Irresistible Forces

by Catherine Asaro

  Vyrl froze. In response to the speaker, the lamps at the far end of the hall came on, shedding warm light over the hearth. This far from the lamps, shadows filled the hall, but enough light filtered back to show a man standing a few paces away, in the doorway Vyrl had been approaching. He hadn’t heard anyone enter, probably because he had been dancing.

  Vyrl managed to find his voice. “Father.”

  Eldrinson Althor Valdoria, who carried the title of Dalvador Bard, looked to Vyrl like the hero of an epic poem. At five feet ten, his father stood half a hand-span taller than the average man of Dalvador. He had a well-built physique, his muscles firm from years of farming. Wine-red hair brushed his shoulders, its healthy sheen visible despite the dim light. Even Vyrl, who understood almost nothing about how women saw such matters, could tell his father had a handsome face, with its straight nose, high cheekbones, large eyes, and classical features. Although Vyrl never knew how to respond when people exclaimed over how he resembled his father, he considered it a compliment, more because he admired his father than because he cared about appearance.

  “Where have you been?” Eldrinson asked, frowning.

  “Out in the plains.” Vyrl tried not to look guilty about his missed schoolwork. His father would never understand. No one could. Vyrl was all brimming confusion and desire. Although his older brothers sometimes saw girls in the village, he was certain none of them had ever felt the way he did about Lily, as if his heart could soar one moment and shatter the next.

  Eldrinson came over to him, and Vyrl again had the unsettling experience of looking down at him instead of up. He had yet to become used to being taller than his father, and he was still growing.

  “And while you were running in the plains,” his father inquired, “who was doing your lessons?”

  Vyrl imagined a black velvet cloth over his mind, hiding his thoughts about Lily from his father, who was a strong empath. “I’ll finish them tonight.”

  “You shouldn’t leave them until so late.”

  “I can’t study all day,” Vyrl grumbled. “I’ll turn into a mad marauder.”

  “A marauder?” Eldrinson tried to hold back his smile. “We can’t have that.”

  Although his father had guarded his mind, Vyrl could tell he wasn’t angry, either about the missed homework or about Vyrl dancing, which he had probably seen.

  “I feel suffocated in here,” Vyrl said. “I need to run.”

  His father tried to look stern. “If you intend to carry through with this idea of yours, to earn a doctorate in agriculture someday, you have to study.”

  “If I go to the university, I’ll have to go off-world.” The prospect dismayed Vyrl. “Maybe I could attend through the computer webs instead.”

  “You mean in a virtual classroom?”

  “Yes.” Vyrl’s mood lightened. “Exactly.”

  Eldrinson rubbed his chin. “I don’t really understand it, these machines and things of your mother’s people.”

  Having grown up with the technology his mother had brought to Lyshriol, Vyrl had never shared his father’s unease with it. Eager now, he said, “I’ve been checking colleges. Many have programs for virtual students. I would never have to leave Lyshriol.” He longed to learn the science behind the farming he loved. Lyshriol was more than his home; the plains, the suns, the land itself were part of him at a level so deep he couldn’t separate them from his identity.

  His father spoke carefully. “Many possibilities exist.”

  Vyrl could tell something more than unfinished homework was troubling his father. Disquieted, he looked around. “Where is everyone?” Usually the house bustled with life. He had six brothers and three sisters, all at home except for Eldrin, his oldest brother.

  “They went to the festival in the village,” Eldrinson said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “For me? Why?”

  “To talk.” His father’s expression had become unreadable. “If you stay here on Lyshriol, your life will have many constraints. You wouldn’t have to accept those limitations if you went off-world.”

  Apprehension brushed Vyrl. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “You may change your mind when you’re older.”

  He pondered his father. Although Eldrinson didn’t seem overly upset, he wasn’t happy either. Vyrl had tended to avoid his parents lately, but this cautious conversation bothered him. His father was shielding his mind more than usual. It didn’t feel right.

  Vyrl went to the stairs and sat on the fourth step, stretching out his legs. “What happened?”

  Eldrinson came over and leaned against the banister, his elbow resting on its gold curve. “You are familiar with the House of Majda?”

  “I guess.” Vyrl knew Majda the way he knew the other noble Houses, as institutions he studied in school and otherwise gladly forgot. In this age of elected leaders, the Imperial nobility were an anachronism—including his own family, the Ruby Dynasty, which topped that antiquated hierarchy.

  He winced, reminded of the history lessons he had neglected yesterday, earning his tutor’s disapproval. His mother’s ancestors had ruled the Ruby Empire until that interstellar civilization had fallen, stranding its colony worlds. During the ensuing dark ages, many colonies had lost their technology. Only in recent centuries had his mother’s people regained star travel and begun rediscovering the lost colonies, such as this one on Lyshriol. Although Vyrl knew the House of Majda had been a strong ally of the Ruby Dynasty throughout history, he had never met a single member of that venerated line. Majda belonged to off-world politics, like a distant fog.

  “Devon Majda heads the House of Majda,” his father said. “She inherited the title of Matriarch ten years ago, just after her twenty-eighth birthday.”

  “Oh.” Vyrl leaned back with his elbows on the stair above him.

  Eldrinson shifted his weight, then cleared his throat. “As Matriarch, Devon has…responsibilities.”

  “I see.” In truth, Vyrl had no idea what his father was talking about. He couldn’t pick up anything from Eldrinson’s guarded mind. He wondered if he could make it to the festival in time to have dinner with his brothers.

  “Do you know what those responsibilities are?” Eldrinson asked.

  Was this a test? Maybe his father was more annoyed with him for playing truant than he realized. If he had to stay in tonight while everyone else enjoyed the festival, he wouldn’t see Lily.

  He tried to sound knowledgeable. “As the head of her House, Devon Majda has a seat in the Assembly.” Vyrl scoured his memory. “Most councilors in the Assembly are elected leaders who represent various worlds. Only the noble Houses have hereditary seats. It’s left over from the days when the Ruby Dynasty ruled instead of the Assembly.” He squinted at Eldrinson. “You and Mother have seats, too, don’t you? Mother is the Councilor for Foreign Affairs.”

  “That’s right.” His father paused. “Your mother’s seat is more than hereditary; she ran for election and won. It gives her more votes.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Although Vyrl admired his mother’s work in a theoretical sort of way, right now he had more concern for his growling stomach. Lately he was hungry all the time. He ate twice as much as his younger siblings, but it never seemed to be enough.

  “The Ruby Dynasty and Majda must balance their power with that of the Assembly,” Eldrin said, still guarded.

  Vyrl knew he was missing whatever his father wanted him to see. “I didn’t finish my studies on Majda,” he admitted.

  Eldrinson hesitated, discomfort leaking past his mental barriers. He didn’t even admonish Vyrl for his lack of scholarly effort. Instead he said, “As the head of Majda, Devon must ensure that her line continues.”

  Although Vyrl wasn’t sure why his father cared, he could well imagine that the House of Majda was upset, if their matriarch had reached the age of thirty-eight without producing any children. “She needs heirs.”

  “That’s right.”

  When his father said no more, relief
spread through Vyrl. Apparently the lesson was over. He stood up. “Shall we join the others? I’m starving.”

  “Vyrl, wait.” Eldrinson raked his hand through his hair. “We need to discuss this.”

  Vyrl stopped, then slowly sat again. “Discuss what?”

  His father answered quietly. “Your betrothal.”

  What? The word thudded in on Vyrl. Betrothal? He must have misheard. “I’m not betrothed to anyone.” His voice cracked on the last word.

  “I realize this is unexpected.” His father gave him a look of apology. “Your mother and I had intended to take more time, to let you adjust to the idea. This visit caught us by surprise. We’ve just received word that Brigadier General Majda—that’s Devon—will be here in two days.”

  A constriction tightened Vyrl’s chest, making it hard to breathe. “Brigadier General? At thirty-eight?” He was no military expert, but even he knew that however old it might sound to him, that age was young for such a rank.

  “She’s good at what she does. Very good.” His father added dryly, “Her family connections don’t hurt either.”

  Vyrl struggled to mask his turmoil, to hide the chaos of his emotions. Surely an escape existed from this disaster. “This is too fast.”

  Sympathy washed across his father’s face. “I’m sorry it is such a shock. Your mother and I want you to be happy. Vyrl, we spent a great deal of time checking out Devon. She is a good person. And as the Majda consort, you can follow pursuits you could never have here.” Awkwardly he added, “Including an, uh, artistic career, if you wish.”

  Vyrl barely heard him. All he could see was Lily, her lovely face bright in the sunshine, like a lost dream. Betrothals among the noble Houses were political arrangements; his parents and Majda had probably been negotiating for months, even years. These matters carried the weight of governmental decrees. Nineteen-year-old Eldrin, his oldest brother, had married the Ruby Pharaoh three years ago, his own kin, as tradition dictated. But it wasn’t fair. He wasn’t Eldrin. He wasn’t the firstborn. He had three older brothers and three younger ones. His parents had turned down offers for his other brothers, considering the matches unsuitable. Vyrl had never expected they would accept one for him, especially with the highest placed member of the most powerful House.

  What made it even worse was that he understood their reasoning. He was more family-oriented than his older brothers, more suitable as a consort. If Majda needed an heir, she had to marry relatively soon, which left out his younger brothers. And more than anything, he understood the gift his parents wanted to give him, the chance to pursue his love of dance, something he could never do here on Lyshriol.

  It didn’t matter. He couldn’t marry a female warrior. He couldn’t do it. Just as men never danced on Lyshriol, so women never fought in battle. His stomach clenched. If he revealed how he felt about Lily, his parents would have her sent away, to remove a distraction that might interfere with his betrothal. He couldn’t bear the thought.

  He struggled for calm. “I don’t want to marry.”

  Eldrinson spoke in the kindly voice Vyrl had trusted his entire life, but which gave him no mooring now. “It’s all right. You will have time to get to know her, to feel more comfortable with this situation.”

  “Why can’t Althor marry her?” Vyrl thought of his brother; at seventeen, Althor was preparing to go off-world to a military academy. “He wants that life. He would be perfect for her.”

  “You’re the one she offered for.”

  “But why? Althor is older. So is Del-Kurj.” In truth, Vyrl couldn’t imagine anyone marrying his wild brother, Del-Kurj, but that didn’t make this any easier.

  Eldrinson’s face turned thoughtful. “I can only guess as to Devon’s motives in regards to Althor. Majda is a conservative matriarchy. I suspect Devon doesn’t want a fighter pilot for a husband. As for Del-Kurj…” He made an angry wave with his hand. “Let’s just say he has had a few indiscretions.”

  Few. Vyrl would have laughed if he hadn’t been so upset. Del-Kurj already knew more about women than most grown men in Dalvador. He liked girls and they liked him, and he made no secret about it, despite the trouble it caused him. Del hadn’t fathered any children yet, but if he kept up in the way he’d begun it would only be a matter of time.

  Vyrl spoke in a low voice. “Does the Assembly want this betrothal, too?”

  His father nodded. “Stronger ties between Majda and the Ruby Dynasty will cement alliances the Assembly sees as crucial to the stability of our government.”

  “I don’t want to stabilize a government.” He couldn’t keep the pain out of his voice.

  “Ah, Vyrl.” Eldrinson’s voice held deep regret. “I am terribly sorry this news is unwelcome. If it helps to know, your mother and I truly believe this can be a good match. Devon Majda will treat you well, with respect and honor.”

  “She’s ancient.”

  His father’s expression lightened. “If she is ancient, I fear to ask what that makes your mother and me.” His smile faded. “We do have concerns about the age difference. But with modern techniques to delay aging, eventually you won’t be so aware of it.” Gently, he added, “You may come to love her, in time.”

  Vyrl could only shake his head. His dreams were slipping away, like the glitter from a ruptured bubble spreading on the wind.

  2

  THE SILVERED PLAINS

  The circular chamber was high in a tower of the castle. Vyrl stood at the window looking out over the countryside. The three figures crossing the Dalvador Plains were too far away to see clearly, but he recognized his mother’s streaming gold hair and his father’s confident stride.

  Beyond them, about a fifteen-minute walk from Dalvador, the starport made a cluster of whitewashed buildings with blue turreted roofs. It resembled a Dalvador hamlet—except for the gold-and-black spacecraft that crouched on the landing field like an intruder. The shuttle had come down from one of the battle cruisers that orbited Lyshriol. Vyrl had never thought much about the ships up there, beyond knowing they provided one of the best orbital defense systems in settled space. If only they could have defended him against the arrival of Brigadier General Devon Majda.

  He wished he could fly away, beyond the suns in the lavender sky. The larger orb was eclipsing the smaller, like a great golden coin surrounded by a halo. To the east and south, farms drowsed in the sunlight, uncaring of interstellar politics. Nearer by, his parents and their guest reached the village. He lost sight of them as they walked in among the houses.

  Vyrl bit his lip, his heart aching for Lily. He glanced toward her home, a round white house on a hill, surrounded by other houses. He hadn’t dared talk to her in the past two days, since their afternoon together. He had never made it to the festival that night, having been grounded for his truancy. He missed her so much, as if someone had taken out his center and left him with a hole only she could fill.

  Yesterday he had seen her while he was walking to his father’s farm with Althor and Del-Kurj. She and some other girls had been carrying baskets of bubble fruit. Before he could even think, he had started toward her, his heart surging, his pulse racing. He had gone only a few steps when his brothers called him back.

  He couldn’t confide in them. Given that one of his brothers might have to marry Devon if he didn’t, he doubted they would want Lily distracting him, but neither would they want to betray his trust. Rather than put them in that awkward position, he said nothing. They knew he was hiding his moods, but they respected his privacy and never pried, neither with word nor thought.

  Disheartened, Vyrl turned from the window and sat on an elegant stone bench against the wall. He came here when he needed to soothe his agitation. His mother had once referred to this chamber as a “balm for his tempestuous soul.” He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he did like the austere beauty of this room, with its polished bluestone walls, domed ceiling, and a floor tiled in squares of blue and white stone. Designs in bas-relief bordered the ceiling and floor, a
s if the chamber were a round gift box—with him as the present.

  That last thought dispelled his tenuous serenity. With every fiber of his being protesting, he made himself stand up. He crossed to the arched door of the chamber, but he paused without opening it. Such a beautiful door. He could stay here all day admiring it. Really. He loved its vibrant color. Made with layers of blue-stalk from the Stained Glass Forest, it glowed like a mountain lake. His mother had told him about an off-world substance called “wood” that came in brown shades and didn’t glow. He found it hard to imagine such dullness.

  As much as he would have been happy to appreciate the door for the rest of the day, he could no longer procrastinate. So he left the chamber and descended the bluestone stairs that spiraled down the tower. He had dressed formally today, in blue trousers with a darker belt embossed in silver. Soft boots came to his knees. Gold-leaf designs bordered their top edges and also the cuffs and collar on his white, bell-sleeved shirt. Thongs laced up the front of the shirt.

  At the second story of the castle, he exited the tower into a hall of lavender ash-stone. Wall sconces held purple-glass lamps lit with flames. He thought of stopping to turn on the superconducting light rods hidden in the ceiling, but he didn’t pause. It would only delay the inevitable by a few moments, and besides, today he wanted no reminders of off-world technology—or off-world technocrats.

  Far too soon, he reached the top of the stairs that went down to the Hearth Room. The great staircase curved around, this part hidden from view of the hall below. Vyrl stood on the landing, straining to hear. Voices came from below, his parents and a woman with a husky contralto. He clenched the banister, unable to continue. He couldn’t go down. He couldn’t.

  But if he didn’t appear soon, his parents would send someone for him. So he fortified his resolve and descended. Halfway down he came around the curve of the staircase; stopping there, he looked out over the Hearth Room. His parents and an unfamiliar woman were standing at the far end, near the hearth, unaware of him, sipping from ruby goblets. A girl with gold curls had just served them, judging by her empty silver tray. As she walked down the hall, she glanced up. Seeing Vyrl, she started, her mouth opening. Then she averted her gaze and hurried on her way, leaving the room.