B00CH3ARG0 EBOK

by Christie Meierz

  Daughters of Suralia

  Tales of Tolari Space ~ Book 2

  Christie Meierz

  Daughters of Suralia

  Tales of Tolari Space ~ Book 2

  Copyright © 2013 by Christie Meierz

  All rights reserved.

  Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Winry Carver

  All rights reserved. Used with permission.

  Cover design by Laura Shinn

  KINDLE Edition

  Daughters of Suralia is a work of fiction. It is a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, organizations, or events is coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced without the author’s permission, with the exception of short excerpts used for the purpose of critical reviews.

  Also by Christie Meierz:

  The Marann (Tales of Tolari Space ~ Book 1)

  Into Tolari Space ~ The First Contact Stories

  Great Expectorations ~ A Short Story

  For Sarah

  Acknowledgments

  First, I want to thank my husband, family, and friends for putting up with my writing habit and giving me valuable feedback. I’d also like to thank my editor, Laurie Boris, for her fantastic work; Racheal Kline, my indefatigable reader; and AC Flory and Anna Zaires for their support. Special thanks go to Winry Carver, whose fertile imagination is populating my world with Tolari plants.

  One must be responsible because all of Creation is related.

  The hurt of one is the hurt of all.

  The honor of one is the honor of all.

  Whatever we do affects everything in the universe.

  White Buffalo Calf Woman

  Chapter One

  It looked like a bluish-green potato and tasted like an apple. Except it did, and it didn’t. Kind of.

  Marianne turned the succulent, oblong vegetable over in her hands and bit into one end. Juice ran down her chin, and she took another bite, sucking at it before it could drip onto the refectory table in front of her. She nodded and smiled as she chewed the crisp flesh. God it tasted good.

  A wisp of amusement tinged with disapproval wafted through her, interrupting her enjoyment. She looked up in mid-bite. The Sural and his young daughter, Kyza, both stared at her, their matching mahogany eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter.

  “What?” she asked. “Eat the same ten things every day for eight standard years and then see how much you enjoy the taste of something different.”

  The Sural’s lips twitched; Kyza stifled a giggle. Marianne straightened and wiped her chin with a cloth, continuing her meal in a more dignified manner. Then she stared at her Tolari bond-partner with a gaze that promised retribution. He lifted one corner of his mouth. Oh yes. There was going to be retribution.

  His smooth, bronze – and strikingly handsome – face went impassive. She kept staring, trying her best to imitate the steady, penetrating look for which the Tolari were infamous.

  “Will you be in the garden later?” he asked. He looked bland, but the empathic bond they shared meant that his emotions flowed through her as if they were her own. He was amused ... and thrumming with anticipation.

  She smirked. “Possibly,” she replied. “Or possibly not.”

  He eyed her with a speculative gleam. Then he changed the subject. “Have you given any more thought to finding an apothecary?”

  “Pfft.” The rude noise escaped her before she thought to stop it. Clearing her throat, she said, “I don’t see the need.”

  “Your body is changing in subtle ways as you become Tolari. You should be monitored.”

  “So you keep saying, but I’m perfectly healthy. I’ve had no difficulties at all.”

  “I cannot understand your reluctance.”

  “You should,” she snapped. “You’re the reason for it.”

  His eyebrows went up, as embarrassment brought a rush of blood to her face. He glanced at his daughter. She seemed to be done with her meal.

  “Go to your studies, child,” he said.

  “Yes, Father.” Kyza slipped out of her chair and trotted out the refectory door, headed for the family library and an afternoon with her tutors. Just eight standard years old – about four Tolari years – the girl spoke seven languages and was currently learning an intense overview of her people’s 6,000-year history.

  Marianne pulled her attention back to her bond-partner. Is the honeymoon over? It’s only been half a season. She tried to get a grip on her irritation. It’s not entirely his fault, she told herself, as she switched to English. “I know you don’t have any concept or practice of medical confidentiality here,” she said in a more reasonable tone of voice. “But I wish, I really wish, you hadn’t told the apothecaries about my…” She trailed off. The words wouldn’t come.

  “About your childhood,” he finished.

  She swallowed. “Just because you confide all your thoughts to your apothecary doesn’t mean I’m willing to. I had more than enough of psychs and doctors by the time I left my teens, and your apothecaries are both. And I tested healthy on my psych evals before coming here, you know.”

  He cocked his head. “You cannot hide your anxiety from me as you hid it from your doctors on Earth, beloved.”

  “But I don’t know which of the apothecaries know and which don’t. Not to mention, you fathered your own head apothecary. It’s mortifying.”

  “They all seek only your benefit.”

  “Even if I wanted an apothecary,” she continued, “it’s not possible to get any human medical or psychological data, not while you have humans interdicted. So what would be the benefit?”

  “You should be monitored. You even smell different.”

  She blinked. She smelled different now? Her sense of smell was more sensitive than it had been, but apparently it wasn’t as sensitive as the Sural’s. Yet. “Well, that only makes sense. Different diet, different ... everything.”

  “Even so.”

  “Can’t it wait until you’ve lifted the interdict and can trade for information? It’s not like I’m going to die any time soon. Taking the blessing added 300 standard years to my lifespan. Two standard years is nothing.”

  He fixed her with a look, eyebrows lifted again. “Your logic is flawed.”

  “How so?”

  “By the time two standard years have passed, you will be fully Tolari. My apothecaries will have no need for a human medical archive.”

  “Um.” She took a breath and gusted it back out. He had her there. “All right, I’ll give it more consideration.”

  He nodded, but left one skeptical eyebrow cocked. “I have a brief meeting with my advisors. I will find you afterward.”

  She pursed her lips and nodded. He rose from his heavy, throne-like chair at the head of the table, leaving the refectory in a swish of embroidered blue robes and ankle-length black hair, his head nearly grazing the lintel of the doorway as he passed under it. She shook her head. The man was a giant, well over two meters tall.

  A sigh escaped her. Now she was alone at the high table. Even if she had no intention of confiding in an apothecary, she yearned to just talk with someone. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to build any friendships here. Her new status as a Tolari high one created an invisible wall separating her from the other inhabitants of the stronghold. That was the last thing she’d wanted, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to circumvent it.

  To make it all worse, her free time was abundant. She’d come to Tolar to teach human languages to Kyza, who would one day be her father’s ambassador to the Six Planets. Now that the girl had passed the trials to become a member of the ruling caste, Tolari tutors took a larger role in her education, and Marianne’s waned. With less to do, and more time to not do it
in, she was growing lonely.

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek. If only she had another human woman to talk to about it, as she had when Earth Fleet was in-system. Like Laura Howard, even if the Admiral’s wife was old enough to be her mother. Or Addie Russell, the Ambassador’s wife, though Marianne strongly suspected her of being a spook. But they’d been gone for half a season – about three months on Earth – since the Sural cut off diplomatic relations with Central Command. For the first time since she’d come to Tolar, no Earth Fleet ship orbited the planet. It felt like a hole in the sky.

  The refectory snapped back into focus. She’d stopped eating and was staring out a window, lost in thought. No longer hungry, she left her place at the high table and headed out into the gardens. The midday sun was warm, and she tilted her face up, drinking it in.

  If only Suralia were a tropical province, and I could enjoy this year-round.

  She shook her head, rueful. Suralia was as far from tropical as it was possible to be, snuggled right up against the glaciers which dominated the northern hemisphere of Tolar. Perhaps the next winter wouldn’t seem as cold as the last one, now that she was mostly Tolari. She hoped so.

  She hadn’t been wandering the garden paths long when the Sural dropped out of camouflage and fell into step beside her. She took his arm with a happy grin. His meeting really had been brief this time. His advisors often kept him closeted half the afternoon when they wanted a ‘short’ meeting.

  “Beloved,” he said.

  She stopped and peered at him. His dark eyes gleamed, and male pride hummed through him, the same pride she always sensed when he spoke of the children he’d fathered. “Boy or girl?” she asked.

  He broke into a smile that was both pleased and surprised. “You are improving! A prominent member of the science caste gave birth this morning to a son I fathered.”

  Her mood soured. She turned away into a gazebo.

  “Why do they want you, anyway?” she asked as she dropped onto a bench inside the graceful pavilion.

  “I am strong as well as intelligent,” he answered, taking a seat beside her. She snorted at his serene lack of modesty. “High intelligence is not always accompanied by physical strength. They seek this from me.”

  She didn’t reply, struggling to banish unwanted imaginings of him with another woman. Tolari ways were not like human ways, she told herself. It was just reproduction. It had nothing to do with emotion.

  She didn’t have to look at his face to know he was aware of her struggle. The empathic bond went both ways.

  “Beloved, this child was conceived a season before we bonded,” he said, his voice gentle.

  “You told me that your heart was mine years before that,” she countered.

  “It was.”

  She sagged and swallowed in an attempt to clear the lump in her throat. When she spoke, her voice sounded hollow in her own ears. “Then why?”

  He rested a hand on her shoulder. “The Sural cannot simply refuse all requests.”

  “A Suralia can.”

  “A Suralia must experience two seasons of pregnancy and six to ten seasons of caring for a young child. A Sural is asked only for a few moments of pleasure.”

  “I don’t want to share you!”

  “You do not share me.”

  “How can you say that?” she challenged him. “I have to share you with every Tolari woman who has a little power and a promising genetic analysis.”

  “They have no place in my heart.”

  “They just have my place under your blanket.”

  “They have no place under my blanket. I go to theirs.”

  Blood rushed to her face. With a wordless noise of frustration, she jumped up from the bench and began pacing back and forth. “Why can’t you just be mine?”

  “I am only yours, beloved.” He reached for her hand.

  “Yes, you’re mine all right,” she retorted, snatching her hand out of reach. She stabbed the air with an index finger. “And hers, and hers, and hers.”

  “Only you have a claim on my heart.”

  She stopped pacing and faced him, eyes brimming. “I don’t want to share you,” she whispered. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  This time he caught her hand and pulled her back onto the bench with him. He wrapped his arms around her. “You do not share me,” he repeated. “I am only yours.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said between sobs.

  “No,” he agreed, rocking her as she cried into his robes. “We do not understand each other on this.” He stroked her hair. “But it is very important to you.”

  She nodded.

  He leaned his chin in her hair and heaved a sigh. “I will ... investigate my choices.”

  * * *

  Duty took the Sural to another meeting. Marianne remained in the gazebo, pulling herself together in its relative solitude. She dropped her head into her hands and silently cursed. The Sural didn’t flaunt his ... reproductive behavior. He knew it hurt and upset her to think of him with another woman, so he never spoke of it. So what perversity in her nature led her to bring it up?

  Investigate his choices. She rubbed her temples, wondering what that meant. It wouldn’t mean he could say no to all requests, damn their hidebound Tolari tradition. They didn’t need to keep requiring men to be available for reproduction. It may have been necessary 6,000 years earlier, when there were fewer than fifty Tolari, but it couldn’t be needed now, not with the planet’s population approaching 40 million. And he considers it an honor to be asked. A bitter laugh sputtered out of her.

  She sucked in a deep breath and focused on the garden, with its chattering flutters and humming insects. Eventually, the peace quieted her irritation, leaving only a lingering itch. She left the gazebo and headed for the door to the family wing, intent on spending some time in the library.

  When she arrived, Storaas was teaching Tolari history to Kyza. Never unhappy to have an audience, the ancient tutor smiled and nodded as Marianne drifted over to view the map of the southern continents he’d spread out, its surface marked with political, social, and caste boundaries. She settled into a chair and listened to him describing the cultures of the equatorial provinces five hundred years before.

  Eyes on the map, she tried to imagine the Tolar of earlier times. Storaas’ gentle voice lulled her, and her thoughts scattered. She yawned, and yawned again. This is ridiculous, she thought. She had no reason to be so tired after her cry in the garden. She quit her seat, bowed an apology to Storaas, and wandered back into the corridor in an effort to stay awake. Yawning as she walked, she nearly bumped into the Sural’s head apothecary.

  The yellow-robed woman bowed low. “Forgive me, high one, I—” She stopped, eyes wide and startled, and stood still, waiting for permission to speak.

  “Is something wrong?” Marianne asked.

  “High one, will you see the apothecaries without delay?”

  Marianne straightened, surprise shaking the cobwebs out of her head. “Whatever for? Is something wrong with me?”

  “No, but you need to see the apothecaries. Forgive me, but I must insist.”

  “All right,” Marianne said slowly, as an edge of anxiety settled in her stomach. That was the last place she wanted to go, but if there was something wrong… “I’ll go there now.”

  The apothecary’s face relaxed a little. Marianne signaled a dismissal with one hand and turned in the direction of the apothecaries’ quarters.

  The two apothecaries on duty gave her the same startled reaction the Sural’s apothecary had. Marianne kept silent while they ran their small, palm-sized scanners over her body, but their reserve and the glances they exchanged only increased her anxiety. Finally, the more senior of the pair bowed in front of her and waited for permission to speak.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “High one, you are increasing,” he replied.

  Blinking, she furled her brows and peered at him. “I’m what?”

  “You are with child.”
/>
  No. Blood draining from her face, the world twisted around her. “I’m what?” she repeated in a hoarse whisper, edging off the examination bed. Suddenly cold, she threw her arms around herself, gulping air and shaking. The camouflaged guard in the room flickered into view, a concerned expression on her face.

  “The child is female,” the other apothecary added.

  Words flew out of her. “That’s impossible!”

  “High one, you must calm yourself,” the first apothecary said. “Your mood can affect your daughter.”

  Marianne backed away until a wall stopped her. The room faded into a face – a dirty face, leering and laughing, framed by greasy blond hair. Filthy hands reached for her. Escape. She had to escape. A wave of panic slammed through her, wiping all rational thought from her mind.

  “NOOOOOO!” she screamed, and bolted through the door to the gardens.

  She was twelve years old, running through a cornfield in Iowa, and if she didn’t keep running, she was going to die.

  * * *

  Marianne’s terror blasted into the Sural through their bond. In the middle of a meeting with his city’s representatives, in mid-word, he whirled and ran, racing for the gardens at a dead run. The sentries in the garden, their senses focused to detect intruders, were slow to react to her tightly-shuttered terror, and there was no time to alert them through the stronghold’s communications plexus. He barked orders as he ran, but Marianne was too far ahead of him, running from a demon only she could see.

  She broke free of the garden, heading straight for the Overwatch at the edge of the plateau.

  He raced across the grounds, gaining on her, but she was approaching the windswept precipice. Ice gripped the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t going to catch her before she ran blindly over the sheer drop, even running as fast as his enhanced speed allowed, and the guards weren’t going to stop her in time. Desperate, he threw a punishing emotional blow at her through their bond. Staggering, Marianne cried out, holding her head, while he stumbled, reeling from the pain that surged back at him.