B00CH3ARG0 EBOK

by Christie Meierz

  It was enough. A guard on the Overwatch hurled himself at her, and both went down a few strides short of the cliff’s edge.

  Marianne kicked, screaming and even biting in panic. She pried herself loose from the guard’s grasp as the Sural caught up and wrapped himself around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She screeched and rammed her head into him, working her arms free to flail at him. Then she sank her teeth viciously into his hand, drawing blood, tearing muscle, bruising bone. He grunted but held on as she worked her teeth into his flesh.

  Guards hovered, the drugged needles in their fingertips ready. He snapped an order to stand down just as an apothecary rushed in to press a medical instrument against the skin of Marianne’s neck. She slumped unconscious against him. Breathing hard, he looked over at the rocky precipice, then back at the woman in his arms. He swallowed, drained and trembling, holding her tight.

  Blood dripped from his bitten hand onto the vegetation beneath his feet. Shifting Marianne to one arm, he pulled his sleeve over the ugly wound and lifted her, heading toward the apothecaries’ quarters.

  Reaction set in as he laid her gently on an examination bed. As he sat on the bed next to her, he shook at the thought of how close she had come to running over the edge of the cliff. An apothecary approached, hovering over Marianne with a medical scanner. The Sural pushed down his surging emotions and nodded at the man.

  “How did this happen?” he asked.

  “She is increasing, high one,” the apothecary said, pocketing his scanner to examine the readings on the bed’s console. “The news provoked her ... reaction.”

  “Increasing?” His eyebrows flew up of their own accord. “Explain. She has been deliberately made barren.”

  The apothecary spread his hands in apology. “I cannot explain,” he said. “She is whole. And she has conceived.”

  Shock drove the breath out of the Sural in a gust. Then tendrils of surprised joy wove their way into his concern for his beloved. “And the child? Human or Tolari?”

  “Tolari, and female.”

  “Give me the antidote to your sedative and leave us.”

  The other apothecary offered an instrument to the Sural. He took it from her, and both apothecaries camouflaged and left the room.

  His own healer appeared and unwrapped his bitten hand to examine it. He held it out for her without taking his eyes off Marianne. A sudden image of her, running toward the edge of the plateau, hair streaming behind her, made him shudder. He couldn’t survive losing his bond-partner.

  The pain in his hand became a stinging, fading to an itch as his apothecary worked.

  “You will drink this, high one,” she said. Her tone made it clear she expected him to obey.

  He looked over at her. She had finished repairing his hand and was holding out an unstoppered vial. He flexed the hand, nodding. Then he took the vial and consumed its contents with a grimace. It stopped the shaking, but he was almost depleted – and ravenous. He shoved the hunger out of his mind and turned back to Marianne, pressing the instrument with the antidote against her neck. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers as she regained consciousness.

  “Beloved,” he whispered as she stirred.

  Her eyes – such a beautiful, startling shade of blue – fluttered open and filled with tears. She cringed away from him. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered in English.

  He blinked and brought his brows together. “Why would I hurt you?”

  “I got pregnant!” she wailed.

  He bent down toward her, letting the joy of that curve his lips. “Unless I am much mistaken,” he murmured, “I fathered your child.”

  She made a sound between a laugh and a sob. “Yes,” she said, “you did.”

  He relaxed a fraction, thinking she was coming back to reality. Then a tremor seized her, and her eyes went blank with terror. Reason vanished. “Please – please – I didn’t mean to get pregnant – I didn’t know I could – I thought I made sure I couldn’t!”

  “I am honored to father your child, beloved,” he said, continuing to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You have no cause for fear.”

  Another shudder tore through her, and she flung herself away from him, sliding off the bed onto the floor and scuttling like a sand crawler into a corner, where she curled into a ball. “Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!” she sobbed. Her eyes turned desperate. “It’s not yours – it can’t be yours – don’t kill it! Please don’t kill it!”

  He knelt next to her and swallowed hard, pushing down anger. She was seeing her private tormenter now. He forced himself to calm. “I will never hurt you,” he said, relying on the protective statements that usually comforted her. “I will never allow anyone to hurt you.” She continued sobbing, radiating terror and desperation. “Beloved, look at me.” He grasped her wrists and held them in front of her face, trying to catch her eye. “Look at me.”

  She took a deep breath and raised wide eyes to his.

  “Hear me,” he said. “I am the Sural. I am not the man who hurt you. See me. You are safe in—”

  “I didn’t mean to get pregnant!” she wailed again. “Don’t hurt me!”

  He let go of her wrists and sat back on his heels, perplexed. His apothecary crouched on the floor nearby and produced a sedative from her pockets. He stopped her.

  “Can you explain this?” he asked, as Marianne continued to sob. He tried to stroke her hair, but she cringed away and curled into herself again.

  “She appears to be vividly reliving her attack,” she answered.

  He nodded, his heart aching. “Repeatedly, throughout the attack, he threatened her with death should she conceive a child. Her fear of increasing is very deep.” He locked eyes with his apothecary. “We did not think it would ever be necessary to face this fear.”

  “I need to examine her if you want an explanation,” she said. “I am not her apothecary.”

  “I want her in your care. She is still partly human, increasing with a Tolari child—” He stopped and shook his head. “She must have an apothecary.”

  “I agree, high one, but you cannot force her on this.”

  “She is in crisis,” he pointed out.

  She hesitated for a few heartbeats while thinking it through. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, high one.”

  “What can you do for her now?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I can do very little for her prior to a thorough examination, not while she is still transforming, not while she is increasing. There are few potions certain to be safe, either for her or the child.”

  He pressed his lips together. Turning back to Marianne, he put a hand under her chin and tried to lift her face. “Beloved,” he said, making his voice tender. “Look at me. Can you do that? Look at me.”

  Her face tilted up, drained of all color, her eyes huge and glassy. She began to struggle against him, trying to push his hands away.

  “Marianne!” He pitched his voice louder and grabbed her wrists to keep her from making another wild flight. She tried to twist away from him. “MARIANNE!”

  She froze, blinking. Her scattered emotions seemed to focus.

  He leapt at the glimmer of sanity, wrapping his senses around hers as he would a child. “Beloved,” he said softly, “hear me. I am happy that you are increasing. I am happy that I have given you a child. Do you understand? I am the Sural. I will not allow anyone to hurt you or your child. I will protect you with my life.”

  She met his eyes. With a deep, shaky inhale, her breathing began to calm. Then she uncurled and wrapped her arms around his waist. Relief rushed through him. She seemed to know again who he was.

  His apothecary caught his eye. She radiated concern, her face grim.

  “High one,” she said in a low voice, “you must eat. You have drained yourself.”

  “I will see to my needs later,” he said, making a gesture at her. She bowed and disappeared.

  “Forgive me,” Marianne whispered, speaking the
Suralian dialect.

  He turned back to her, more relief washing through him that she was lucid enough to speak his language. He responded in kind. “There is nothing to forgive, beloved. The man who hurt you is responsible for this.”

  “But—”

  “I am the Sural. If I say there is nothing to forgive, there is nothing to forgive.”

  Her sob turned into a half-laugh, and then to weeping. He helped her back onto the bed, stroking her hair and murmuring until she fell into a quiet sleep. Then he summoned a nurse to watch over her while he went to the kitchens in search of food.

  Chapter Two

  She was running through a cornfield at midnight, the leaves on the tall stalks whipping her bare arms and face. If only she hadn’t worn a sleeveless shirt! Heedless, she ran on. She had to run. She had to get away.

  Then she tripped and sprawled in the dirt with a cry. Frantic, she scrambled to her feet and ran on, heart pounding, legs pumping. A rut she didn’t see in the darkness caught her foot, twisting her ankle, throwing her down again. This time, a hand grabbed her ankle and pulled. Her face dragged through the soil, drowning her scream.

  The Greasy Man flipped her over, grinning, evil. On his knees between her legs, he rubbed his crotch. She screamed again, grabbing at cornstalks, trying to pull herself away.

  Something over her chest held her down. She kicked, but her legs tangled in fabric. A voice in her ear called her name.

  “Marianne!”

  Her eyes snapped open on darkness. Love and concern flowed through a warm body lying against her. The Sural. She slumped back against the mat. Just a dream.

  The arm holding her down relaxed. “The nightmare?” he asked.

  She rolled into him, burrowed her face into his chest, and nodded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  His hand let go of her shoulder and stroked her hair. “I told you,” he said in a soft voice, “the one who hurt you is at fault. You have no cause to apologize.”

  Tears came unbidden. Eventually, she cried herself back to sleep.

  * * *

  Marianne woke well past dawn. Her senses reached for the Sural on reflex, but he was long gone, started on his day. A presence in the room – other than the omnipresent guard – startled her: an apothecary’s aide on a low seat, not camouflaged, her yellow robe creating a cheery air.

  “What are you—” Marianne rubbed her feet. They were itching again.

  “The Sural ordered me to watch over you,” the woman said.

  Frowning, Marianne stumbled into the bathing area to wash and dress. Before putting on her slippers, she soaked her prickling feet in some warm water. She couldn’t really call them feet anymore, she thought, as she wiggled the flaps of grown-together toes. They’d become peds, the only conspicuous difference between humans and the Tolari. The other, almost unnoticeable difference was, of course, the slightly thickened skin protecting the empathic nerves in her forehead.

  Clean and a little more awake, she went into her sitting room, pacing back and forth around the divans, chairs, and low tables until a confused memory of screaming at the apothecaries flashed through her mind. Good lord, did she really do that?

  The aide cleared her throat. Marianne waved a hand at her and continued pacing.

  “High one, shall I call for a meal?”

  Marianne nodded. Then she remembered why she’d screamed and halted, her hands and eyes going to her lower belly. Pregnant. She was pregnant. How? There had to be some mistake. She couldn’t get pregnant. She’d made sure of that the month she turned eighteen.

  “No,” she whispered, fighting back a surge of anxiety.

  The door to the corridor opened. The Sural’s apothecary entered her quarters, a small cup in one hand.

  “Oh no,” Marianne groaned. From what she could already smell of it, the liquid in the cup, like every apothecary’s potion she’d ever tasted, was going to be vile.

  “You must drink this, high one.”

  Marianne closed her eyes, held her breath, and quaffed the potion in one gulp. “Pah!” she blurted out. “That’s wretched!”

  The anxiety roiling in the pit of her stomach receded a little. The apothecary flashed a smile. “I will be your apothecary for now.”

  “I haven’t asked for an apothecary.”

  “The Sural ordered it.”

  “He can’t do that.”

  “He can, in the event of a crisis or a medical emergency. Yesterday, you were both.”

  Marianne blinked several times. “I – I’m going to have a baby.”

  “Yes, high one.”

  “That’s impossible. I made sure I couldn’t.”

  “You received a great deal of the Jorann’s blessing,” the apothecary said. “It was apparently sufficient to regenerate lost tissue. The apothecaries who examined you yesterday found you to be whole. You are increasing.”

  Marianne blinked some more. Then she frowned and asked, “Why is the Sural willing to share you with me?”

  “Your situation is unique and complicated. He wants you under my care.”

  “I see,” she said, uncertain how to take that. The Sural had mentioned to her that his apothecary was the best in Suralia. She didn’t know whether to be reassured ... or worried.

  Servants entered the room bearing trenchers. Marianne took a mug of tea from one of them and sipped it as she listened to the apothecary outline the types of foods she should be eating. She wasn’t sure she could remember it all.

  “I will give you a draught, similar to the one I just gave you, each morning,” the apothecary continued, pausing and smiling when Marianne groaned. “I want you to come to my quarters today after the midday meal. I can examine you thoroughly then. Will you come?”

  Marianne nodded. “My gratitude,” she said.

  Another smile, warm this time. “It is my honor to serve you,” the apothecary replied, and left Marianne to her meal.

  * * *

  Marianne lay on the examination bed that afternoon, watching the Sural’s apothecary carefully place a small rectangle of gleaming metal on her lower belly. Surprisingly, the thing wasn’t at all as cold as it looked like it should be. The apothecary gazed into the bed console. She moved the instrument slightly a few times, and then, satisfied, studied the readout.

  “Well?” Marianne prompted after a time.

  “Your child is developing normally.”

  “May I see?”

  The apothecary handed her a medical tablet. “There is little to see, high one. The child has only just implanted. She is simply a hollow ball of cells.”

  Marianne looked at the image, but the apothecary had been right. The display showed an enlarged image of a nearly featureless, lopsided ball buried in an irregular surface. She handed the tablet back. The apothecary tapped and swiped at it as she read.

  “She?” Marianne asked. “It’s a girl?”

  “The child is female,” the apothecary said with a nod. “You do not remember?”

  Marianne shook her head and sucked her lower lip between her teeth. She remembered little of what had happened after she went to the apothecaries’ quarters the day before. Except for the scream. Why did she scream at them? She worried at the memory like a dog with a bone. Nothing surfaced.

  The healer’s tablet chimed. “I requested a genetic analysis after leaving you in your quarters,” she said, and paused to read. Her eyes widened, and she turned a broad smile on Marianne. “The analysis rates as extraordinary. See, here? She inherits the best from both you and the Sural. This seldom occurs, and it is even more remarkable considering the conception was unplanned.”

  Marianne nodded, frowned, and then shook her head. “I’m a linguist,” she said. “I don’t understand your science. But if you tell me my baby is healthy, that’s all I really need to know.” She paused as anxiety churned in the pit of her stomach. “She is healthy, isn’t she? She’ll be all right?”

  The apothecary eyed Marianne as if calculating what she could say. “I cannot
know for certain. If you were fully Tolari, I could say yes, but as you are not, I will tell you that you must be careful, and you must remain calm. You must tell me immediately if you feel anything, anything, unusual. I would prefer it if you brought me news of a normal symptom fifty times than if you should fail to inform me of a warning sign even once. Do you understand? You will not, as you put it, ‘bother’ me.”

  Marianne nodded, a nervous smile forcing its way onto her lips.

  “Good,” the other woman continued. “For the present, I forbid you to go anywhere alone. It is too dangerous, should you experience another episode like yesterday. Is that clear, high one?”

  That explained the aide in her quarters. She felt smothered already. “Yes, apothecary.” Her smile faltered. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I don’t know how that happened. I don’t even remember all of what happened.”

  “You seemed to have been in an altered state of consciousness, reliving your attack and largely unaware of your actual surroundings. It is perhaps less likely now that you will experience another episode, but I consider it still possible. The Sural informed me your dreams this past night were violent.”

  Marianne nodded and heaved a sigh. “I understand.”

  “Good. Do you have further questions?”

  “Just one. Do you have a name?”

  The apothecary laughed. “Yes, high one. My name is Cena. It means ‘dreamer’ in the language of the ancients. My mother named me after her mother.”

  “Really? I was named after my grandmother, too. My mother and I loved her very much. She died when I was in,” she floundered for a word for college in Tolari, “during the last years of my education. Is your mother an apothecary as well?”

  Cena nodded. “She served as the Sural’s head apothecary for a time, then left to provide care for the workers in the tea plantations of the Kentar Valley.”

  “Didn’t you ever want to be anything else? I mean, I’m a schoolteacher, but my mother was a nurse. Nana Marianne was a – there is no Tolari word for it. A mother. Her work was to take care of her home and her children.”