The high priest was easy to find in the crowd; he was the only man wearing white. The robe was festive, made not of the mandraia plant but of syluan, one of Nuala’s two priceless exports. Trine gold—trinium—was merely the rarest of the precious metals, but syluan flowers were found nowhere else in the known stellar systems. The faint glimmer always associated with syluan gave him a slightly immaterial appearance, as if he were a dream. Arrez was tall, slender and patrician, his high cheekbones, sculptured features and dark coloring marking him of Latin ancestry. His flashing, dark eyes gave an observer the impression that Arrez missed nothing. Lyte immediately sensed a kinship between the priest and Braan, though they looked nothing alike.
Arrez’s dark tan and long, dark, swept-back hair contrasted vividly with the woman beside him. Elana had chosen a swirling syluan dress the exact color of her deep blue eyes. Lyte had only a moment to wonder if she chose the diaphanous outfit accidentally or by design, and then Braan’s grip on his elbow propelled him before the pair.
“Arrez, I would like you to met Moran’s friend, Second Officer Lyte. This is the High Priest Arrez.”
“My pleasure, warrior. Gid,” Arrez added, nodding to the man. “Lyte, may I present Dr. Elana, my firstwife?” Arrez turned an open, interested, and amused face to Lyte, who was unabashedly staring at Elana. So familiar, so beautiful, and yet ... not just at the transport ship ... “Ah, and our daughter Shinar and Elana’s son, Kire.”
Lyte turned, and beside him was the lovely young woman of Enid’s room, dressed in a riot of aqua syluan and silver netting. Her escort was a tall, handsome young man with dark auburn hair. Lyte stared a moment, and then said, “Your daughter?” He fought to control his embarrassment as he realized how it sounded, but both women were amused by his expression.
“You flatter me, warrior,” Elana began in her warm, rich voice. “Come—tonight you may continue for an indefinite length of time.” She took his arm and gently drew him off. With a quick greeting to Braan and Gid, Kire and Shinar vanished into the crowd, Kal suddenly appearing at Shinar’s side.
oOo
Relieved of his obligation, Braan turned his full attention on Arrez and Gid.
“How are Mariah and Chaka?” he asked, inclining his head graciously to High Priestess Draü and her firsthusband as they entered the hall. Arrez’s third and fourth wives were both in poor health.
“Chaka is ill again, and Mariah had a prophecy this afternoon, and is sleeping things off.”
“It was that bad?” Gid said, concerned. His family had been close to Arrez’s for many years.
Arrez frowned and, gently taking hold of Braan’s and Gid’s elbows, steered them out of the mainstream.
“I really do not know. It is the second time she has had this dream.” The priest’s voice was quiet, as if his words were not for the casual listener. “It begins more as an emotional thing—an overwhelming feeling of terror. I think much of her own fright comes from this weak, helpless feeling. Then she sees the temple, and Draü is at the altar, trying to protect the chalice. Stone is falling. I am a blur, and then gone. Baskh is there and tries to drag Draü away from the altar.” Arrez paused a moment. “And then there is fire—a veil of fire which rises and screens the scene, like syluan, she said—and it grows, consuming everyone, everything. Her last image is of the planet in flames. But they looked ... artificial? I do not think it is a literal dream.”
Braan glanced at Gid, and was disturbed by the expression on his face; he was pale, his skin dusky. This was no jest on the priest’s part—they had all ceased to play games with each other’s minds a long time ago. They knew each other too well.
“Mariah dreams truly —” Gid whispered.
“Not always,” Arrez broke in sharply. “She has a high accuracy rate, true, but no one can see all futures at all times. We have many paths before us.”
“I wonder,” Braan murmured, letting his mind wander down an unpleasant path.
oOo
The crowd burst into excited whispering, and a turn of the head told Braan that Roe and Moran had arrived. He heard the comments—the perfect couple ... Perhaps. Moran the dashing warrior, Roe heart-stopping in a flowing emerald dress. Braan amused himself wondering if anyone else had noticed that Roe had put on weight. He did not doubt the existence of a child.
“What do you think of him?” Arrez asked suddenly.
“I like him. We have not had time to talk at length, but what I have seen, I like.”
The priest nodded, his gaze following the couple with obvious pleasure. Roe was his favorite of all the Atare children. “She will be happy with him. That is most important. He will be a good husband—I think a good father. One of us should talk to him, you know—more than idle chatter. Before he leaves the planet again.”
“I shall work on it. Right now Lyte concerns me more.” Braan had been studying the silvery warrior for several minutes. He was as usual surrounded by women, both Nualan and off-worlder, and was enjoying the attention.
“Lyte? You have been hoping he would come. Granted, he is infatuated with my wife and will undoubtedly seduce—or be seduced by—my eldest daughter before he leaves, but what has he done to concern you?”
Braan laughed. “You are not disturbed at the prospect?”
Arrez smiled in return. “Elana no longer strikes me as eager to continue having children, and a foreign source always increases the chances. But if it was her wish, I would want the best for her. Kire was off-world-sired, though I have never known who his father was. Accordingly, if Shinar finds a joy in Lyte, why not? To add to our family such a healthy child, as I know it would be—it would be marvelous. And a plus for her marriage status.”
“Then you consider him the best?” Gid asked, his face sharp once more.
Arrez inclined his head slightly. “Mariah has dreamt of him and described him quite well, incidentally. She called him a wildman, a heathen king of tremendous loves and hates. She saw him two-faced, and the other was Moran’s. I prefer to interpret it as meaning that there is much of Moran in Lyte and vice-versa. Yes—I have a good feeling about him.”
“So do I,” Braan replied. “That is what worries me. He is sensitive-trained. He knows the empathy of our people, yet he is being very careful. Why? What is he hiding? I sense a fear in him, more than a warrior’s nervousness at being among so many strangers. Lyte does not strike me as a man who frightens easily. If I could just get them away from Amura for awhile ...”
“That can be arranged,” Gid said. “I have spoken to Baskh Atare. There are some rumblings up in Tolis, a disquieting air dealing with the current synod session. It is all explained in this capsule.” Gid held up the tiny, glittering tome, the seal of Baskh visible on its side. “You cannot deny that my parents and the other sinis prefer to deal with you. They trust you as they have not trusted in centuries. It is an official trip, and he would send Tal, but this needs your delicate touch. Why not take Roe, Moran and Lyte and head north with me?”
Braan hesitated. “Enid is worse....”
“I know, my friend. He hesitates to ask but for the seriousness of this business.” Gid’s voice dropped again. “It concerns the current star-shuffle and some land grabbing, among other things. My parents have not spoken openly of it, even to me. There is nothing you can do for Enid; there is much you can do for continued good relations between Amura and Tolis.”
“Look cheerful, we have company,” Arrez said in warning. He put on his warm, embracing smile as Roe and Moran came up to them.
“Gid! I thought you had left!” She embraced the dark man, who suddenly looked almost shy. “I have come to deposit my man safely in your arms, dear brother, and to borrow your man. We must go pick just the right wine for Moran. Arrez, I need your keen nose.” Ronüviel gracefully took the High Priest’s arm and drew him toward the cantinamaster. Arrez’s handsome maturity fell from him, his face lighting up boyishly as he escorted her into the crowd.
“Perhaps an herbidian chablis?” th
ey heard him say as the two disappeared in the press.
“He’d do anything for her, wouldn’t he?” Moran asked rhetorically, nodding a friendly greeting to Gid.
“As long as it was moral and honest, I would say yes,” Braan replied.
“And legal?” the warrior added for him. Braan’s sly smile crept out, and he shrugged.
Gid began laughing. “Come. Food and wine await. You have had the pill series?” Moran nodded in answer to Gid’s question. “Then by all means try the cide.”
Moran reached for a delicate pastry as Braan signaled the cantinamaster. “Dramiera, please.” The warrior glanced back to see this favorite Atare drink, noting Gid’s polite refusal. Then he looked in one of the hall’s upper mirrors—and his expression froze. Seeing Moran’s face, Braan looked up as well. Someone was using the mirrors for observation. An older man, tall, broad-shouldered, with snow white hair and dark eyes—like pits, those eyes ... The look was malevolent. Moran shuddered. The eyes seemed to recognize them, and grew more intent. Braan evenly met the gaze.
“Meant for you?”
“I do not think so ... not this time. We often use the mirrors like his, he and I. To my face he is quite cordial. That is Corymb Dielaan, the head of the Dielaan clan. He hates Atares. Especially Braan of Atare.” Braan turned away and reached for a drink; Moran followed suit. “I do not envy whomever he is seeking.” A tiny gasp of protest reached his ears. Braan’s head snapped back, but only the cantinamaster was present, his face a mask.
“You spoke?”
“No, Seri. I made his drink weaker, and he has yours.”
Moran sipped his liquor. “This is fine, not too strong.”
“In the future, please inquire first before you make such a judgment,” Braan said tranquilly, watching the cantinamaster. The man returned no expression. Turning, the Nualan prince moved away from the table, Moran and Gid following.
“I wanted to ask you to come with me into the coastal mountains,” Braan started. “I have been planning a vacation. However, something has come up, and Gid and I must go north to Tolis. I want to take Roe, though I have not yet asked her. You could bring Lyte, if you think he could handle the trip. You have never been, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. The mountains would have fascinated him. Too bad ...”
“Think about it. I know it is sudden. Here comes Roe.”
The woman appeared before them, balancing three glasses of wine. “We decided on Sonoma River Chardonnay. Arrez was raving about it, but I think you should judge for yourself.” Thanking her, the men took the glasses and tasted the wine. Always appreciative of fine wine, especially white, Moran quickly agreed with Arrez’s taste. Gid and Roe laughed at them as they stood holding a glass in each hand, and then Roe leaned over to whisper to her man. “Moran, I have to talk to you about something before Arrez announces we are getting married.”
“Announces? Tonight?”
Roe looked puzzled. “We decided on the Feast of Adel. That is tonight.”
“That feast is this feast?”
She laughed at his bewilderment and took his arm. “Too late, Arrez is signaling.” She took one of his glasses and started dragging him toward the speakers’ platform. “Here comes Baskh Atare.” Looking around wildly, Moran saw the aging ruler and his consort make their entrance to a grand ovation. Braan and Gid slipped away.
oOo
“Guests of the domain!” Arrez’s authoritative voice boomed out over an unseen amplifier. “Now that our Atare is present, we wish to bring to your knowledge glad tidings for the people of Nuala.” The conversation on the huge floor ceased; Arrez had everyone’s attention as Roe struggled to reach the platform. “Tonight, we wish to announce that another of the house of Atare, of the direct throne line of this generation, has decided to marry in the full sight of Most Holy Mendülay and of proper witnesses. I wish to announce the banns of Ronüviel reb^Ila Atare and First Officer Moran of the Axis Forces.” The uproar that followed drowned out anything else that Arrez intended to say, and finally, with a smile and a helpless shrug, he stepped from the platform and embraced Roe.
The next half hour was joyous, unnerving confusion. They were mobbed by family, diplomats and citizens alike, and emotions ranged from radiant pleasure to tight-lipped formality. Roe was reminded that potential problems were not confined to house enemies and then pushed the thought out of her mind. Her sisters and brothers were full of congratulations and suggestions; even paranoid Deveah relaxed enough to join the small, encouraging group. As the conversation flowed, Roe was suddenly aware of a dark presence and turned to her husband-to-be. Moran was facing Corymb. The elder noticed her movement and smiled graciously, nodding his head respectfully, but Roe could not rid herself of discomfort. Corymb’s smiles always meant something else. She had never doubted that the attempt on the heir’s life, many years ago, had indirectly come from Corymb. Remove Tal, and Deveah would be next in line ... and Corymb controlled Deveah. Moran’s features were carefully neutral, refusing to recoil from the death in Corymb’s face and the lies in Deveah’s eyes. Deveah’s eyes were the most disturbing—one green eye glittered, and the other, the rare Sheel Split of half green, half brown, was dull and lifeless.
Corymb would not allow a silence to settle. “The future Ragäree’s husband is an agroengineer of some renown. I hope your skills shall be as useful to the people.” The elder’s tone was polite, interested—the consummate speaker.
“Ronüviel must think so,” Moran replied. Roe knew that voice—he was controlling anger. Moran was dangerous when he was angry.
“Thank you for coming, Dielaan,” Roe murmured swiftly, using the title of respect for the man. “My man and I have much to speak of. You will excuse us? It seems a good time to leave.”
“Of course.” The colorful, pulsing crowd swirled, and both Corymb and Deveah were gone. She felt Moran relax.
He turned to her. “Thank you. You wanted to tell me something?”
“Yes.” She drew him out of the mob and toward the wall. “I have been trying to tell you that I think I am pregnant, but there has not been time to take the tests. Braan suspects, but no one else.”
Moran looked a bit dazed by the news and stared at her. Then he gently reached out to touch her cheek in a simple caress. Her expression bloomed, and she hugged him.
“Come, get your drink. I want to see Jaac before she takes Braan’s children to bed. She is their godmother, you know.” Reaching to the cantina table, Moran grabbed his Dramiera, swallowed the remainder, and then followed her.
oOo
Lyte floated among the guests, his face the blasé mask of the tratores, his ears absorbing every word and nuance. A familiar name caught his attention, and he paused near two consuls.
“Are you suggesting there are people who could profit from her removal?”
“When one is at the top of one’s profession, life itself becomes a cat-and-mouse game. It’s common knowledge what Elana has been working on for ten years. And I have seen the optics—the rumors of her findings are true!”
“You believe the Nualans are human, as we are human, and no longer need genetic tampering? Even if it is true, do you think her colleagues will stand by and watch their pet projects lose funding?”
So intelligence had been correct: Elana was currently in disfavor over her research. Something about cutting the Nualans loose from their medical intravenous tube and encouraging reproduction with no medical interference ...
“You look much too preoccupied for a party. Can I point you to some diversion?”
Lyte turned and met Shinar’s clear blue eyes. Thick blonde hair tumbling at several levels, held by clasps—what was she, sixteen terra? Gods ... “I think I just found it,” he answered.
“Oh? For the moment, perhaps. You can save the charm because, yes, I am susceptible, and yes, I am on guard. You will have to make other plans for the rest of the evening.”
“Don’t worry, I’m probably twice your age, and that tend
s to put a kink in my style. Also I don’t trust Nualan women. They steal men’s souls.”
She laughed, the sound of it ringing in the crystal goblets. “Do not let it bother you, I have had lovers much older than you.” And she was gone. Gods ...
“I’m just as interesting as she is.”
Lyte glanced to his side. The speaker was one he had talked with earlier, a person of importance; she was the under secretary of the Military Council and a second officer. She was also a lovely blonde. Lyte had a weakness for blondes.
“Who am I to disagree?” he returned, handing her a drink from the nearby cantinatable. She smiled demurely, turning on the charm. He smiled in answer, with no need to attempt to be charming.
“Just be sure she’s willing—there’s no penalty for mutual seduction, but the penalty for rape is castration.”
Lyte somehow hung on to his composure. “What about a—false accusation? Somehow an apology wouldn’t, well—”
“Make up for things? The punishment for a false accusation is death.” She laughed, then, a perverse humor taking over in her. “Needless to say, they’ve had something like two rapes and one false witness in about four thousand years. I guess it works. The law, and their social system.”
Lyte nodded absently, intending to be very sure of Shinar’s true feelings if he chose to pursue that course. “I don’t know much about Nuala. Suppose we try a few local delicacies, and you can instruct me in some of the upcoming customs. I’ve heard about the grape harvest celebration....”
“This way,” she answered, taking his arm and leading him to a banquet table.
oOo
Something was very wrong. Moran tried to remember if he had taken an anti-rav pill and could not. Of course not, he took the series long ago. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, and that frightened him. Suddenly someone was standing next to him, gripping his arm. He turned and tried to focus. Vertigo overwhelmed him. It was Ronüviel.
“Moran? What is it? You did not eat any chéraka, did you?”
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