Irresistible Forces

by Catherine Ansaro et al

  "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, as 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.

  Vyrl's face burned. He had known her for years. She and Lily were always giggling together, often at him, though he had never understood why they found him so amusing.

  Now she wouldn't even acknowledge him. After the news about his betrothal had spread in the village, his friends no longer seemed comfortable with him. Did they look away because he had become different, his title made real, the son of a mysterious queen who came from above the sky?

  No one else had realized yet he was on the stairs, so he remained still, watching. His mother looked every bit her Ruby Dynasty heredity. Tall and statuesque, in a soft blue jumpsuit, she stood by the fireplace with a posture of quiet confidence. Gold hair curled around her face, cascaded over her shoulders and arms, and poured down her back. His father stood next to her, one elbow on the mantel as he spoke to their guest.

  Devon Majda.

  Vyrl couldn't stop staring at the general. She wore a trim uniform, green with gold on the cuffs, and polished knee-boots that made her taller than his parents. Her black hair hung glossy and straight to her shoulders, framing a face of austere, aristocratic perfection, from her aquiline nose to her dark, upward-tilted eyes. With her long limbs and athletic build, she projected a sense of energy. An aura of power surrounded her, as if she took her rank and heredity for granted. Indeed, she should; only one other family had more status or wealth than Majda—the Ruby Dynasty.

  Vyrl didn't care about ancient empires, modern politics, or wealth. He just wanted his own family and a farm. Unfortunately, that probably had a lot to do with why Devon had chosen him to sire her heirs. Thinking of what went into that siring, he flushed, certain his face was turning bright red. Given the differences in their ages, he hadn't expected to find her so attractive. But she still seemed old to him. He couldn't imagine her as his wife.

  Glancing toward the stairs, his mother caught sight of him. With a smile, she raised her hand, beckoning. Devon idly glanced his way, then did a double take, her gaze widening. A surge of appreciation overflowed her mind; she apparently liked what she saw. Acutely aware of them watching, he came down the stairs. He grew even more self-conscious as he crossed the long room to the hearth.

  When he reached them, Devon bowed deeply from the waist. As she straightened, Vyrl nodded with the formality his title required. Raising his head, he found himself looking straight into her eyes. It startled him. He was used to the girls in Dalvador, who came only to his shoulder, if that much. He took after his mother's people, with their greater height.

  Devon spoke in Iotic, the language of the nobility. "My honor at your presence, Your Highness."

  Although here in Dalvador he rarely needed to follow the protocol of the Imperial Court, Vyrl had learned its ways. He answered in flawless Iotic. "And mine at yours, General Majda." He wondered if he sounded as awkward as he felt.

  She smiled, her expression formal but not unfriendly. "Devon, please."

  "Devon." He tried to smile back, though the expression felt stiff on his face. "Please call me Vyrl."

  She repeated his name in her Iotic accent, making it sound like Vahrialle, which was, he supposed, the proper pronunciation. All his friends drawled Verle in the rural Dalvador dialect.

  They talked for a bit, a stilted conversation. He could think of almost nothing to say. Standing with his parents while he met the woman that half the galaxy expected him to impregnate was about the most mortifying experience he could imagine.

  His father was watching them closely. To Devon, he said, "Perhaps you would like to take a walk? Vyrl can show you the countryside."

  "I would like that," Devon said.

  Vyrl's shoulders relaxed. The idea of being alone with her didn't ease his agitation, but at least his parents wouldn't be watching. Although his mother smiled at him, he felt the sadness she tried to hide. Her heart had ached that same way when Eldrin had left home and when Althor had received his acceptance to the off-world military academy.

  I never wanted you to look at me that way, Vyrl thought to her. I've always wanted to stay on Lyshriol. But he couldn't say it out loud, not in front of General Majda.

  Walking with Devon across the plains made Vyrl twitch inside. Just two days ago he had run free here and held Lily in his arms. It tore at him to return to this place with a stranger, but he did his best to hide his sense of loss. He could almost hear his brother Del-Kurj deriding him: Enough of your melodramatic adolescent angst! As if what Vyrl felt for Lily couldn't be serious, or as if Del-Kurj was so much more incredibly mature. Vyrl could tell his parents also believed he was too young to fall in love. None of that mattered. He knew what he felt for Lily was genuine.

  Devon walked at his side, her dark hair ruffled by the wind. She spoke politely. "This is beautiful countryside."

  "I've always thought so." Vyrl glanced around at the nodding grasses that brushed their hips and the lavender sky with its blue puffs of cloud. He wanted to add, I love it with every part of my being. I can't leave. But he remained silent.

  "Two suns." She peered at the sky, shielding her eyes with her hand. "It's an unstable configuration, you know."

  "The suns?" He had thought the problem was with the planet. Contradicting her would hardly be tactful though.<
br />
  She lowered her hand. "I meant this world, Lyshriol. Its orbit is unstable. The binary star system perturbs it."

  "Oh. Yes." Vyrl pushed back the curls blowing across his face. "My tutor says astronomical engineers from the Ruby Empire moved Lyshriol here and terraformed it for human colonists. They had technologies we've yet to recover."

  "Yes. They did a good job." She smiled, her aristocratic face warmed by the sunlight. "It's very pretty."

  Vyrl had never thought of the land that sustained his people and his dreams as "pretty." At a loss for an appropriate response, he remained silent.

  They strolled toward a distant herd of lyrine grazing on bubble stalks. He stopped about a hundred meters away, reluctant to disturb them. "Those are my father's livestock."

  Devon studied the herd. "They're genetically engineered from horses, aren't they?"

  "That's what we think." Biology was one of the few subjects he actually liked. "But if that's true, they've become very different animals."

  She laughed softly. "I must admit, I've never seen pastel blue horses before. And those horns of theirs are charming. They act like prisms, yes?"

  "Well, yes, I guess so." He had always liked the way sunlight refracted in rainbow flashes through the translucent horns of the lyrine. Their hooves produced the same effect, making it look as if they struck sparks of color from the ground when they ran in sunlight. It had never seemed unusual to him, but perhaps it was more so than he realized. Or maybe she was simply trying to make conversation.

  He motioned at several boulders that crested the grass, which spread around them like an ocean of reeds. "Would you like to sit?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  They settled side by side on the largest boulder, which was shaped like a huge table. Devon continued to gaze over the plains. The wind whipped back her hair, accenting the classic bone structure of her face. To Vyrl, she seemed out of place here, a technocrat with an impeccable pedigree transplanted to a rustic setting that offered her no challenge. He had a hard time reading her mood. When he tried, he ran into the mental wall she used to shield her mind. Nor could he relax his defenses around her. With Lily, his barriers had dissolved without his even realizing it, but now his mind felt as closed as a fortress.