Sitting on the floor, wedged in a corner, Vyrl pulled his legs to his chest and folded his arms on them. Then he dropped his forehead onto his arms and sat in silence. He had come to this studio in the basement of the castle to work out, but he couldn’t muster the energy. Since his parents had taken him from the cabin this morning, he hadn’t even felt like speaking, let alone moving. He would have run into the plains, but they wouldn’t even let him outside.
The footsteps were so quiet Vyrl didn’t hear them until cloth rustled nearby. Raising his head, he saw his mother a few paces away. Dressed in a simple jumpsuit with her hair pulled back, she looked more like a farmer’s wife than an interstellar potentate.
He spoke in a low voice. “Is Devon Majda still upstairs?”
She nodded, sitting gracefully on the gold-stalk floor near him. “But the colonel who came down from the Ascendant has left.”
Vyrl tried not to hide his fear. “Will ISC send me to prison?”
“No.” She spoke firmly. “But you will be expected to work at the starport until you pay off the damages you caused.”
Vyrl exhaled. As much as he disliked working at the port, his penalty could have been a lot worse. He forced out the harder question. “And Majda?” Although he hadn’t seen Devon yet, he felt the tension filling his home.
Her voice quieted. “We may be able to mend the fracture between Majda and the Ruby Dynasty. But you and Lily did great insult to Majda.”
Vyrl had no excuses. So he said nothing.
Roca pushed her hand over her hair, pulling tendrils out of the clip. Compared to her usual elegant demeanor, now she seemed drained. “A split between our family and Majda could destabilize the government.”
“Why? The Ruby Dynasty no longer reigns. We’re just a bunch of farmers.”
“Do you really believe that?”
He met her gaze squarely. “Yes.”
His mother paused. “It is true that the Ruby Dynasty no longer rules the Imperialate. But we still wield a great deal of power. With that comes responsibilities. Our actions, policies, and alliances have great impact on the Assembly. We and they are inextricably linked. So is Majda, to us and to the Assembly.” She brushed back the tendrils of hair curling around her face. “When we suffer discord, it weakens the Assembly, and so weakens the Imperialate.”
Vyrl thought of his father upstairs with Devon. “So now we have discord with Majda.” He knew that, on an interstellar scale, the union of Majda and the Ruby Dynasty was far more important than the happiness of two young lovers. But that knowledge didn’t lessen the pain in his heart.
His mother lifted her hand as if to lay it on his arm as she had often done in his younger years, offering comfort. When he stiffened, unable to accept her solace, she lowered her arm. Gently, she said, “Devon is still willing to take you as consort, after we annul your marriage.”
No! Vyrl felt as if a cage were closing around him. “Doesn’t she know how you found me this morning?”
Roca nodded. “Yes. Despite that, she is willing to accept the arrangement.”
He clenched his fists on his knees. “You can’t annul my marriage.”
His mother frowned. “Young man, we most certainly can. You and Lily are both underage, even for Lyshriol.”
He scowled at her. “Then I can’t marry Devon either.”
“You can with parental consent.”
“What, my consent doesn’t matter?”
Her anger disintegrated. “Hai, Vyrl. I am so sorry.”
He blinked. It was easier to be angry with his parents when they were angry with him. Sympathy and compassion were harder to handle. In a quieter voice, he said, “I’m not a political arrangement. I’m a human being.”
“Yes. You are. A special, remarkable human being.” She indicated the room around them. “What do you see here?”
Her question baffled him, and he couldn’t tell from her mind what she was about. The room looked the same as always: large, longer than wide, and mirrors along one wall with a bar at waist height. His athletic bag hung on the bar. The ceiling shed uniform light, leaving no shadows; the floor was gold-stalk, polished by years of use.
“It’s just the dance studio,” he said.
She smiled. “When you children were small, I practiced here everyday. For some reason it affected you more than the others.” She indicated an area by one wall. “When you were a baby, you would sit in your carrier there and watch me, laughing and kicking your legs with the music.”
Vyrl had no idea why she was telling him this, but it brought back wonderful memories. He had taken his first steps in this room, trying to mimic his mother’s dancing, which had seemed magic to him. From that day on, she had taught him what she knew, until seven years ago when she had brought in off-world instructors, including Rahkil Mariov.
He couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me to stop following you around.”
“I was delighted.” She gave him a rueful look. “Your father was less pleased, to put it mildly. But we could feel how much you loved it, and he couldn’t bear to deny you that.”
Suddenly he saw, or thought he saw, why she brought this up. “Lily knows I dance. She has accepted it.”
A blend of emotions came from her mind, relief at his news, but also sadness. “I’m glad. I can imagine how much that means to you. But I wasn’t thinking of Lily.” She sighed. “You’re a bright young man, Vyrl, but in most things you have so little focus. Convincing you to do schoolwork is like trying to extract a tooth without benefit of modern dentistry.”
He grimaced at the apt image. “School is boring. I can’t put my heart into it.”
Her voice softened. “Three times in your life, I’ve seen you pour your heart into something. The results have been incredible.”
Although he felt her sincerity, empathy could only tell him so much; her specific meaning eluded him. He indicated the studio. “Do you mean this?”
“Yes. This.” She regarded him with a respect that startled him, particularly now, when he was in so much trouble. “I wonder if you fully realize what you do. I know of few if any other dancers who have trained like you.”
He spoke dryly. “Given that I’m probably the only man on the entire planet who dances, that doesn’t say much.”
“I wasn’t speaking of Lyshriol.”
Puzzled, he said, “But I thought you danced with the Parthonia Royal Ballet.”
Her gaze remained steady. “I did.”
Her comments made no sense. Parthonia was a ballet company of interstellar renown. “Didn’t they train?”
“Yes. Of course.” With that unrelenting compassion of hers, she said, “But no one in their youth did what you’ve done. A minimum of three hours a day all your life, almost since you could walk. And now what is it? Four hours? Five? I’ve seen you spend the entire day dancing, when you have nothing else to do. It’s incredible.”
He shrugged. “It’s fun.” In truth, it was a great deal more, so much a part of his life that to stop would be like trying to quit breathing. But he didn’t know how to put that into words.
Roca regarded him steadily. “Vyrl, you are more than a ‘good’ dancer. Rahkil Mariov tells me you are the best he has ever worked with.”
Vyrl thought of his instructor. “If he only takes one student at a time, he can’t have worked with that many.” It surprised him; he considered Rahkil a truly gifted teacher.
“Before he came here, he trained hundreds of dancers. Prodigies. He was one of the most sought-after masters.” His mother motioned skyward, as if to encompass all settled space. “In his prime, Rahkil was also considered among the greatest male dancers in modern history.”
Vyrl could see why. He had watched holos of Rahkil performing. He was magnificent. And despite Rahkil’s constant curmudgeonly disapproval, Vyrl thoroughly enjoyed his classes. Sometimes Rahkil even forgot himself and complimented his young student.
But his mother’s comments perplexed him. “If R
ahkil is so in demand, why would he come here to teach one boy who will probably never make dance his career?” As soon as he spoke, he saw the answer. Stiffening, he said, “Because I’m a Ruby prince.”
“We didn’t tell him who you were when we sent holos of you dancing.”
Vyrl’s anger fizzled. “But—then why did he come?”
She spoke with kindness. “Because you have an incredible gift. You could walk out of here today and win a place in any major dance company. Rahkil says you will someday surpass what he achieved in his prime.”
Vyrl gaped at her. “That’s crazy.”
“Ah, Vyrl.” Her voice held a mother’s pain. “Shall you spend your life hiding this spectacular gift? Will you live ashamed of a talent and dedication that together could make you a legend in a profession you love more than almost anything else?”
Vyrl couldn’t answer. Yes, it hurt, having to hide what he loved, but Lyshriol was his life, all he had ever known. He couldn’t imagine anything else.
He spoke in a low voice. “You said you had seen me put my heart into three things. Dance is only one.”
“Farming, too.”
“I can’t farm as the Majda consort.”
“You could become an agriculturist. A research scientist.”
“I don’t want to do research. I want to make my living from the land.” Despite the betraying moisture in his eyes, he found himself smiling. “Working in the fields, caring for livestock, making a life out of golden days—that’s magic, Mother, real magic.” Softly, he said, “And you’ve still only mentioned two things.”
Regret washed out from her mind. They both knew the third dream that inspired his heart. “She’s a lovely girl,” Roca said. “In a different universe, I think you and Lily could have been very happy.”
“Not could have been,” he whispered. “Will be.”
Her voice caught. “I am so, so very sorry.” With the grace he had always admired, she held up her hand as if to offer him the studio. “We can’t have all our dreams. But we can have some of them.”
Vyrl struggled against the heat in his eyes. He wouldn’t cry, not now, not in front of his mother.
What made it so hard was that, deep inside, he yearned for the gift she offered, the chance to follow his most secret dream.
Even expecting it, Vyrl jumped when the knock came at the door. He suddenly wished he hadn’t chosen this chamber, the circular room high in the tower. When his father had asked where he would like the meeting to take place, he had thought he would be calmer here, but instead it felt as if his sanctuary was being invaded.
Clenching his blue-glass goblet, he swirled its liquid, inhaling the tangy fragrance. Normally his parents didn’t let their children drink wine, but today his father had made an exception, treating him as an adult instead of a child. Although Vyrl appreciated the gesture, it didn’t help. He had never liked the taste of wine.
The knock came again.
Taking a deep breath, Vyrl stood and walked across the blue chamber. Then he mentally steadied himself and opened the door.
Devon stood on the landing outside.
Instead of a uniform, today she wore suede trousers and a gold shirt. She even had on a gold necklace with a hawk design, the emblem of Majda. She seemed subdued, her face drawn and her eyes dark with fatigue.
She bowed from the waist. “My greetings, Prince Havyrl.”
So they were back to titles. He nodded. “My greetings, General Majda.” Moving aside, he invited her to enter.
Devon entered the chamber. “This is beautiful.”
“It’s…calm.” He couldn’t say more. To tell her what this place meant to him would be a betrayal of a trust, somehow, though he wasn’t sure to whom. Himself, perhaps.
She waited until he sat on his bench, then settled on another one nearby that curved against the wall.
With stiff formality, Vyrl spoke the words he had been practicing all day. “Please accept my apology for my offense to Majda. I deeply regret any insult my actions gave your line. I hope our House and yours may remain allies.”
Devon answered without delay. “Majda accepts your apology. We look forward to a fruitful alliance with the Ruby Dynasty.”
Vyrl exhaled. There. It was done.
So they sat.
When the silence grew strained, Devon said, “Vyrl, I—” in the same instant that Vyrl said, “My father—” They both stopped and gave awkward laughs. Then Devon said, “Please. Go ahead.”
“My father told me what you and he discussed.”
Devon gave a tired nod. “Perhaps it is best to do this soon instead of waiting. As long as you live on Lyshriol, you will be…” She hesitated.
“Distracted?” He heard his bitterness. “By memories of my former wife?”
Devon said, simply, “Yes.”
Vyrl tightened his grip on his goblet. “So let’s just marry off the recalcitrant groom now and get the whole business over with.”
She shifted on the bench. “I am sorry you see it that way.”
“Everyone is sorry.” He looked out the window, trying to hide the pain he knew showed on his face. “Lady Devon, you should marry the man you love. Not me.”
Startled tension snapped in her voice. “What are you talking about?”
Vyrl turned to see her sitting rigidly, gripping the edge of the bench. He said, “The handsome man with the dark hair and eyes.”
She seemed to close up. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“I saw him. In your mind.”
For a long moment she remained silent. Just when he thought he had made a fool of himself with his assumption, she spoke quietly. “If the Matriarch of Majda were to marry a commoner, it would be a great scandal. An outrage. She would be stripped of her title and her authority. Nor would the children of any such union be considered Majda heirs.”
Gods. What could he say? He and Devon each had their duty, and love had no place in it. What did it matter if they died inside a little more every day, as long as the pillars of the Imperialate remained strong?
Devon gentled her voice. “Vyrl, I won’t ask for anything you aren’t ready to give. We can live at whichever of my estates you prefer. And you will have advisors, people to help you learn your new role. No one expects a youth your age to manage a palace with a staff of many hundreds. You will have time to adjust.”
“Adjust.” Vyrl felt as if he were caught in a nightmare that kept going. He would never wake up.
She spoke carefully. “It is true that Majda has certain expectations for your behavior. But this isn’t the Ruby Empire. Those days are long in our past. I don’t expect you to stay in seclusion or cover yourself in robes. You are free to pursue your interests.”
If that was meant to reassure him, it had the opposite effect. “What do you mean, expectations for my behavior?”
“You will be a highly placed member of the Imperial Court. Certain protocols are required.”
Vyrl finished his wine with a long swallow, trying to wash away the bitter images. Yes, he knew court protocol. He couldn’t imagine living that constrained lifestyle, always under scrutiny by the noble Houses, caught in their webs of intrigue. And regardless of what Devon promised about modern-day freedoms, he knew he would be viewed and treated as her possession.
He stared at his empty goblet. Then he lifted it and let the glass drop. It shattered on the tiles, blue-crystal shards scattering everywhere. “That is what you will do to me if you make me leave here.”
When Devon stiffened, he feared he had gone too far and destroyed the long hours of conciliation his parents had spent, repairing the rift he had created. What was wrong with him? He had nothing to accomplish by antagonizing the person he would spend the rest of his life with. But if this was any sample of their future, he didn’t see how he could bear it.
Devon stared at the broken glass strewn across the floor. Then she braced her hands against her knees. “I can’t do this. I feel like a monster.”
&
nbsp; Do what? “I don’t understand.”
She turned to him. “The betrothal.”
It was his turn to go rigid. Surely he misunderstood, his heart hearing what his brain knew was false. “What do you mean?”
She took a long breath. “I can’t force a child to become my consort against his will.” Although she watched him with a guarded expression, there was no mistaking the pain that came from her mind. “If you choose to end this arrangement, I will accept your decision without rancor to your family.”
Vyrl’s heart lurched. “You mean, I could stay married to Lily?”
Devon exhaled. “Yes.”
Yes. Yes! He almost shouted it, but he managed to hold back his exuberance, aware of the insult it would add to the injury he had already done Majda.
Devon continued in her throaty voice. “But, Vyrl—before you decide, consider this: If you choose to stay here, you will never realize your dreams.”
His joy crashed down again. He told himself it was only his fear that she would withdraw her offer. That was true—in part. But he longed for the freedom to dance, to perform, to explore the limits of his ability, and to do it without shame or guilt, admired instead of scorned.
The dream tempted him like a siren call.
A small cleaning droid whirred through the doorway. It nosed around the shards of glass, then began to vacuum them into its interior.
“I’ve seen holos of your dancing,” Devon said.
Vyrl froze. “Who showed you?”
“Your teacher. Rahkil Mariov.”
He wanted to sink into the floor and let the droid vacuum him up, too. “I hope it didn’t offend you.”
“Offend me?” Incredulity washed across her face. “You really have no idea how you look, do you?”
“Yes, I do. I work out facing the mirror.” It showed every mistake, again and again, until he fixed the problem.
She spoke slowly. “I have often wondered what it does to a person to stare for hours into a mirror for the sole purpose of finding flaws. Your dancing seems a cruel art.”
Irresistible Forces Page 19