B00CH3ARG0 EBOK

by Christie Meierz

  Her breathing hitched, but she didn’t pull away. What was it John always said? Carp... something. Seize the day, he said it meant. Live life to the fullest.

  She met Kazryth’s gaze. “No,” she said. “No, it doesn’t trouble me.”

  * * *

  Laura gazed into the garden, though the moon had set hours ago and it was too dark to see very well now. What light came from the keep didn’t reach these little gazebos, the farthest out, not far from the edge of the plateau. Kazryth sat next to her in the tiny pavilion that seated only two – perfect for courting couples.

  Is that what I’m doing?

  She put the thought out of her mind. It was late, past... She frowned. Why can’t they just call it midnight?

  Kazryth laughed. “What makes you frown?”

  “Everything is so different here,” she replied. “You don’t mark time. You don’t even have the words, so if I use the English term, you just look blank.”

  The night was dark enough that she only knew he smiled because she could see his gleaming white teeth. “What words do you want to say?”

  “We’ve been here for hours. It has to be past midnight.”

  “Ah. We have no word for hour, but we do have words for midnight. Night meridian will be a direct translation.”

  “Night meridian.” She shook her head. “Wouldn’t it be easier to call it midnight?”

  Another laugh. “Does it disturb you so much?”

  “I don’t have any sense of time – an hour feels the same to me as five minutes. In my quarters on Tau Ceti station, I have a clock in every room. Here... I’m a little disoriented all the time.” She stood and leaned against one of the posts at the entrance to the gazebo.

  Kazryth left his seat and leaned against the other post. “It is late, as you say, and the conference begins early.” He offered his arm. “Will you want me to escort you back?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The conference did begin early, just past the morning meal, with a concert by a leading member of Parania’s musician caste. Kazryth chose to leave the place accorded to him beside the Sural’s heir and sat next to Laura. He was surprised to find, when the performer began to play, that she was enraptured by the music. She didn’t seem to sense the full extent of the musician’s gift, or the more delicate nuances, but it was obvious that she detected some of it and was transported by what she felt. Aching to share her experience, he slipped a hand into hers to savor her enchantment.

  They remained seated at the conclusion of the performance, talking quietly as the rest of the crowd drifted out of the audience room.

  “That instrument he was playing, we have one almost like it,” she told him. “It’s called a Celtic harp.”

  “Perhaps the idea for it came with us from Earth,” he suggested. “Our peoples have only been apart for six thousands of your years.”

  “I think that’s when we invented the wheel.”

  He laughed.

  “Is it true the Jorann is one of the ones who came from Earth? It’s hard to believe anyone could live six thousand years.”

  An almost reverent feeling filled him at the thought of his ancient, still-living ancestor, and he smoothed his face into a more properly respectful expression. “She is truly that old, and yes, she was born on Earth.” He glanced around the room. It was empty but for the two of them – and, of course, the omnipresent camouflaged guards. He had heard that the Sural engaged more guards than most rulers. He mentally shook himself and turned his attention back to Laura. “You do not seem to be as sense-blind as humans are said to be.”

  “That’s what Marianne and the Sural tell me. But I can’t do the things you do, probing and sensing and all that.”

  He took her right hand and raised it to his lips. She blushed a little, giving her face a delightful glow.

  “Tolari men,” she said. “You like it when we blush.”

  “It is lovely.” He touched her reddened cheek with his fingertips.

  She caught his fingers in her hand. “I haven’t—” she whispered.

  He found himself transfixed by the mild tenderness of the emotions he sensed in her. “My heart grieves for your pain,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “He loved you well. You have no wounds on your heart but for your loss.”

  “He was the only man I ever loved—” She stopped. “I shouldn’t say that.”

  “Because you fear it will offend me?” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Or because it is not now true?”

  She took a deep breath and looked down, her blush giving her a glow he could not resist. He put one finger under her chin and lifted it, catching her eyes, bringing an uncertain smile to her face. He slipped his other hand around her waist, pulling her toward him. When her eyes went to his mouth, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. She sighed, her arms sliding around him and tightening. Their tongue tips met as he deepened the kiss.

  Sweet. She was so sweet. He wrapped his other arm around her, lost. This woman was a gift if he could win her heart. Breaking the kiss, he pulled her against his chest, his arms tight around her.

  “What are we doing?” she whispered. Uncertainty began to stir in her. “We haven’t even known each other a day.”

  “We attend a conference,” he answered, in a voice not much louder than her whisper.

  “Widows my age don’t ... not from Boston ...”

  He stroked her hair, trying to soothe the storm of confusion and self-doubt his kiss had kindled in her.

  “You hardly know me,” she went on. “How can you even want me if I’m not Tolari?”

  “You want me, and I am not human.”

  “Yes, but that’s—” She interrupted herself and swallowed. “Not different, I guess.”

  He chuckled. “My ancestors came from Earth,” he said. “You came from Earth. We are not very different.”

  “But you hardly know me,” she repeated.

  He loosened his arms around her and let her straighten. “Come,” he said, standing to help her to her … feet. “Is there an art session you will like to attend?”

  * * *

  Laura was intrigued by what seemed to be a master class on drawing with charcoals, but she couldn’t understand the artisan giving the session as he dispensed preliminary instructions. Discouraged, she tried to slip away, but Kazryth, sensing her discouragement and realizing its source, gave a quiet, if sometimes halting, translation. Each participant was to choose a subject and draw it, and the artisan would critique each of them, one at a time.

  Once she saw the provided supplies, she relaxed. Charcoals were charcoals and paper was paper, and the various types of each were easy to identify. Odd, four-legged easels were available to those who desired them. She grabbed one and set it near a window, positioning a bemused Kazryth in front of it.

  Lounging against the window, he pulled a small book out of his pocket to busy himself in it while she became absorbed in making a portrait of him. He sat on the sill, leaning a shoulder against the window, his face thoughtful as he gazed at the far mountains, book in one hand, stylus pressed against his lips with the other. Charcoal dust ended up on her hands, her face, her robes, even in her hair.

  The session’s instructor, a Paranian, stood behind her, silent until he cleared his throat. She whirled, startled, finally noticing it was her turn to be critiqued. The man smiled, gesturing at her portrait of Kazryth.

  “Beautiful,” he said in Suralian. It was the only word she understood, as he launched into an extended monologue. Kazryth, coming out of his poetic reverie, provided a running translation, but she wondered if he was just trying to flatter her. If the Tolari prince was to be believed, the artisan had nothing but praise for her work.

  Finally, the man smiled and made a last remark. Kazryth broke into a delighted grin, and a reaction rippled across the room just as the guards opened the room’s door to allow in visitors and students to view the drawings created during the session.

 
“He is leader of the artisan caste in Parania,” Kazryth said. “He says you are an artist. You can wear the color of the artisan caste, if you wish.” He left his place at the window and came up beside her. His eyes went huge. “Laura, I am—” He shook his head. “I have not the words in your language.”

  More ripples of reaction spread and attracted other conference-goers into the room. Laura vacillated between embarrassment and being pleased by the attention. Kazryth offered her his arm to lean on, and she took it, grateful for the slight refuge, but to her further embarrassment, she smudged the charcoal on her fingers onto the sleeve of his robe. Not knowing what to say and unable to express herself in a language anyone but Kazryth could understand, she just smiled and blushed and stood flustered while the commotion attracted the attention of the Sural and Marianne.

  Marianne whistled through her teeth when she saw the portrait. “If you can do that when you’re out of practice ...” she murmured.

  “Yes, even so,” the Sural agreed.

  “Why in the world have you hidden that kind of talent, Laura?”

  “I didn’t hide it, not exactly,” she replied, feeling sheepish. “I just didn’t have any time for it as a ship’s wife, remember? Even after the children were grown and I wasn’t busy with them anymore. You weren’t here when I was working, so you didn’t see how focused I get. I forget about everything else – I didn’t even know when the artisan giving the session was critiquing the others. I couldn’t get absorbed like that when I had children to look after, or when I had responsibilities on board ship.”

  “Well, you should definitely pursue it now. You’ve had plenty of time to draw since you arrived here. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Laura shrugged. “It’s been so long I didn’t know if I could still … lose myself in it the way I need to.”

  Marianne turned her gaze back to the charcoal portrait. “Amazing,” she said. “Just amazing. You’ve really captured him.”

  * * *

  At the midday meal, Kazryth disregarded protocol and seated Laura next to himself at the Sural’s table. He fixed his attention on her, ignoring the amusement the Marann was trying, and failing, to conceal. The Sural was perfectly impassive, but Kazryth suspected he shared his bond-partner’s feelings about his audacity. He smiled to himself, not allowing it to concern him. Their affection for Laura was obvious, and the Marann seemed glad to see Laura taking an interest in him.

  He noticed the Marann exchange a look with the Sural just as Laura glanced over at them. The Sural let some devotion show in his eyes, and the Marann’s face glowed as she gazed back at him. Beside him, Laura’s expression turned analytical.

  During the afternoon portion of the art session, he watched Laura, equipped with fresh charcoals, begin to sketch the look she’d seen on the Marann’s face. He settled himself where he could watch her work and took out his tablet to read reports.

  Summer was his busiest season, as it was for any adult member of the ruling caste, and he had a great deal of work to do. In Parania, if he wasn’t meeting with his mother’s advisors or overseeing her summer projects, there were always any number of reports to read. Here, he had neither advisors nor projects, but there were still the reports.

  The Sural, he knew, had even more work, burdened as he was with leadership of the ruling caste. Even in the midst of the conference, Kazryth caught sight of him leaning against a wall to pull out his tablet and read. He shook his head. If there were a way to remain longer in Suralia, he would do it, but he couldn’t delay his departure more than a day past the end of the conference.

  An idea struck him. Could Laura be enticed to return to Parania with him?

  Whatever the answer to that question, he was here with her now. He glanced up from his tablet to watch her work. She stood engrossed in front of the easel, a portrait of the Marann’s face, glowing with that expression of devotion, coming alive under her hands. Reaching out with his senses, he hovered about her, drinking in the state of near-ecstasy she was experiencing as she worked. He pocketed the tablet, unable to resist, and went up behind her to gaze over her shoulder, placing a hand on her waist to share in her feelings as he watched. She was so absorbed that she barely reacted to his touch, her rapt focus mixed with an almost fierce joy.

  Reluctantly, he broke the contact and went back to his reports. This woman ... there had to be a way to be hers. He was losing his heart to her.

  * * *

  Storaas woke and cracked open his eyes. A room in the apothecaries’ quarters, cheerful and airy and smelling of tryllen and astringents, greeted his blurry vision. How did he get here?

  Memory came on reluctant peds. He’d been in the audience room, shocked at the sight of a man he thought long gone into the dark – then shocked at the realization he could only be that man’s natural son – the double shock so potent that his heart had begun to stutter.

  Cena gave him one of her infamous potions, relieving the crushing pressure in his chest. The pain was serious, he had no doubt, but that mattered little to him, as long as he could distract himself with work. It only made good sense to return to his duties, but Cena had grown so annoyed with his repeated attempts to leave that...

  Ah. And that was the last thing he remembered. She had dosed him with a sleeping draught.

  He felt better than he had in years, and Cena was certainly to blame for that. She must have repaired whatever was wrong with his heart. It would go on beating even longer than it had up to now, and that was already far too long. He rubbed his face with his hands, realizing he was naked under a blanket on one of her examination beds. Yes, she had indeed practiced her arcane medical wizardry on him. He sighed and tried to determine how long he had been unconscious.

  The sound of his sigh brought Cena to his bedside. She gave him a penetrating look, using her apothecary’s privilege to probe him empathically. “I sense no discomfort,” she said, passing her scanner slowly over his chest.

  “No,” he croaked. The rough sound of his voice surprised him. He swallowed, trying to clear his throat. “No,” he repeated, in a voice almost as rough. “I feel quite well. Water?”

  “In a moment,” she said, nodding. She gestured to an aide and continued to scan him.

  “How long did I sleep?”

  She frowned. “You need to ask?”

  He heaved another sigh.

  “A full day, and part of another,” she answered, and hovered her scanner over his head. “It is now just past the evening meal.” She took a small cup of water from her aide and held Storaas’ head for him while he drank it. Then she studied the readout on the bed console. “I see no sign of damage to your brain. Your time sense should be intact.”

  He grunted. Perhaps it is age. Will I never be allowed to go into the dark? Annoyance and disappointment settled in his belly. Cena’s face shuttered as she sensed it, and he thought she was going to scold him. Instead, she leaned down to kiss him, the intimate contact creating a clear window to her intention – to give him something for which to live. He sighed at her after she broke the kiss. “You never stop trying,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “I will never stop trying. I am stubborn and persistent.”

  Annoyance still simmered, but he took her hand. “Yes, you are.”

  * * *

  After an evening meal at which she’d not been able to eat much for the fluttering in her stomach, Laura walked hand in hand with Kazryth along one of the paths that wandered through the gardens. There were more people in the garden than she had ever seen, but then, there were also more people in the stronghold than she’d ever seen. It would have been nice to have a little more privacy. She wasn’t going to do more than hold hands, not with all the visitors walking around.

  Hand in hand as they were, he would know she was feeling warm, tingly, and aroused. The thought gave her a pleasant shiver. It was a little unsettling to think that all the strangers in the stronghold could also sense her feelings – but maybe not his – if they were close
enough. Hopefully, they wouldn’t bother. Kazryth knew what she felt, and that’s what mattered, though he wasn’t pushing. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her again.

  She was beginning to wish he would, audience or no audience.

  She wondered what it would be like if she could ‘read’ Kazryth the way he did her and be sure of his feelings. On the other hand, she already knew how he felt, in her own way. She had a ... sense of it, combined with watching the way he moved, the way he looked at her, the tone of his voice. And although he hadn’t exactly admitted he wanted her, in the audience room that morning, he hadn’t denied it, either.

  And there was that kiss. Goosebumps raced across her skin at the memory. He squeezed her hand. He knows, yes indeed, he knows.

  They seemed to fit so well together that she kept forgetting they’d known each other little more than a day. Were they soul mates, then? It would be wonderful to have a friend of the heart in Kazryth. John had been husband and lover, and a considerate one, but as far as friendship went, she’d depended on others. John was a wonderful lover, but a distracted friend at best.

  This man, this Tolari prince – my Tolari prince – she had the notion he could be as much friend as lover. She wanted to find out, and propriety be damned. So what if society decreed that middle-aged widows had to behave like proper matrons? She wasn’t living in society now. No one was here to give her a cut for failing to remain devoted to her deceased husband.

  No one here even wanted her to.

  “It’s scandalous, you know,” she said.

  The grey brows furled. “I do not know this word.”

  She searched her mind for a way to express what she meant. “It means shocking. When someone does something that most people think is shocking, and they talk about it. It’s a scandal.”

  “What is it that is ... scandalous?”

  “Me. Here. With you.”

  “Why?” He stopped, looking into her face. “We are both free.”

  She turned to him. He brought her hand to his lips, and shivers ran down her arm, sending heat surging through her. His eyes darkened, fixed on her mouth.