He had refused to let go, and the contest of wills had continued for much of a day. Kyza was exhausted and close to the dark when she turned back and bonded to him, allowing him to comfort and cradle her into a warm, contented glow. She had opened her eyes and lived. He had wept with joy, even while the woman’s bond-partner had sobbed in devastated grief and followed his beloved that night into the dark.
It was a pity he needed the humans to believe his people were cold and emotionless.
Chapter Five
Midnight. Marianne ran through a cornfield, lungs burning, terror forcing whimpers from her throat. Running as fast as she could, she dodged among the corn stalks, trying to slip out of sight, trying to lose her pursuer. Faster—faster—heedless of the leaves slashing at her face and her bare arms. Then her foot caught on a clod of earth and she sprawled on her face in the fragrant soil.
She screamed and scrambled to her feet. The Sural would protect her. The Sural had promised to protect her. The Sural... where was the Sural? Marianne searched the darkness as she ran and found him, far down the row, turning to look at her. She reached out her arms to him just as her ankle twisted in the shallow rut formed by a fallen cornstalk, throwing her to the ground a second time. She screamed again and woke with a cry, a red haze fading into the darkness before her eyes. Panting, sweat pouring from her body, she sat up and remembered where she was: an alien stronghold, on an alien world, where there were no cornrows and no one to chase her through them.
The Sural awoke with a start and sat bolt upright, staring into the darkness, through the walls, straight across the stronghold to the spot where Marianne lay asleep in her quarters—or rather should have been. She was awake, radiating psychic agony.
He had felt her reach out to him. He could feel her now, wanting him to protect her from... something. Something evil that had happened to her long ago. He reached out to her through the tenuous connection she had—astoundingly—forged across the night, letting strength and comfort flow through it, hoping she would not sense it was him.
Marianne slumped back onto her sleeping mat and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. In the space behind her eyes, she could almost see the Sural looking at her. Desperate for any sort of contact, even imaginary, she let herself sink into thoughts of him, imagining him holding her close to comfort her, imagining—
NO! Every fiber of her being screamed, shutting down the fantasy with a snap. She arched her back and slammed her head and fists into her mat, eyes squeezed shut. Then she curled into a tight ball of desolation and sobbed.
Guards all over the stronghold flickered from the empathic blast, and the Sural’s head whirled in pain, his senses scalded. Kyza woke, screaming in fright, seeking her bond with him. He scooped her up from her cot to cradle her in his arms, soothing her, heedless of his burned, aching senses. Working to shield Kyza from his own pain, he communed with her, letting awareness of the surroundings slip away as Kyza drew strength from him.
Marianne had accepted comfort from him, if only for a moment. What had triggered the terror and the powerful emotional blast, he could only wonder. It had to be connected to the pain she hid. He was convinced of it.
<<>>
During the next morning’s meal, Kyza interrupted her busy exploration of the high table to throw herself into the Sural’s lap and curl up against his chest. He cradled her there, eyes closed, allowing her to commune with him despite Marianne’s presence at the table. After a few long moments, Kyza pulled away and climbed back onto the table, taking some of his meal with her.
When he opened his eyes, Marianne gazed at him with a wistful expression. He smiled at her. Lack of sleep tinted her eyes red, and he could see signs that she had wept.
“Rest today,” he said in sudden decision. “Ask a servant to show you to the library. The one in the family wing.”
“Yes, high one,” she said, nodding, weariness in her voice.
“I cannot stay.” He stood and gathered up Kyza. “I must work. Are you distressed?”
“I’m fine. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well.”
“Perhaps you should have a talk with Adeline Russell or Laura Howard.”
She gave one of her odd, two-shouldered human shrugs and made a visible effort to brighten up, offering him a tired smile.
“I’m fine, honest,” she said. “And I’ve already spoken with Adeline this morning, but thank you for giving me the day off.”
He made a slight bow and left, taking Kyza with him.
In truth, his duties were light at this time of year. His people became sluggish, distracted, and sleepy during deep winter, when the days were short and the cold deadly, and they accomplished little anywhere in the province. He himself needed no stimulants to remain alert, but most of his advisors did. He had little use for them in their winter lethargy, so he had drawn up plans for the spring during the previous autumn. Since the winter had set in, he had little to do beyond overseeing the stronghold’s day-to-day operations. Those few of his aides who remained alert kept an eye on activities in the southern hemisphere and sent him reports if alliances shifted. It was always a restful season, in which he could study or indulge in pastimes.
He handed his daughter to a nurse and camouflaged, returning to the refectory to watch Marianne finish her meal. She drained her mug and asked a servant to show her to the library, as he had suggested. When she disappeared around the passageway’s curve, he dropped his camouflage and went to his study to read the small number of reports waiting for him.
<<>>
When the short day dawned, the Sural strolled into the library to see how Marianne fared. She hunched over a book, so absorbed she failed to notice him enter the room. He sent a delicate probe into her surface emotions and found she used the book to soothe herself. He scuffed a ped against the matting.
She looked up at the sound and turned, a wan smile coming to her lips when she saw him. He took a seat across the table and glanced at the book she held.
“Vetralen is a modern poet,” he said. “He still lives. Very good.”
“Have you read his work?” she asked.
He ignored the question. “What happened in the night?” he asked instead.
She paled. “You know about that?”
“You woke most of the stronghold.”
She winced, and he sensed disbelief mixing into chagrin, embarrassment, and… fear. “Forgive me, high one.”
“What was it?” he persisted.
“A—” She stopped, lips parted, then clamped her jaw shut and frowned. “Nightmare,” she said in English. “Bad dream,” she continued in Tolari. “Very bad dream.”
He let his expression soften. “Tell me,” he said.
“I was—” He sensed her consider trust, but a surge of anxiety wiped it away. “Forgive me, high one,” she continued. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
His heart contracting, he suppressed the heavy sigh her distrust inspired and tried a different tactic. “A strange word, nightmare,” he said.
She nodded, relief shuddering through her at the change of subject. “It comes from mara, a Scandinavian word for a spirit sent to suffocate people in their sleep. But many English speakers imagine the nightmare of myth and legend as a dark horse with glowing eyes and flaming hooves, bearing evil dreams.”
“You have many animals on Earth.”
“Yes, millions of species. The largest live in the oceans.”
“And your people sometimes bring animals into their homes,” he said. “I find this difficult to imagine.”
She grinned. “Dogs or cats, often both. Birds are common, so are fish, sometimes rodents, even reptiles, insects, arachnids.” She laughed a little. “I guess it must seem pretty strange to you.”
He nodded. “We have no land animals larger than a flutter,” he said. “However, we do have immense creatures in our oceans.”
Her face grew wistful as she seemed to sink into memory. “I had a dog when I was a girl. A pug.”
/> He raised an inquiring eyebrow at the unfamiliar English word.
“A breed of dog,” she explained. She sighed. “My little Gretchen. I loved that dog.”
“Gretchen?”
“My dog. That was her name.”
“You gave it a name?” Both his eyebrows tried to reach his hairline, and his eyes went wide.
She laughed. “Of course.”
“I am perplexed.”
Amusement displaced some of her weary sadness. “Sometimes I forget you’re an alien,” she said. Then she remembered where she was. “To me. You look so human.” The atmosphere grew awkward.
He lifted a shoulder. “You look Tolari,” he countered, his face unreadable.
Marianne swallowed. “So, high one,” she said, trying to get past the awkwardness, “do you still want your daughter tutored by a woman who would sleep with a dog?”
He smiled. “Yes, proctor, but why would you want to sleep with an animal?” It surprised her to see him shudder a little.
“I don’t know.” She tilted her head to one side. “We just—I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the comfort of touching another warm, living being. Touch is important for us, and it’s vital when we’re children. Our babies can die if they aren’t held enough.”
“And your adults?”
“Adults can live without it.”
“But not well.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “I do just fine.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“I do!” she protested.
He inclined his head. “As you say,” he yielded.
She grumbled, shifting in her chair and twitching her shoulders, then sighed.
“Read to me,” he said.
He inflected it as a request, not a command, but she was happy to carry it out. Reading to him reminded her of poetry exchanges in the Babel cloud. “Of course, high one.”
Grateful that Vetralen composed nothing but delicate word pictures of nature scenes, she chose a poem describing the High Fralentolar Mountains. The Sural leaned back, closed his eyes, and stretched out his long legs.
He must be bored senseless, she thought as she read, some of the tension draining from the muscles in her neck and shoulders. She took a deep breath, grateful for the relief. Perhaps that was why he’d asked her to read to him: it relaxed her.
Something flickered at the corner of her eye. “What was that?” she said, putting down the book.
“A guard.” The Sural’s eyes opened and fixed on her.
She swiveled in her chair, searching the room, but saw nothing. “There are guards in here?”
His face became bland. “Yes, two in this room. They are camouflaged.”
“Where else do you have guards?” Her hands started to shake.
The Sural gave her a sharp glance, his eyes darkening with concern. “There is nowhere in the stronghold out of range of a guard. The safety of the Sural and his daughter—and his guest, the human tutor—all demand it.”
“They’re everywhere? In every room?”
“Yes, every room.”
Her heart seemed to stop. “You mean—you mean there are guards in my sleeping room?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And—and they’ve watched me dress, and bathe, and—and—” Her throat closed.
“Proctor.” His voice was low and soothing. “For us this is a comfort, not a source of distress.”
Her stomach clenched. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree about that.” She grated the words out.
“Why does this anger you?” He rubbed his eyebrows.
“I’ve been exposing myself to them every time I change my clothes or bathe!” she exclaimed. “And—and how many of them are men?” She jammed her hands into her armpits to stop their shaking.
“Proctor,” he said, his voice still gentle, “your government informed me before you arrived that some humans have modesty inhibitions and that you may be one of them. The guards in your quarters are women.”
Marianne took a deep breath and expelled it, letting her hands fall into her lap. She slumped back in her chair, feeling foolish. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. Thank you, high one.”
“My honor,” he murmured.
She looked up at him and said in English, “I’m sorry.” She looked away, stifling the grumble that tried to escape.
He smiled and gestured toward the door. “The guard was reminding me it is time for the midday meal. Would you accompany me?”
“Yes, high one,” she said, getting to her feet.
His enigmatic smile appeared. It was maddening.
Chapter Six
The arctic cold of Suralia’s deep winter gave way to the beginning of spring and its more survivable temperatures. The flutters emerged from the hollow interior of the cora trees, waking from their winter hibernation, and new growth began to poke through the snow. Marianne stood at her sitting room window, watching Kyza show her father a mittened hand full of snow. On this morning, the Sural had taken his daughter outside to frolic in the garden before the morning meal. Kyza was a few months short of two standard years now, and she’d become inquisitive, fearless, and most of all, verbal. While Marianne couldn’t hear what the Sural and his daughter said to each other, Kyza’s lips moved without a pause.
Grinning, Marianne turned away from the window and activated the comms unit. It was time to contact the Alexander.
Adeline seemed in a mood to tease. After the preliminaries of confirming the Ambassador had received Marianne’s written report, she didn’t waste any time getting down to it.
“The Sural spent an awful lot of time with you when the stronghold was socked in with ice and snow,” she said.
“He doesn’t have much work during the winter,” Marianne replied. “They let up on their plotting and scheming when the weather closes in—it’s not honorable to take advantage of a sluggish and sleepy enemy. No sport in it. All he has to do is run the stronghold and read a few reports. Talking to me was probably more interesting than watching the frost creep up the walls.”
Adeline laughed. “I just bet it was,” she replied. “Especially to a man.”
“Addie! He’s an alien!”
“He’s a pretty handsome alien, if you ask me. Like classic Greek god handsome. Don’t tell me you never noticed?”
Marianne pressed her lips together and grumbled. “It’s unprofessional.”
“You know, being gods didn’t stop them from dallying with beautiful human women—and you’re pretty enough to qualify. Maybe the Greek gods were the Tolari gone space-faring, and the Sural is just biding time before he becomes a dark Adonis and sweeps you off your feet. Or actually, he’s their ruler—maybe he’s Zeus.”
“Nonsense!” Marianne’s face heated. “He treats me as if he were a monk. He might be one, for all I know—I never see his wife, or concubine, or whoever Kyza’s mother is. He never so much as lays a finger on me. He’s very careful.”
Adeline’s lips formed an O. “Ooh, careful. That sounds promising.” She winked.
“Addie! It’s not appropriate! He’s my employer, and anyway, I’m just a schoolteacher descended from generations of dirt farmers.”
“Suit yourself,” Adeline said with a shrug. “But if it were me—I’d get a little closer and see what happened.”
“You’re a minx, Addie,” Marianne scolded.
Adeline sighed and struck a pose with the back of one hand on her forehead. “My secret is out!” she exclaimed in dramatic tones. Then she leaned toward the monitor and said in a low voice, “It’s a good thing Smitty can keep up with me, or I might just come down there and try to take that Sural of yours away from you.”
More blood rushed to Marianne’s face, and Adeline’s laugh turned gleeful.
“Oh Marianne, you’re so much fun to tease. You and Laura. You both blush so predictably.”
Marianne forced herself to laugh and turned her head toward the door to the hall as if someone stood there. “I have to go now,
Addie. Say hi to Laura for me, will you? Tell her I’d like to talk to her tomorrow.”
“I’ll do that.”
<<>>
A few days after the spring festival, the Sural announced he would accompany a group of laborers back to a tea flower plantation not far from the city. Since he intended to take Kyza with him, he asked Marianne to come along.
Marianne packed a bag and hurried into the corridor. The Sural stood near the great doors, opened to the morning sunlight, with Kyza slung across his back and drumming on his head. Two nurses and several servants gathered just outside, all carrying packs or shoulder bags.
The Sural set a pace the rest of the party could match and still maintain a quiet conversation. The trek down the cliffs Marianne knew well, but rather than continue south into the city, they joined up with one of the farmers and a party of wandering agricultural laborers, all in dark green robes, and turned west onto a packed dirt road. The vegetation changed, becoming scrubby as they left the city environs and headed into the hills of Suralia.
Small creatures lurked in the bushes. She caught occasional glimpses of them breaking from cover when one of the party wandered too near a hiding place. Most were furry animals resembling six-legged squirrels. Some bounded away like tiny kangaroos. A few turned out to be ground-nesting flutters. Kyza squealed at each one.
“Fafee!” she cried, pointing and bouncing in the sling. “What that? What that?”
The Sural named the creature for her, and she went back to making a mess of his hair. Marianne made a mental note of the names for future reference. The family library might have a book on local fauna.
The party reached the banks of a river at late morning. It coursed through a valley filled with orderly rows of bushy, waist-high plants, punctuated by groups of cora trees.
“Tea flower,” the Sural said. “And the cora trees will be familiar to you. We will stay on this plantation until the trees are netted.”
“Why net the trees?” she asked.
“To save the fruit from the flutters.”
The road crossed the river at a graceful stone bridge, passed through the tea flower plants—which didn’t possess anything Marianne could identify as flowers or flower buds among their spiky foliage—and turned north to run along the steep hills on the other side. A few stone buildings with tile roofs dotted the lowest of the hills.
The Marann Page 7
