as wide as their surrounding rolls of fat allowed. “My dear man, we never agreed to any such code.”
    “You should. It would be the civilized thing to do, given that it guarantees humane treatment for any captives.”
    “But we never raid you. Given that, why should we consent to being robbed?”
    “At least let us ransom our captive raiders.”
    “Ah, but Gemma has nothing that Kothifir wants.”
    The emissary was turning red in the face with anger and frustration. “Someday your arrogance will be your downfall.”
    “Perhaps. In the meantime, any raider whom I catch will be hung from the thorns of my tower to the delight of the citizenry and any passing crow.”
    “And that is the message I should carry back to my masters?”
    Krothen selected another morsel. “Carry what you please,” he said, chewing with his mouth open.
    The Gemman gave a stiff bow and retreated.
    Jame was the next visitor in line. She cleared her throat nervously.
    “Er . . . Sire, my brother, Lord Knorth of the Kencyrath, sends his greetings.”
    She gave the rolled parchment that contained her credentials to the majordomo, who handed it to a servant, who passed it to another, and another, and another. The high priest fastidiously flicked back an embroidered cuff to receive the scroll and presented it to his master. Krothen passed it from one plump hand to the other without looking at it, then to a lackey and so on around the circle, left to right, end over end, hand to hand, flip, flip, flip.
    Now what? Jame wondered, receiving it back, its seal unbroken.
    A commotion arose on the stair behind her.
    Servants and minor priests alike hastily retreated to the edges of the room. Jame also withdrew, to be on the safe side. A contingent of ladies entered, one veiled, another in servant’s attire. They were led by a noblewoman so haughty in her bearing that it took a moment to realize that she was very short, almost a dwarf, mounted on very high heels. Trailing after them all came a handsome young man, heavily made up and dressed in a frilly robe.
    “So, Nephew,” growled the short noblewoman in a surprisingly deep voice. Jame realized that this must be the redoubtable Princess Amantine, first lady of the court.