B00CH3ARG0 EBOK

by Christie Meierz

  “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?”

  He paused before speaking. “It is—” he smiled as Kyza scooted between them and disappeared into the refectory “—a true pleasure to teach a new student, a fresh and different mind. It is something I have not experienced in a long, long time.” He took one of her hands and patted it in a grandfatherly fashion. “It is refreshing!” he said with zest in his voice. Then, more soberly, he added in English, “Thank you.” With a fond smile, he continued on into the room. Marianne followed him, a warm feeling making her eyes moisten.

  * * *

  “He was my tutor when I was a child,” the Sural told her later, as they walked through the flowers in the garden, “and my father’s before me.”

  “Just how old is he?” Marianne asked.

  “I do not know. It is not a question we ask.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Once we are of age, an adult is an adult. The question is rude.”

  She made a noise. “Human women can be that way. ‘It’s not nice to ask a lady her age,’” she intoned nasally in English.

  He grinned. “And how old are you?”

  She gave him an affectionate shove. He laughed and draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer.

  “And who says Tolari don’t have a sense of humor?” she asked.

  “Do humans say that of us?”

  “Frequently.”

  He chuckled.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “One hundred forty-two,” he replied, without hesitation.

  She halted, gaping at him. “Seriously?” she asked. “Tolari years?”

  He turned to face her, a crooked grin on his lips.

  “Oof.” She shook her head. “That’s ... that’s ... more than 280 standard... and you were given the Jorann’s blessing when I was, so you’ll be...” Her mind reeled. “How long do Tolari live, anyway?”

  “Until we decide to allow ourselves to grow old and die,” he said. “In truth, most of us choose not to extend our lifespan with the Jorann’s blessing. Without it, we live some 150 of our years. It is mainly rulers, caste leaders and those with great talents who choose to take the blessing.”

  “Humans grow old and die whether they want to or not.” She sighed. “I guess I should be surprised you don’t have more children than you do.”

  Another chuckle. “That idea seems to live in your mind, beloved.”

  Her mind went back to the conversation with Cena that morning, and she nodded. He took her hand to tuck it under his arm, tugging her along.

  “Something troubles you,” he said.

  “I don’t know how to talk about it without getting upset.” She tried to gather her thoughts. “You know I’m jealous of – of those women who…”

  “Who request an heir of me?” he finished. “What do you fear?”

  “Cena said you can’t love another woman, bu
t I’m still afraid that you’ll find someone who makes you regret... ” She fell silent, unable to finish.

  He turned again and wrapped his arms around her. “Oh beloved,” he murmured into her hair, “how could I regret giving you my heart? It is your smile that I live to see.”

  She looked up at him. “My smile? That’s all?”

  “That is everything, beloved.”

  Chapter Four

  Six weeks. Forty days, Marianne corrected herself groggily, but last night ... no nightmare. It was the third night in the past ten that she’d slept without waking up screaming. She stretched, grateful for the reprieve, feeling better rested than she had since she’d discovered she was pregnant.

  She glanced out the doorway to the sitting room to find the light on her comms unit flashing. She blinked, reaching for the Sural with her senses. He was somewhere in the sitting room, his familiar presence solid and comforting. He met her probe with an empathic caress. With a last frown at the blinking light, she went into the bathing area to wash and dress. Let them wait, she thought.

  A few minutes later, a little more awake, she joined the Sural. “Is it short range?” she asked.

  He swiped at his tablet. “No. The signal originates at the star you call Tau Ceti.”

  “From the station or the planet?”

  She threw a cloth over the flashing light and picked up her hairbrush. She sat at her desk, watching the light blink through the material. I bet they’re not going anywhere before I answer them.

  “It carries the station’s signature.”

  She brushed her hair, wondering who it could be. The light kept blinking, irritating her. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? Why was a schoolteacher so important? She pushed away the discontent filling her. Giving the Sural a resigned glance, she opened the comms channel.

  Adeline Russell’s face smiled out of the monitor. Part of a Central Command Security banner was visible behind her. Marianne blinked, struggling to keep the realization off her face. Addie had been a mole after all.

  “Marianne!” Adeline exclaimed. “You look radiant!”