The farmers served a midday meal when the group arrived. The servants who’d come with the Sural unpacked their shoulder bags and packs, revealing cloth-wrapped packages of medicines and seeds, which were carefully laid away in the nearby dwellings. Meanwhile, the oldest of the stronghold servants set about cleaning and reknotting the Sural’s hair, which Kyza had smeared with her midmorning snack as well as pulled in all directions. Two of the farmers living on the plantation had small children, who discovered Kyza with noise and enthusiasm. The three crowded together to eat under the tables, monitored by the nurses.
After the meal, the work began.
The laborers carried large woven nets from low storage buildings beyond the hilltop and laid them in piles near the clusters of trees. Then came the really interesting part, to Marianne’s mind—the children ran around a tree, shrieking and flapping and scaring off the flutters, at which point the laborers used long wooden poles to fling the nets over the tree. They repeated the process until all but one tree in the cluster lay covered—for the flutters’ sake, the Sural explained.
When the children began to grow tired, the servants took their place, using tubes of a strange, flexible wood to beat the trees and frighten the bird-like creatures into the air. Marianne joined in, wielding one of the light-weight tubes like a sword and provoking smiles and laughs from the Suralians.
By the end of the afternoon, they had netted three clusters of trees. After the evening meal, everyone hiked to the next hill. It boasted a crown of stone seats around a bare circle of dirt, in which the servants built a fire.
When darkness fell, the singing began.
<<>>
The Sural stood in the darkness, camouflaged and barriers shut. His daughter lay abed, walking the far shores of sleep in a pile with the other two children. Everyone else—save one servant watching the children—sat around the fire singing. He lingered in the shadows to observe.
Two farmers, a man and a woman, traded turns singing the verses. He positioned himself where he could make out Marianne’s voice among the others as the entire group sang the refrain—with her eidetic memory for language, she had learned the refrain on its first occurrence and joined in on the second. She smiled, sang, and laughed, her eyes flashing. He had never seen her so relaxed, and when the laborer sitting at her right hand rose and left the circle during a lull in the singing, the Sural wasted no time taking the man’s place.
“Where have you been?” she asked, her voice resonant with high humor.
He smiled—she was very relaxed, indeed. “Watching.”
She snorted.
“Do you enjoy yourself?” he asked.
“Very much. Netting the trees looked like a lot of work, though. Is the fruit that important?”
He shook his head. “Not the fruit—the seed within. Its oil cures a plant disease that can destroy several important crops.”
“Oh I see. So you do this every year?”
“Not I. My father brought me here as a boy, but I have not returned since I took power. The Suralia my grandmother preferred to visit the plantations farther north and west toward Detralar, in the Kentar Valley.”
He stared into the fire and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced.
“High one?”
He swiveled his head toward her, and his heart gave a hard thud. Marianne’s eyes reflected the firelight, and her hair, loose around her face, glowed. His mouth went dry.
“I just realized—you didn’t bring any guards,” she said. “Aren’t you in danger?”
He gathered his scattered thoughts. “No,” he replied. “Not at present.”
She sighed. “I will never understand Tolari politics.”
“Perhaps you will, in time.”
Across the fire, someone began to sing.
<<>>
When early summer arrived, Kyza stopped climbing on the refectory tables and found a new game.
“Fafee!” she cried one morning, standing on a chair to lean against the table toward her father.
“Yes, Kyza?” He looked up from his meal.
Kyza took a deep breath—and disappeared.
The Sural lit up. “Kyza!” he exclaimed with a huge, delighted smile, pride written all over his face. Kyza popped back into view, giggling and laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair. He stood and swept her into his arms, taking her out of the refectory with a swoop and a spin.
Marianne watched them go, eyes wide, jaw slack. Kyza’s giggles retreated down the corridor.
That was... normal, she thought.
<<>>
The Sural could not contain his grin. Kyza was young to have discovered how to camouflage. He had hurried to her nursery and played camouflage games, pretending to be unable to sense her when she flickered out of sight and exclaiming in surprise when she reappeared, until she exhausted herself and fell into a doze on his shoulder.
Such a precious gift, he thought, as he laid her in her cot. He did wish Marianne had not been present. She had radiated surprise, even shock, at his display, and it had certainly hastened the day when she would realize he was not what he seemed. Still, to have shared an honest moment with her was itself something to cherish. He could not regret it.
Kyza sighed and rolled over in her sleep. Smiling, he smoothed her blankets. He could not have failed to respond to her accomplishment. It was a significant one, and she had needed his approval more than he needed to hide Tolari emotion from Marianne. A thrill ran through him. Kyza would be a challenge, learning to camouflage so young—a mere five seasons!—but he could be nothing less than proud.
It was time to begin her training. Leaving his daughter asleep under the watchful eyes of her nurses, he set off to inform the family tutor, Proctor Storaas.
<<>>
The oldest Tolari Marianne had ever seen joined her in the library the next day. White-haired, upright, and dignified, he greeted her with a smile full of wrinkles and a precision to his movements that reminded her of her grandfather. Unlike Gramps, he carried his thin frame with an air of gentle sadness. Kyza ran to tug on his dark indigo robe.
“’Raas!” she squealed. “’Raas! ’Raas!”
He picked her up and gave her a warm hug, then set her back down and turned to Marianne.
“I am Storaas,” he said.
He took a wooden box from a shoulder bag he’d brought with him. Kyza’s attention riveted on the box as he set it on a table, and she climbed onto a chair to see what it contained. He opened it to reveal stacks of square, wooden tiles the size of Kyza’s palms and as thick as one of her fingers. Each tile had a symbol from the Tolari syllabary burned into it.
“You have an unusual name,” Marianne said.
“Indeed.” He smiled and stacked a few tiles in front of Kyza, naming them as he did. “It comes from another time and another place.”
“You’re not Suralian?”
The question brought a chuckle from him. He stacked a few more tiles for Kyza, naming them as well. Some had tooth marks. “Yes, I am Suralian. I have taught several generations of Suralia’s rulers.”
Kyza giggled and scattered the tiles across the table.
“My activities with Kyza will resemble play,” he continued. “I will also teach her games of camouflage.”
Marianne frowned. “From what I’ve seen, camouflage exhausts her.”
“Yes, of course. She is hardly more than an infant.”
“But if she—”
“Have no concern, proctor,” he interrupted. “Continue with your teaching. For now, I will occupy her when she grows restive or bored.”
“I see.” She leaned against the table and helped Kyza gather up the tiles she’d scattered, glancing at the old man. If he’d taught Suralia’s rulers for generations, he must have taught the Sural. She tried to imagine the Sural as a boy or as a young man, happy and outgoing perhaps, before he became the somber man she knew. The thought struck her that she preferred the Sural distant and emotionless—as he hadn’
t been the day before, when Kyza had camouflaged for him. That said something about herself she wasn’t sure she liked.
Storaas laid a gentle hand, gnarled and papery, on her shoulder. Quiet reassurance spread through her. She blinked and peered first at the hand, then at his face.
He removed the hand from her shoulder with an unreadable look. “Forgive me, proctor,” he said with an apologetic bow. “I did not mean to intrude.”
<<>>
“Forgive me, high one,” Storaas told the Sural. “She is bewitching. I forgot myself. An old man’s mistake.”
The Sural sat at his desk in the open study off the audience room. The old proctor had come to him of his own accord and admitted he’d laid a hand on Marianne’s shoulder against the Sural’s explicit orders that no one, no one, touched the human proctor.
You need the Jorann’s blessing, old friend, the Sural thought. You’re too old to grow careless.
Aloud, he asked, “What did you sense in her?”
“A deep pain, high one,” the old man said. “She carries a profound wound. I have never seen the like.”
The Sural tapped his fingertips together in front of him. “Tell me more.”
“She does not fear me. I get a sense that I remind her of someone who loved her, perhaps a father figure of some kind, but I have not studied human family relationships well enough to say.”
“Excellent,” he murmured. “Is that all?”
“No, high one.”
“And?”
“And she fears you.”
The Sural shook his head and allowed himself to look grieved.
In an amused tone, the old man continued, “But she does find you—attractive.”
The Sural raised an eyebrow. He had never sensed any indication Marianne felt attracted to anyone, much less to himself, but Storaas was renowned for his unusual sensitivity and ability to read others. If he sensed it, it was there.
“She fears you because of it,” the old man finished.
He sat back. He had sensed anxiety in abundance, but never fear. Had a fear he did not sense been the reason he had so far failed to gain her trust?
“That makes no sense,” he said. “Are you certain?”
“Nothing is certain, high one. Perhaps fear is too strong a word. Anxiety may be a better one. But yes, I am confident of my abilities.”
“Astonishing.” He had sensed her anxiety many times, always leading down into the deeper pain she hid. “Did you sense what it is she hides?”
Storaas spread his hands. “I cannot say more without further study. I am no apothecary, and ignorance of human psychology limits what I can tell you with any certainty. And I do not expect the humans to share their psychological information with us soon.”
The Sural began tapping his fingertips together again. He had no honorable method to gain access to the humans’ data archives. Unless… in his role as leader of the ruling caste, he had jurisdiction over Tolari space—and everything in it. He sent a summons.
Storaas stirred.
“Speak,” said the Sural.
“Do not approach her, high one. Let her come to you.”
“Explain.”
“I cannot explain,” he said, spreading his hands again in apology. “I knew it as soon as I touched her. You must let her come to you. If you pursue her, you will frighten her more.”
The Sural pondered. He could do worse than to trust the old man’s advice. “Very well,” he said. “I will wait.”
“It will be a long wait.”
“I am a patient man.” He paused. “Proctor, when suitable opportunities present themselves, read her and report to me.”
“Yes, high one.”
A man in the dark brown robes of the science caste entered the room and stood waiting for the Sural to speak.
“I want you to determine if you can scan and copy the human ship’s data archives without being detected,” the Sural told him.
“I am not confident it can be done. I can defeat their protections, but not without alerting them.”
“Look into it further. I want access to their medical information.”
Chapter Seven
Marianne stood at a window in the family library, five standard years into her assignment—her second autumn on Tolar. The trees, bushes, and groundcover had turned yellow late in the season, preparing for the long winter. Kyza had become a little girl, and she had her father, if not captive to her every whim, at least subject to them. Marianne herself found it difficult to deny the child anything. Only Storaas resisted her manipulations. The old proctor had tutored the children of too many Suralian rulers—no one could connive him into anything, not even a talented, beautiful, and charming child.
Storaas had directed a guard to search for Kyza when she burst out of hiding with a piercing shriek and flung herself at Marianne, clinging to one of her legs.
“Kyza, NO!” the old tutor boomed in deep, authoritative tones, gesturing to the guard, who sprinted out of the room. Marianne’s stomach twisted in panic for no definable reason, and she reached down to pat the girl’s head. “No!” Storaas barked, to Marianne this time.
Marianne jerked the hand back and looked up. “What’s wrong?”
“This is a matter in which you cannot become involved.” His tenor voice dropped to a low and intense pitch. “Do not move. Do not attempt to comfort her.”
The Sural burst into view in the doorway, striding toward them. He dropped to his knees on the floor matting and pried his daughter from Marianne’s leg. Once he had broken Kyza’s hold, Marianne’s stomach stopped twisting. Kyza flung her arms around her father’s neck.
“Fafee, I am alone! All alone!” she cried into his robes.
“Hush,” he murmured, his eyes closing. “I am here now.”
“Come, proctor,” Storaas said in a low voice. “We must leave them.” He took an arm and pulled her along with him out into the corridor, giving Kyza a wide berth. Marianne looked back at father and daughter. The Sural held Kyza in a gentle hug, eyes closed, but Marianne’s skin still prickled from the wild panic in the air.
The Sural’s face drained of expression and became serene. He was handsome enough to make a woman’s heart ache. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Her own heart tightened, and she squashed the thought altogether. That was unprofessional.
<<>>
Kyza’s emotions surged as she beat her senses against the Sural. With gentle ease, he caught her and wrapped his own senses around hers, holding her fast. The world faded, leaving only his small daughter, clinging to him and drawing on his strength with a tenacity and fierceness that swelled his heart. So strong. And she was his child—his continuation—his legacy. Instinct sent his senses questing outward, seeking adults close enough to interfere and try to take her from him, and found two guards. He turned toward the nearest and scowled.
<<>>
Storaas guided the human tutor to safety in the corridor, relieved that bonding with his daughter occupied too much of the Sural’s attention for him to notice the woman’s flash of desire—Tolar’s captivated leader needed no further encouragement. As he led the object of his ruler’s infatuation away, two guards flew out the door of the library, where the Sural remained with his daughter. Storaas chuckled.
“What was that all about?” the human proctor asked, turning toward him.
“Let us walk in the garden,” he said, ignoring the question and heading out a nearby exit.
“All right.” She followed him into the morning sunshine, and he sensed annoyance rising in her. Her voice rang with it as she added, “You Tolari, you have a lot more going on under the surface than you let me see.”
He released her arm and picked an autumn flower from the groundcover, holding it close to his face and taking a deep breath of its sweet fragrance. “A pity you cannot smell this. It is quite lovely.”
Her annoyance gave way to curiosity. “Is that an allegory?” she asked.
“Human senses are quite dull compar
ed to ours,” he continued, hoping she might make the conceptual leap from comparing physical senses to other, less obvious, ones.
A thoughtful look crossed her face. Then she shivered. It was a brisk autumn morning—which, he remembered, must seem quite cold to her. He turned to her and smiled.
“Come, child.” He colored his voice with paternal affection. “I forget you consider this weather cold. Take my arm.”
She let him take her hand. He tucked it into his elbow as they continued down the wandering path. Focusing on her, he angled toward a gazebo and strolled at a slow pace as he sorted through the many and varied emotions flowing through her. Gentle and harmless, with a bit of temper, he thought, touching around the edges of the buried pain. She tries to hide this even from herself. He probed into it. Violation and fear of death wove through a tight ball of anguish. He had never seen anything like it.
“Had you friends on Earth?” he asked. “Do you miss them?” Her emotions swirled into a complex mixture of surprise, longing, and a touch of homesickness. No intimate feelings rose—she was not entwined with anyone on her home planet.
She nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“The Sural would not have you be unhappy.”
The mention of the Sural sent a cascade of unsettled emotion through her, attraction warring with anxiety. The girl clamped down on herself, not even aware of what she did. He rubbed his chin with his free hand and glanced at her. The time the Sural had spent with her had a deep effect. If she were Tolari, she would have long since shared her blanket with him—but intimacy terrified this child, with a deep and reflexive terror. He guided her into a gazebo and assisted her to a seat, taking one opposite her.
She radiated gratitude and stopped shivering. The gazebo, though open, was warmer.
“I remind you of someone,” he said.
She smiled and nodded. “Gramps,” she replied. “My grandfather—my mother’s father. He worked as an… account-keeper—very bookish, like you.”
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