The Fall

by Christie Meierz

  The aide finished bathing Laura, gathered up the basin and the used toweling, and left her to Marianne.

  “Not anymore,” Marianne said. “Servant! Bring a glass.” She picked up one of Laura’s hands, holding it where she could get a good look at it. “See how young your hands are?”

  A woman in a black robe came in with a hand mirror and gave it to Marianne, who held it before Laura’s face.

  Laura gasped at what she saw. “Is this some kind of trick? That cannot be me. I look twenty-five.” She stuck her tongue at the mirror. Blinked. Opened and closed her mouth. The reflection mimicked her without hesitation.

  Marianne laughed and put the mirror aside. “You know I am not trying to trick you.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Because I mean it. And you know that, too.”

  Marianne looked toward the door. Syvra came in, pulling a tablet from one pocket and a small device from another.

  “How do you feel?” the healer asked, passing the device, now humming, over Laura’s head and neck.

  Laura swallowed. “Confused. Nothing seems right.”

  Syvra nodded and pocketed the device. She bent to put a hand on Laura’s shoulder, then seemed to think better of it and straightened, turning her attention to the tablet. The air around her head changed. “I have removed the field immobilizing your head. Try to turn it, slowly.”

  Syvra’s eyes unfocused while Laura turned her head a little to the right.

  “No pain,” the apothecary said. “Good. When you can remain awake for longer periods, I will have aides come to exercise you. Until then, move carefully.” She pocketed the tablet. “Will you accept a visit from the Paran? He wishes to see you.”

  “The… the Paran?” She shot a glance at Marianne.

  “He cares about you, Laura,” Marianne said. “I am sure you will remember him eventually. Try not to shut him out.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. Took a deep breath. “All right.”

  A presence she knew entered the room, and then the Paran burst into view, out of thin air. Laura stared.

  “Impossible,” she whispered.

  “I forgot to tell you that Tolari can appear and disappear at will,” Marianne said, wincing. “They call it camouflage.”

  Still in his green robe, or one just like it, the Paran moved to the foot of the bed and gave her a slight bow. “Beloved,” he said.

  “I will just leave you two to get reacquainted,” Marianne said, and hurried out before Laura could protest.

  Syvra too headed for the door.

  “No!” Laura exclaimed. “Stay, or my reputation will be ruined!”

  The healer turned back and stared first at Laura, then at the Paran. He gestured. “Very well,” she said, taking a seat in a chair on the other side of the bedside table.

  Laura let out a huge breath. Did these people have no sense of propriety? She pursed her lips. “Marianne said you are my… bond-partner.”

  “Yes. Can you not feel our bond?”

  “I still do not know what that means.”

  He chuckled. “May I take your hand?”

  “What? Why?”

  “If you allow me to take your hand, I can show you who I am. It may awaken some memory of me.”

  “How can you show me who you are by holding my hand?”

  “Indulge me. It can do no harm, surely?”

  “Well—” An image flitted through her mind of Papa catching her, unchaperoned, with a man she wasn’t married to, holding his hand. She shuddered. “Is my father here?”

  His brows furled. “No, your father is not on Tolar.”

  “Thomas or Steven?” The black brows furled more. “My brothers.”

  “No, neither are they here.”

  “It is not proper, but—” Her breath hitched. I am a widow. “You. Marianne said you are a kind of sovereign?”

  “I am a provincial ruler, yes.”

  “And I am under your protection?”

  “Of course,” he said. “You are my beloved.”

  She closed her eyes and used her strange new ability to see feelings to focus on his glow. It pulsed, gently, with affection and caring. If she… turned up the volume… layers below that appeared. Some resonated in her own emotions. Others didn’t. This is so strange.

  But useful, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.

  “All right.”

  She slitted her eyes open. His face had relaxed into a luminous smile. He took her hand—

  —and the world receded. She gasped. A soft radiance filled her vision. She would call it white, if it had a color. It centered around the Paran. Everything, everything, in him unrolled before her mind’s eye. His strengths, his weaknesses, his love, his... hurt. In his core lived a tight, hard ball of grief. She touched it—somehow—and it opened. Anguish unfolded with it.

  He gave a muffled cry, and the radiance disappeared. Grief now etched lines of sorrow into his face, and his eyes glistened.

  “Forgive me,” she breathed. “What happened?”

  “My daughter went into the dark,” he answered, his voice a gruff whisper. His grip on her hand tightened. “Her son followed her. She was my heir. She would have ruled after me, and my grandson after her.”

  Words sprang to her lips. “My heart grieves for your pain,” she said. Where did that come from? Her face heated and she looked away. “You invited me to look, not to take liberties.”

  “No,” he said. “There is no shame. We are bonded. My heart is yours.”

  She swallowed. “But surely not mine to rummage through like a box of old toys.”

  “I have trusted you to take care of my heart, as I have taken care of yours. Can you not feel our bond, beloved?”

  She closed her eyes again, concentrating so hard her face scrunched. “What am I looking for?”

  “Search for me with your senses, find the point at which your heart can flow into me, but do not reach into the bond. You are in no condition for... for the consequences of that.”

  “What consequences?” She opened her eyes to study him.

  He met her with a steady gaze. “Coupling. Your apothecary would be—very displeased with me for triggering it, and rightly so.”

  Laura’s face grew hotter. Delight sparkled through him. “You like it when I...” The word eluded her. “When my face turns red?”

  He lifted a shoulder. What a strange man. Were all the men on this world like him? She cudgeled her memory as she gazed into his heart, searching for something of him in her mind, any kind of spark. Memory skittered just out of reach, but he began to seem familiar.

  “I believe you,” she said, and some of the pain in him dissipated. She gasped. As if the words had burned away a fog, she could see the way their hearts connected, intertwined with each other, his heart around hers and her heart around his.

  Some of the tension left his face. “You can see it,” he said, with a relieved smile. Before she could stop him, he bent forward and brushed a soft kiss across her mouth.

  Memory flashed at the almonds-and-spice taste of his lips. They’d kissed before. And she found herself wanting more. Or was that his wanting?

  He leaned back from her, his eyes bright. “You remember something.”

  Her blush deepened again. “I remember…” she let the word trail off. She went back to looking at the connection between them, the bond. Shyness made no sense. “How it felt to kiss you,” she finished, pushing the words out of a reluctant mouth.

  A smile lit his face. She could not call him a handsome man, but when he smiled like that, her heart flipped over.

  “Entwined. Marianne said we were entwined.”

  He cocked his head, gazing at her with more warmth than… than she thought she had ever seen. “Yes,” he said. “Almost from the moment we met.”

  “And I was increasing when I fell.”

  His eyelids flickered, and his emotions jolted. “Yes.”

  “Did the—” Her throat constricted.


  “The child lives, beloved. Small and born before his time, but healthy.”

  Her ear caught on his. “A boy?”

  “Laryth.”

  “Can I see him?”

  He jolted again. “He—” He hesitated, looking toward Syvra.

  “It would not be wise,” she said.

  “Why not? Is something wrong with him?”

  He took a breath. “This is complex, beloved. A great deal of information to take in at one time.”

  She waved a hand. “I cannot go anywhere. Tell me. Is something wrong with him?”

  “No. He is small, but healthy. He thrives.”

  “But I cannot see him. Why not?”

  “Because I do not want you hurt!” he exclaimed.

  Laura stared at him. “Why would it hurt me to see my own child?”

  The Paran pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand.

  “Tell me,” she insisted.

  “He is no longer yours.”

  “What?” She gaped.

  He dropped his hand into his lap. “You can see our bond, our pair-bond, yes?”

  She managed a small nod.

  “My people also form parental bonds with our children. An infant requires this bond to survive. When you fell and nearly went into the dark, Laryth tried to follow you. Your friend stopped him by forcing him to bond to her. It does not always work—some infants simply will not accept a new bond—but it saved Laryth.”

  “That is good then, right?”

  “Yes, and I am grateful to her for it. But it also means you cannot have him back. Do you understand? He will never know you as his mother. Azana mothers him now.”

  “Oh.” The words hit her like a punch in the stomach, and tears stung her eyes. “I see.”

  “Forgive me, beloved, there was no gentle way to tell you. I had hoped for more time to help you understand.”

  She looked away. Faces appeared in her mind’s eye, her children and grandchildren. Their names refused to appear with them. What were their names? She needed time to remember, to think—

  Without warning, she yawned. She rolled her eyes, and yawned again.

  “I will leave you to rest.” The Paran patted her hand and left it on the blanket at her side. He stood and walked toward the door. Syvra got up to follow him.

  “Wait,” she said.

  He stopped.

  “What is your name?”

  His jaw tightened, and a visible shudder shook him. “I am the Paran,” he answered. “I can have no name.”

  Laura blinked. “You cannot have a name? How can someone not have a name?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “It is our way.”

  “Then what do I call you?”

  “Bonded pairs traditionally call each other beloved. It is how you have addressed me since we bonded.”

  “I… No. I cannot call you that.”

  He compressed his lips and nodded.

  She closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Sharana sat on her favorite boulder in the gardens, her back to the stronghold, her face to the city and the sea beyond it. Behind her, the Monral left the keep and made his way toward her. She let out a breath and slumped, looking down at her hands. At the beginning of his rule, he would never have contemplated the sorts of acts he seemed to commit without compunction now. She could not be sure he had not participated in the further misfortunes and injuries in Parania, but to confirm her suspicions would require traveling there.

  She shook her head. To leave Monralar even for a short time would cost her. The pair-bond she shared with the Monral would stretch, and then on her return it would snap back, demanding contact. Best to make a trip from which she need not return. A humorless chuckle escaped her. Had anyone told her she would find herself in an affectionless pair-bond, she would have denied it was even possible.

  He approached closer, and she could sense his desire to touch her. It was almost as strong as her desire to touch him.

  “Beloved,” he said, with deliberate intent.

  Her mouth twitched sideways before she could control it. She smoothed her face. Let him think he had won. For the moment.

  “High one.”

  His heart flinched. “Your message said you wish to visit your odalli friend in Parania.”

  She pivoted in place to face him. “I believe I can help her.” The words burned on her lips, but they were not, strictly speaking, a lie. She could help Laura.

  “Is that your only motive?” His brows pinched together. “I do not want you near the Paran’s advisors. Such a visit would necessarily expose you to them.”

  Did he suspect she had a hidden intent? But no—he only wished to keep his own guilt hidden. “I can be difficult to read. Your secrets will remain safe.” That also was true. Strictly speaking.

  His hand twitched. He shoved it behind his back.

  “I will never betray you,” she said.

  He peered at her, hunger lurking in his gaze. “No, you are a loyal daughter of Monralar,” he murmured. Then he said in a firm voice, “Go then. See what you can do to aid your friend.”

  Sharana pushed herself off the rock and bowed. “My gratitude, high one.”

  Ignoring his flinch, she hurried back to the keep, barriers as closed as she could make them and mind focused on the short trip to the city’s transport hub. The Monral, with his dulled senses, might not have detected her deception, but his guards had no such impairment.

  Think about Laura. She opened the wall to the transit room. The Paran’s bond-partner had experienced a severe head injury, and memory loss to some degree often accompanied such. She might need help relearning the empathic skills Sharana had taught her during the short visit she made to Monralar.

  A few steps from a small pod, she faltered. The guards focused on her. She concentrated on her concern for Laura, built a plan in her mind of how to re-educate an injured, possibly amnesic sensitive. The guards relaxed. She touched the pod and stepped through the door it formed for her. Once settled in its cramped interior, she gave it an empathic caress, and it dropped into the transport tunnels.

  Free!

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A crash of nearby thunder startled Laura awake. Her gaze went to the beaded and streaked windows opposite her bed. Dark clouds made black by the night loomed beyond them. She pulled her legs up a little and tried to lift her head to look down at herself in the dim light, but managed barely a glimpse before her neck gave way like an overcooked noodle. She rolled her eyes.

  “What did I do, break my neck?” she muttered.

  “Yes,” said a woman’s voice. Syvra stood at the bedside table, mixing something in a shotglass-sized cup.

  “Oh.”

  The healer bent over Laura and slid a hand under her head. “Drink this,” she ordered, lifting Laura’s head and bringing the cup to her mouth.

  She sipped at it, then spat out the vile-tasting mixture and coughed. “No,” she declared, glaring at the cup Syvra continued to hold at her lips. Laura knocked the thing away with all the strength she didn’t possess. It landed with a splat and a clatter next to the bed.

  The healer lowered Laura’s head and straightened, crossing her arms. “You will slow your recovery with such behavior.”

  “Then make your medicines taste better.”

  A sigh gusted out of the yellow-robed woman. “Are you hungry?”

  “Does your food taste better than your medicine?”

  Syvra twitched a smile. “If you can eat a little, you will be stronger tomorrow.”

  Laura glowered at her. She hadn’t answered the question, but the idea of food sounded worth a try, as long as it didn’t taste like floor polish. “All right.”

  Syvra turned and left the room. Laura watched her back disappear out the door, feeling… surprisingly fit, she had to admit to herself, but her nerves sang with all the different emotions swirling around her. She wanted to leap, and dance, and cry, and beat her head against the wall, all at once. It
was almost too much to bear.

  She considered the possibilities. Hallucination? Probably not. Dream? Definitely not. Central Command, doing a loyalty check? The Fleet had put a stop to that against its own people decades ago. She had seen nothing to prove she was outside human space, and none of the non-human races looked anything like these Tolari.

  But if she really could judge the feelings of others—and that was a big if—it certainly seemed that the young woman, Marianne, had told the truth so far. It also seemed clear she was withholding something, and showed signs of a patience that might give way to frustration. The servants, each one different to her perceptions, were patience themselves. But that man, the Paran…

  As if on cue, Syvra stood beside her again. “Shall I send for the Paran?” she asked, derailing Laura’s train of thought.

  “I—how late is it? Is he awake?”

  “He left word he would come at any time you requested his presence.”

  She looked away, her face warming. Syvra served as her doctor, as far as she could tell. She would know that the Paran had gotten her pregnant. If that were true, it meant Laura had… been with him. Her face grew hotter. She stopped and did the math in her head, carefully, counting the months of pregnancy. Even if the baby was small, which seemed to mean early, it wasn’t long enough. A widow having an affair less than six months after her husband died. Scandalous.

  But he was magnetic. Tall and dark, with all that straight black hair, pulled back and knotted, falling to his ankles. She’d never seen such long hair, much less on a man. He looked like the Latin lover she’d always wanted, dark and passionate.

  Was he passionate? That might explain her scandalous behavior. She’d once hoped Papa would arrange a marriage for her with one of the New Arabian princes. But then… but then… but then what? Something had stopped her from having one. She wracked her brain.

  John.

  She could see his face. Unruly dark brown hair, alert gray eyes, the confident, arrogant attitude worn by the sons of Boston’s wealthiest families. A uniform. He was military—Earth Fleet. He cut a dashing figure. The year she turned nineteen, he came with his father to a dinner party at Papa’s summer house and left with her heart. Papa raged for weeks. He didn’t think even a prince would be good enough for his baby girl, much less a younger son, no matter how old and aristocratic his family, and even much less one who had joined Earth Fleet. She eloped with John, and Papa disinherited her, but before she died Mama prevailed on him to write the grandchildren into his will. The money didn’t matter. She had John, and his family loved her. She would never want for anything.