Tris waited outside of the great hall until Crevan and the heralds properly announced his arrival. He was nervous at the prospect of meeting Kalcen. Eastmark was, if not exactly secretive, intensely private. It was well known for its military expertise and did a brisk trade, but its people kept their own counsel. Few outsiders fully understood Eastmark's ways.
The doors swung open.
"Greetings, King Kalcen," Tris said with a perfunctory bow.
"Greetings, King Martris," Kalcen returned. "We would have liked to have arrived sooner, but snow is already deep in Eastmark; The passes were treacherous."
"Thanks to the Lady in all Her Faces for your safe travel," Tris replied.
King Kalcen of Eastmark w.as an imposing figure. He stood slightly taller than Tris, among the tallest of the guests in attendance, and he was at least fifteen seasons older. His dark skin, the color of brewed kerif, made it clear that Eastmark's ruling nobility and unbroken line of kings were descended from the fearsome nomadic warriors of the far Southeastern plains. Long, raven-black hair framed an angular face. Around Kalcen's
broad shoulders was a cape of black stawar fur. Beneath the cape, Kalcen wore flowing robes of deep ochre, and a clavicle of gold set with large precious gems lay below his throat. Gold glittered on each finger, and wide gold cuffs finely wrought with runes stacked up each arm. Kalcen's crown showed a roaring stawar crafted of gold.
The left side of Kalcen's face was marked with a complicated design tattooed into his skin: a sigil, Tris knew, that told both rank and ancestry. Between the gold cuffs and the ochre sleeves, Tris glimpsed more complicated markings. To prove his worthiness for the crown, Kalcen would have had to endure a series of mystic visions and quests, each more brutal and dangerous than the last. Completing a quest earned him the right to have part of his family's history tattooed into his skin, a living tapestry and a testament to his endurance, bravery, and strength. Tris thought of all the new scars he had gained in his own quest for the throne. He did not envy Kalcen his journey.
Kalcen's eyes were so black that it was difficult to see their center. Tris felt the faint tingle of magic. "I would meet the man who weds my niece."
He's truthsensing, Tris realized, recognizing the prickle of magic. He sensed no threat, and permitted Kalcen his light mental touch. Kalcen seemed uninterested in the pleasantries of protocol. Rather than take offense, Tris felt relieved. "I love Kiara with all my heart," Tris said. "I would give my life to keep her from harm." Tris hoped the other was satisfied with what he sensed.