B00CH3ARG0 EBOK

by Christie Meierz

  “Where is he?”

  * * *

  Storaas stood atop the highest hill on the island and looked down on his little world. Eight days, and he’d found the way up to this point only the day before. It gave him a commanding view of the teardrop-shaped, tree-covered island, which had proven to be an afternoon’s walk wide and a half-day’s walk long, at his old man’s pace.

  The hevalrin’s shadow lurked in the deep water to the north. She disappeared for short periods each day – he presumed to forage for food – but she was never gone long. Did she never become bored, lying out there? How long would she remain with him?

  He could not fathom the creature.

  He kept busy, gathering driftwood and deadfall, weaving mats out of grasses, searching out different types of food. There were no grains to be found, but one variety of weed in the forest had a large, starchy nut. It was filling and provided a welcome addition to his diet, particularly if roasted. He kept an eye on his ‘crop,’ picking them as they ripened. He’d turned his trousers into storage bags for them by tying a knot at the end of each leg and hung them inside his little hut, out of the reach of sand crawlers and other small creatures. The nuts would keep well for the winter.

  Turning to make his way back down the hill, he took careful steps. It was steep, but from the bottom it would be an easy walk to his shelter. Loneliness stabbed at him. He hoped the hevalrin would be willing to converse.

  What he really ached for was Cena’s companionship. It had taken him far too long to realize how deeply he was entwined with her. When it was that she had replaced his lost Suralia, that she had become the center of gravity in his life, he could not say, but she had. He wanted nothing more than to return to Suralia – to return to her – and spend the rest of his very long life making her happy. However long that was. Forever would not be long enough.

  He glanced toward the ocean where the hevalrin’s shadow lurked in deep water, and lost his footing on the steep, rocky slope.

  * * *

  “At least the Neven is allowing your searchers in,” Marianne offered.

  The Sural growled and paced across her sitting room. Back and forth. Forth and back. She wanted to scream, but she held it down. Rose squeaked against her shoulder.

  He flung himself into a chair. “Forgive me,” he said in a low voice, sighing heavily. “Negotiating with the Neven was ... taxing.”

  “I can see that.”

  A brief laugh sputtered out of him. “I am grateful he is allowing Suralian apothecaries to investigate if it is indeed Storaas on that island. In truth, were our positions reversed, I might not allow Neveni into Suralia, but—”

  “But?”

  “I would not use a rescue mission as leverage to broker a trade deal.”

  Marianne screwed her face into a sour expression. “That was a little mercenary of him.”

  “He knew he had a needle to my throat. My affection for Storaas is too widely known.”

  She shot him a grin. “It’s Storaas on that island if Cena has anything to say about it.”

  * * *

  Now he was hallucinating. A face – Cena’s face – appeared and disappeared before his eyes.

  Storaas blinked at the ceiling of his hut and groaned. Agony shot through his legs. One was broken. Both were covered with deep cuts, festering and ugly. He’d somehow dragged himself back into his little shelter, falling unconscious from pain several times on the way. The whole memory was a haze. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying here, floating in and out of consciousness. It had to be … at least a day.

  Just when he decided he wanted to live after all, he was going to die. He coughed a laugh and cried out at the resulting pain that seared through his chest.

  The face appeared above him again. He could even smell her. It was a wonderful hallucination.

  “Cena,” he said, his voice ragged and hoarse. “If only you were here.”

  Warm fingers touched his face. Truly a wonderful hallucination. He would die contented if it continued a little longer.

  “I am here, Storaas,” the face said with Cena’s voice.

  “If only you knew my heart ...” Tears filled his eyes, blurring the beloved face. He blinked rapidly, desperate to clear them, to get the sight of her face back. “If only I could have told you while there was still time.”

  The face hushed him. “There will be time. Sleep now.”

  Something cool touched his neck, and darkness washed over him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “How many bones did he break?” Marianne asked between bites. She looked across the refectory’s high table at Cena, who was sitting opposite her and Laura. Kyza and Thela had scampered off to their afternoon studies, and the Sural sat in his throne-like chair at the head of the table with Rose over one shoulder.

  A lighter mood reigned in the stronghold since it became known that Storaas had been found alive and would recover. Marianne winced at the thought of his injuries.

  Rose squawked a protest at the uncomfortable feelings. Marianne glanced at the Sural, who shifted Rose to his other shoulder and kept eating.

  “Fewer than I expected, given his appearance,” Cena answered. “A leg broken in three places, two ribs, and a bone in his shoulder. Of more concern were the infections and the internal injuries.”

  Marianne shuddered. Rose voiced another loud complaint.

  The Sural tapped Marianne’s wrist and gave her a significant look.

  “My apologies,” she murmured.

  Laura stirred. “I’ll take Rose,” she said, reaching around Marianne. “She likes me.”

  The Sural shot Laura a grateful smile and handed Rose over. She heaved a tiny sigh in Laura’s arms and promptly fell asleep. Laura chuckled. “I haven’t lost my touch.”

  Cena gave the baby a penetrating look. “She is content with you. Unusual.”

  “Much is unusual about Rose,” the Sural said, smiling.

  Marianne cocked an eyebrow at him and turned to address Laura. “I think he means because she shouldn’t be content with anyone but me.”

  “Why?” Laura’s expression went blank.

  “Our newborns are not like those of humans,” the Sural said. “The parental bond gives them all the emotional support they need, and they are normally only content with their bonded parent.”

  “I see.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t see.”

  Marianne chuckled. “Can you see Rose’s bonds?”

  “Is that what that is? The way she’s sort of ... tied to you?”

  “Yes, exactly. Now look at the Sural.”

  Marianne watched with growing amusement as Laura’s eyes flew back and forth between Rose, the Sural, and herself.

  “She’s ... she’s tied to him too.”

  “Storaas noticed it,” Marianne said. “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

  “I’m new to all this, remember? I don’t always know what I’m looking at, and the Sural is tied to everyone. You and Rose and the girls most, though.”

  Cena cleared her throat. She was staring at the Sural. “Had you any plans to inform your apothecary you acquired another parental bond?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You were preoccupied. I thought it best to delay the revelation.”

  “You have three daughters.”

  “So it would appear.”

  She shook her head. “Most unusual.”

  Marianne chuckled again and made a gesture to indicate Laura and herself. “Not to us.”

  “I only had two daughters,” Laura said. “But I did have three sons.”

  “The Paran was pretty impressed with that.”

  Laura’s eyes went dreamy. “Yes.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “It’s good we appear the same age now. It was a little uncomfortable carrying on with a man who looked half my age, even if he was born two centuries before I was.”

  Marianne laughed. “Maybe you’ll have your own little daughter of Parania.”

  The Sural nodded. “
You are entitled to a Tolari heir,” he said.

  “I’ll think about it.” Laura’s tone was sardonic. “What does that mean, anyway? ‘Daughter of Parania.’ ‘Daughter of Suralia.’”

  “At its most basic level, it refers to a female born in one of those provinces,” Cena said.

  “Cena’s a daughter of Suralia,” Marianne chipped in.

  Cena rose to the topic, which seemed to interest her. “As is the Marann, by the Jorann’s declaration. Kyza and Thela are daughters of Suralia and of the Sural himself. And ...” She glanced at Laura, who was staring off with her brows drawn together. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Laura said. “Just thinking about the whales out in the bay.”

  “Hevalra,” Marianne corrected without thinking. “What about them?”

  “They’re intelligent, aren’t they?”

  “Apparently. One of the scientists told me they can’t communicate with everyone, though. Just a few.”

  “What about the baby born in the bay – it was female, right?”

  Marianne nodded.

  “Doesn’t that make her a daughter of Suralia too?”

  * * *

  He felt no pain. Was he dead?

  No, his legs itched. He must be alive.

  Storaas took a deep breath. With it came the smells of an apothecary’s quarters: herbs, powdered minerals, and astringent cleansers. He cracked his eyes open. The ceiling above him was the dark stone of Suralia’s stronghold.

  The hallucinations had not been hallucinations.

  “Cena,” he whispered, the thought of seeing her a bright joy.

  A yellow-robed aide appeared beside him. “I will send for her,” he said, making a gesture.

  “How long ...?”

  “Three days. Your injuries were severe.”

  Storaas breathed in, held it a heartbeat, and breathed out slowly. “I am too old.”

  Cena’s voice came from the doorway. “That can be remedied.”

  The aide disappeared.

  Cena. Storaas drank in the sight of her, his heart overflowing. “Yes, it can, my love,” he said, voicing the familiar endearment he had not used since … before his Suralia had walked into the dark.

  She froze, her lips parted. Then she took a slow step, and another, until she was standing at his bedside, her eyes huge with hope. They locked onto his, searching.

  “Do you mean ... do you intend ...”

  A smile wrinkled his face in spite of himself. He reached for one of her hands. “Yes.”

  “You—”

  He tugged on her hand, impatient with his own weakness, until she sat on the bed beside him. “My heart is yours.”

  She surprised him by bursting into tears and throwing her arms around him to squeeze him tight. He struggled to breathe.

  “Cena. I am still an old man.”

  She loosed her hold and buried her face in his chest. He winced a little as her emotions surged against his senses. He slid his arms around her.

  She took a few deep breaths, regaining control of herself, and looked up. “I thought I would lose you.”

  “Forgive an old fool. I no longer knew my own heart.”

  She put an arm on each side of his chest and pushed herself back to look at him, her face soaked with tears. “What changed you?”

  He reached up to wipe away the tears. “I argued with a hevalrin who showed me how foolish I was to let the past keep me from giving you my heart.”

  “The hevalrin in the bay...?”

  “Is she here?”

  “She? The hevalrin in the bay is male, though he was joined by a gravid female, evidently his mate. She gave birth this morning.”

  More joy brought another smile to his face. “That is good news. Is the young one well?”

  “Yes, the biologists say she is quite healthy, although the waters here are colder than those to which an infant hevalrin would normally be exposed.”

  “And the male was here? I had supposed him to be in the southern oceans with the rest of their kind. She missed him.”

  “While the Sural negotiated with the Neven for permission to send rescuers, the female arrived. She was very agitated.”

  “The Neven? I was in the Sea of Nevenar?”

  “Indeed.”

  He snorted. “What did the Neven extract from the Sural in return for permission to retrieve me?”

  She laughed. “You know him too well. He spent needless time negotiating a trade deal.” She laid a hand on his cheek, sobering. “You could have died while he delayed.”

  He shook his head and closed his eyes, surprised when he started to drift into sleep. She brushed a soft kiss across his brow. “Sleep now,” she said.

  He brought the hand he was holding to his lips and opened his eyes. “Not yet,” he said, shaking his head. “Forgive an old fool for causing you pain.”

  Her voice was barely above a whisper. “You are no fool, my love.”

  My love. Hearing those words on her lips warmed him. “I have been an addle-brained flutterwit for not realizing what I held in my arms. Will you allow me to spend my life at your side?”

  Her sharp gasp was the only answer he needed. He ran a hand into her hair and pulled her mouth onto his, losing himself. Willingly. Happily. The sound of her sigh turned him to liquid fire in spite of his weakness. Time stopped – nothing existed but Cena and the taste of her mouth.

  It was never like this with—

  Someone coughed. He stifled a groan as Cena broke the kiss and straightened to turn toward the door. Marianne was just inside the doorway, eyes dancing, and Laura stood beside her, a delightful blush setting her face aglow.

  “Earth has laws against that kind of behavior between doctor and patient,” Marianne said in English, visibly struggling to keep from laughing.

  “Then it is well we are not human,” he replied in the same language, his voice as dry as he could make it.

  Laura was staring. “You’re happy,” she said. “What happened to you out there?”

  Cena snorted. “He lost an argument with a hevalrin.”

  He smiled, ignoring the comment. “I will be happier still if the Sural’s apothecary will share her supply of the Jorann’s blessing with me in the presence of our friends.”

  Marianne gaped. “Does the Sural know about this?” Then she stopped. “Of course he does. The guards are probably telling him as we speak.”

  Cena made a gesture. “An aide will bring it.”

  Laura cleared her throat and addressed Storaas. “I’ll be returning home soon, but I was hoping to spend a little time talking to you about ... these.” She ran her finger over her forehead, glancing at Cena. “If it’s not too much for him.”

  Cena nodded. “If he sleeps, do not wake him, but talking will do him no harm.”

  An aide appeared, carrying a small crystal box. Cena relieved him of it, offering the box to Storaas.

  He took it from her and opened it, gazing at the tiny cubes inside.

  “Take two,” Cena said.

  Without ceremony, he plucked two cubes out of the box and consumed them. The world swayed around him – or perhaps it was the bed. His vision blurred with a white haze. Gentle hands took the box from him, and the soft hum of Cena’s medical scanner filled the air.

  “Is he all right?” It was Laura’s voice.

  “Yes.” That was Cena. Her presence was incandescent with joy.

  The white haze cleared, leaving the world brighter and colors more vivid. He blinked, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He’d taken the blessing ... many more times than he could ever admit, but never from such an advanced state of aging. It would take much of the day for his body to rejuvenate. He stretched and sighed and let himself fall into slumber.

  * * *

  “It always amazes me how quickly the stronghold’s mood can change,” Marianne said, then bit into a piece of fruit. She surveyed the room. A murmur of conversation ebbed and flowed as staff and guests ate their midday meal, and t
he ambient mood was one of ebullient joy.

  Beside her, Laura shook her head. “If you could see all the connections, it wouldn’t surprise you at all,” she said, giving the Sural a pointed glance.

  He raised an eyebrow. Laura laughed. “Everyone is connected to the Sural,” she continued, “and he’s really happy.”

  Marianne smiled. The Sural’s joy over Storaas’ return, and subsequent decision to take the Jorann’s blessing, thrummed through her. One of the perks of bonding, she thought. “Storaas has been with the Sural’s family for generations. All’s right with the world now that he’s back.”

  “Will he bond with Cena, do you think?” Laura asked.

  The Sural shook his head. “Not soon. He adheres closely to tradition. He will not bond until he and Cena both have heirs.”

  Marianne made a face. “He’s already looking for a woman to mother his child.”

  “It will be years before Cena’s son is old enough that she could do so herself,” he said. “They wish to avoid a long delay.”

  “I’ll never understand it.” She ripped a roll in half.

  The Sural gave Marianne a long look. “It may be necessary to wait in any case. Women with the genetics to give him a child with his gift are rare, though he has admitted he wasted most of his life requesting analyses of the wrong women. Perhaps he will find suitable candidates more quickly now.”

  She made another sour face.

  “Allowing someone other than Cena to mother his heir means nothing to him, beloved.”

  “So you keep saying,” Marianne muttered.

  “It means nothing,” the Sural said. “And as for me, my own requirements are more difficult to meet of late.”

  Marianne stopped in the act of tearing her roll to pieces and squinted at him. “What did you say?”

  “It means nothing,” he repeated.

  “No, after that.”

  “My requirements are now more difficult to meet.”

  “What does that mean?” Laura asked.

  “A genetic analysis must meet high standards before I will agree to father an heir.”

  Marianne’s voice was high-pitched and soft. “You raised your requirements?”

  “Yes, beloved.”

  “Why?”

  “To make such requests as infrequent as possible.”