Authors: Christie Meierz
Laughter bubbled out of her. “That attempt was a one-off,
Admiral. It can’t happen again. As long as I’m under the Jorann’s protection, the
Sural’s enemies won’t touch me, and his allies would give their lives for me.
So tell me the real reason you want me off Tolar. Could it be that Central
Command wants something from me they can’t get any other way?”
The Admiral didn’t reply. The Sural dropped his camouflage, working
on his tablet as he moved in front of the monitor. Marianne tapped the console
to shift the focus to him. The Admiral’s face went slack in shock, but he
swallowed hard and remained silent.
“Explain why you are threatening me,” the Sural demanded,
speaking Tolari.
Marianne chewed on the inside of her cheek. Would the
Admiral realize the Sural’s choice of language meant he was asserting his
authority? Perhaps. Howard appeared to backpedal.
“High one, there must be some mistake—” His Tolari was
accented, but fluent.
“There is no mistake. I heard you threaten Marianne. To
threaten her is to threaten me.”
“High one, private matters of Earth security are—”
“Irrelevant. Marianne is my bond-partner. My
wife
, if
you will, in human terms. You will respect that.”
“I – I see.”
“No, I believe you do not.”
“High one, if I’ve offended you—”
“You violate my interdict,” he continued. “You insult me by
lying about it. Then you even dare to threaten my
wife
.”
“High one—”
“Leave, Admiral Howard. Now.”
“High one, there must be some mistake—”
“Admiral. You are in Tolar’s orbit on the other side of our
star, using your technology to spy on my planet. By committing
espionage—
”
He paused, and Marianne felt something ominous. “You have lost your honor
.
”
The Admiral moved as if he had shifted in his seat. His face
was … conflicted. “We only wish to bring our citizen home. Let us have
Marianne, and we’ll leave you in peace.”
“You cannot have my
wife
,” the Sural stated. “Leave
now. I cannot guarantee your safety if you remain.”
Adeline’s voice came, faintly, from somewhere off-screen,
the words not quite intelligible to Marianne’s ear.
Addie? What’s she
telling him?
Whatever it was, the Admiral stiffened. “Just who is going
to threaten an Earth Fleet command carrier, high one? You? What will you do, shoot
arrows at us through your star? You don’t even have air travel, much less the
capability to knock my ship out of the sky.”
The Sural paused. He went cold, and then Marianne could
scarcely sense him at all, as if he were far away, though she still felt him
through their bond.
He’s shutting his barriers,
she thought. His eyes
locked with those of the Admiral’s image on the monitor.
“Leave my system.”
“Give us Marianne.”
“Farewell, Admiral.” The Sural tapped his tablet without
taking his eyes away from Howard.
The Admiral disappeared in a shower of dust. For a moment
there wasn’t a sound, and then an agonized scream shattered the silence. Marianne
cut the connection with a trembling hand, the blood draining from her face.
“You activated his wire – his suicide switch,” she whispered,
shaking. “Central Command isn’t going to like that.”
“I care little what Central Command likes,” the Sural said in
a cold voice, gazing at the blank screen of the monitor. “If they are wise,
they will think long before they send another ship.” He worked on his tablet, turning
to Marianne and warming as he relaxed his empathic barriers. “Are you unwell?”
She took an unsteady breath. “That was Laura’s scream.” She
met his eyes, swallowed hard, and glanced away, slumping back in her chair. “Poor
Laura,” she whispered.
“Beloved,” he said, setting his tablet on the desk and taking
her hands, “I did not want to execute him.”
“Then why did you?”
He gazed at her without answering.
She swallowed. “Will they consider it an act of war?”
He shook his head. “Unlikely. They are violating my
interdict. The Admiral will have known the risk he took.”
Marianne shook her head. The Sural picked up his tablet.
“My head guard will inform the crew of the
Alexander
they
have until I finish my morning meal to leave Tolari space,” he said as he
worked. “Perhaps Central Command will stay away after this ... demonstration. If
they do not, they will learn. The only question remaining is how many humans
must die before they do.” He pocketed the tablet and offered her his arm. “Shall
I escort you to the refectory, beloved?”
She nodded, hesitating.
“You have a question?”
“Where did you go?”
“The guard woke me when the
Alexander
approached.”
“Oh,” she said, lowering her face. Relief shot through her.
She looked back up at him, noticing now the fatigue in his face, the slight
redness in his eyes. He’d had little sleep, if any.
He reached down to stroke her hair. “My heart is yours,
beloved,” he said.
“Why does it have to be this way? Every time I wake alone, I
have to wonder where you are. How many women have you—”
“None since we bonded.”
She stilled. “You never told me that.”
“You did not ask.”
“How long before you have to—”
“I have two requests pending.”
She groaned.
He met her eyes. “Beloved, it will only ever be a brief
liaison. It will only be to give the woman an heir.”
Anger flared, snapping her upright. “Is that how it is with
me?” she demanded. “Am I only a ‘brief liaison’ too?”
“Beloved.”
She burst into tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said, dropping into English. “I can’t seem
to control myself anymore.”
He pulled her up from her chair and brushed away the tears. “You
need food. Let us take our morning meal together. You will feel better after
you eat.”
She nodded, not convinced she’d be able to eat after
witnessing the Admiral’s death, but she let the Sural escort her to the
refectory.
* * *
Marianne was, after all, able to eat. She picked at a grain
roll – following Cena’s advice, she had chosen one without the sugary glaze –
and glanced at the Sural. He was quiet, with occasional flickers of sadness
that rippled into her through their bond. He kept his eyes on his food, eating without
any sign of enjoyment, as if he had no appetite.
He’d been right about one thing: she felt much better with
food in her stomach. She wondered what the
Alexander
’s doctors would do
if they could see her now, consuming food that would kill a human being.
Probably have an attack of the vapors.
The Sural finished his tea and pulled his tablet out of a
pocket. He nodded while he read it, rubbing his chin, his face impassive but
his relief flowing into her through their bond. He tapped something on the
tablet before slipping it back into his robe. A few moments later, an engineer
in dark brown appeared in front of him.
“Speak,” he said.
“High one, before the human ship departed, we copied and
stored its data archives for decryption,” the engineer told him. “I am
confident the humans failed to detect it.”
“Excellent,” said the Sural. He smiled at the man. “You have
done well. Inform me when the archives are available for analysis.”
“Yes, high one,” he replied, and disappeared.
Marianne continued eating, something inside her untwisting to
know there would be no more killing for now. Then she shuddered. Poor Laura, widowed
so suddenly. It had to be devastating. She ached to give her a hug, offer
condolences ... but it wasn’t possible, even if Laura would accept it. She
might not. Despite the very un-Tolari ruse that someone was protecting their
planet, Marianne was convinced that Laura, who always seemed to see through to
the heart of things, would know it was the Sural. The last person she’d want to
hear from was the wife of her husband’s executioner.
Cheerful chatter broke through her thoughts, dispelling part
of her gloom. Marianne glanced toward the doorway to see Kyza entering the
refectory with her brown-robed maths tutor and Storaas. She smiled at the girl,
who grinned back. Storaas veered toward the high table to catch Marianne’s eye.
“Yes?” she said.
“I can begin your lessons on Old Tolari at any time, high
one,” he said. “I will be honored to teach you.”
Anticipation thrummed through her. She was looking forward
to this. “I’ll come to the library later in the morning, after my apothecary
examines me,” she told him.
“Very good, high one,” he replied, his eyes bright. Dismissed,
he went to share his meal with the rest of Kyza’s tutors at another table.
Marianne sensed a trace of approval from the Sural. “Come,
beloved,” he said. “I will escort you to the apothecaries.”
Out in the corridor, he continued, “You have given an old
man one of his life’s true pleasures, beloved. That was well done.”
“Thank Cena,” she replied. “It was her idea.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?” He was quiet a moment. “I
must reward her.”
She beamed. It was nice to get someone rewarded, for a
change, instead of ... killed.
He read her reaction. “Yes,” he agreed. “One of the real
pleasures of power.”
“Along with requests for children,” she added in as dry a
voice as she could manage.
“And that,” he said. She grimaced, and he shrugged a
shoulder. “I cannot tell you that the task itself is unpleasant.”
“You don’t have to enjoy it so much.”
“I do not suppose I will, now that I am bonded.”
She gave him a triple-take as they reached the apothecaries’
quarters. “We’ll speak of this later,” she said, as she entered Cena’s treatment
room and he headed to his study for a meeting.
The healer was waiting for her. “What was that?” she asked,
holding out a cup with Marianne’s morning potion. “Do you upset yourself
unnecessarily?”
Marianne eyed the clear amber liquid in the cup, convinced
it soothed Cena more than it controlled the mood swings, and knocked back the foul-tasting
concoction in one gulp, making faces and shuddering. When she recovered, she
removed her robe and scooted up on the bed. “I don’t like it that the Sural has
to fulfill requests for an heir.”
Cena gave her an unreadable look as she placed a number of
small devices on Marianne’s lower abdomen. “High-ranking women can only request
a child from a man with an heir,” she said. “Some have been waiting for Kyza to
pass the trials and be named legal heir to Suralia.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “Just what I needed to know.”
“To be honest, it is hard for me to understand your
discomfort. It is an honor. In the case of these two women, it is a great
honor.”
“Do you know them?”
“Yes, high one. All such requests come first to the Sural’s
apothecary. I forward only those which meet his requirements.” She gave
Marianne a penetrating glance, probing. “You are more than merely upset by
this.”
“I’m ... I’m jealous,” Marianne admitted.
Cena paused, an eyebrow climbing her forehead. “Why?” she
asked, pressing buttons on the devices and glancing at her tablet.
“Well ... well ...” Marianne stopped. “What if he finds
someone he wants more? What if he regrets being with someone who has to be
watched to keep her from running off a cliff?”
“You are pair-bonded, high one. He cannot regret being with
you. He cannot love another, and were you to die, he would most likely follow
you into the dark. Even did he survive that, he would live as half a man and
never love again. He is completely yours.”
“But he’ll give himself to other women—”
“He will give them nothing but his seed, and that only
because it is his duty. High one,” she paused, thinking, “in our tradition, his
body is not his to give. He can give you only his heart, and this he has done.
He has no interest in anyone but you. You will find you have no interest in
anyone but him, should you ever decide to mother the child of another man.”
“I’ll fly a kite in a tornado first,” Marianne grumbled
under her breath. Cena handed her the medical tablet. It displayed two pictures
of her baby, one at actual size – less than two millimeters long – and one a
detailed close-up. She gazed at them for a long moment, her irritation
dissolving.
“She looks like a
tadpole
.” She had to use the
English word. Cena mouthed it, while Marianne searched her memory for an
appropriate Tolari term. “A juvenile amphibian, on Earth.”
Cena grinned. She took the tablet back and examined the baby
through it. “All is well with her.” She turned her attention on Marianne
herself and frowned. “You need to drink more fluids. Consume at least one full
mug of tea with each meal and take water and juices between meals and in the
evening.”
“Yes, apothecary,” Marianne sighed, deciding it could be
worse than drinking enough to send her to the necessary every ten minutes: Cena
could have decided that she needed more of those evil-tasting potions.
Cena collected her instruments. “You are free to dress, high
one.”
“I— My gratitude, Cena. About the Sural. That helps.”
“It is my honor, high one.”
* * *
In the library, Storaas put Marianne’s linguistic abilities
through their paces. Old Tolari was a dead language – except, possibly, to the
Jorann – but it was very different from the two modern Tolari languages she
knew. She relished the challenge, losing herself in its sounds, learning nouns
and verbs and common phrases. Before she realized how much time had passed, Storaas
was standing over her, eyes sparkling, waiting to inform her that it was time
for the midday meal.
He accompanied her in the corridor. “My gratitude, high
one,” he said as they neared the refectory.
“For what, Proctor?”