Kyza tried to swallow. “I regret my... failure, Father,” she whispered. “Forgive me.”
“You did not fail, Kyza.” Her father chuckled.
She twitched her brows together. “But I... live. I would be in... enemy hands. I... have failed.”
“You were outstanding, daughter. The guards and proctors could not find you, and you chose death before capture.”
Death. Capture. A test? She tried to make sense of it, but her thoughts muddled. “Father?”
“Death was the trial, Kyza. Do you think we would tell you that you must walk into the dark, if we did not know how to bring you back?”
“If you can—”
The Sural laid a finger on her lips. “Suralia knows the way. It is one of our secrets.” He took a small cup from the apothecary. “Now, daughter, my apothecary has something for your pain. You will drink it.”
“Father—”
“Do not disobey the Sural, Kyza. I know your tutors have taught you to refuse drugs, but you have passed this trial—and one of the rewards is relief from the pain it inflicts. Drink.” He slid a hand under her head, lifting it, and held the cup to her lips until she drank its entire contents. “Good. Now, did that taste as bad as all her other medicinals?”
She could not laugh, but a faint smile curved her lips. The Sural nodded. “I suspected as much.” Her eyes unfocused as the drug took effect. “I will leave you to your dreams,” he said, stroking her hair. “Sleep now, daughter.”
Warm muzziness closed in.
<<>>
“Well, thank God for that.” The Ambassador grumbled as he tossed Marianne’s latest status report away from him onto his desk.
“Thank God for what, Smitty?” came Adeline’s voice from the next room. Smithton scowled. Adeline could infuriate him when she pretended to be deaf to what she didn’t want to hear, but mention God and she was all ears.
“The girl is going to live,” he called.
Adeline, clad in a pink leotard and tights with a loose red sash tied around her waist, ran into the room and threw her arms around him. Damn she’s a fine-looking woman, he thought, as his arms went around her.
“That’s wonderful!” she cried, giving him a sound kiss on the nose. That accomplished, she disentangled herself from him and jogged back into the next room. Twentieth century rock-n-roll began to play. The Beatles, he thought, but he didn’t know the era well enough to be sure.
“What the hell are you doing in there, Addie?”
“Exercising! What do you think of the Rolling Stones?”
Rolling Stones, Beatles, it was all the same to him. He was past trying to figure out why she listened to six-hundred-year-old music rather than something more modern.
“Can’t you do that in the ship’s gym?” he growled.
“What, and have all those callow youths drooling over the wife of Earth’s Ambassador to Tolar?” He could hear the capital letters. “Besides, they don’t like twentieth century music.”
“Neither do I!” he bellowed.
“But I’m allowed to torture you.” Glee filled her voice.
Smithton grunted and left to find a quieter place to work.
<<>>
In her quarters in the guest wing, Marianne opened a new bottle of essential oil of lavender and applied a single drop to the warmest part of her neck. It was one of her favorite scents. Adeline had had it phased down from the ship a few hours earlier with her vitamin and protein supplements. The Tolari could not comprehend why she mixed her body’s odor with such scents. To them, it was a form of deceit, or at least they had thought so until they understood her sense of smell was quite dull compared to theirs. Most of the time, she complied with their preferences, but it was the end of a long day and she felt like indulging. She’d bathe in the morning and remove the scent, but for now, she breathed it in and sighed.
The guard by the door—a woman, since any guard assigned to her quarters was a woman—flickered into view. I wish they wouldn’t do that, Marianne thought, a little startled. The guards in her quarters, as a general rule, remained camouflaged and silent. The lavender’s scent must have been a little too strong for this one.
The guard, as observant as any Tolari, noted her reaction and bowed an apology. “Forgive me, proctor,” she said in English. More and more of them know English now, Marianne thought. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“Is there something you wished to say?” Marianne asked.
The guard started to shake her head, but her curiosity seemed to get the better of her. “That fluid, proctor, what is it?”
“Lavender oil. Lavender is a flower on my world, on Earth. This is an essential oil derived from the plant. It has medicinal properties as well as a pleasant scent. Do you like it?”
The guard spread her arms in apology, shaking her head. “Perhaps in a weaker concentration,” she suggested. “Do you use it now for its medicinal properties?”
Marianne thought about it a moment. “I might be,” she answered. “It can soothe anxieties, and I was worried about Kyza.”
“Worried?”
She sighed. The Tolari also could not comprehend human worry, or at least the guards didn’t. They didn’t worry about anything at all, that Marianne had ever detected. For the guard, as for every other Tolari in the stronghold, either Kyza survived her tests, or she didn’t. Since she had survived, they were unconcerned. If she hadn’t survived, they would have grieved, but it never occurred to them to anticipate grief before it happened.
“I can’t answer you, guard,” she responded, “It’s a human thing.”
The guard nodded, bowed, and disappeared into the background.
Marianne settled back in her chair and picked up the tablet containing her personal library. She felt like reading a little Jane Austen. “Life in the fishbowl,” she muttered. In Hungarian, so none of the invisible guards would understand.
<<>>
Kyza opened her eyes on the quiet darkness of night and lifted her head. Then she stirred her arms and legs, pushing herself up on her elbows. No pain. The apothecary’s noxious-tasting potion had done its work. She sat up with care. An apothecary’s aide watched her but did not speak or interfere. Weakness pulled at her limbs, but not so much that she could not stand—she thought. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she slid down until her peds touched the floor, then tilted forward as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She avoided falling by letting the momentum carry her to the window.
Clinging to the sill, she looked out into the night, panting, until the dizziness passed. Tolar’s single large moon, half full, hung above the far mountains, beyond a mist-filled valley spotted with the tops of an occasional tree. Paperbark trees, she thought. She could not be sure on that point; her academic education had not yet progressed beyond giving her a fluent ability to read. She remembered Storaas mentioning that paperbark trees grew so tall they pierced the fog in the Kentar Valley. The peaks beyond were the High Fralentolar Mountains along Suralia’s border with Detralar province. She knew they lay farther away than they looked.
Feeling steadier now, Kyza turned away from the window and navigated through the room to the keep’s main corridor. Hunger gnawed at her. Perhaps the kitchen workers had left some food out—sometimes they did, to allow it to cool for the morning meal. She walked down the corridor, feeling the camouflaged family guards watching her. She could sense where they stood but ignored them. Training enabled her to cross the entire stronghold blindfolded without touching a single wall or piece of furniture or unseen guard, but—
Kyza stopped halfway down the hall when she encountered an unfamiliar smell. It alarmed her into camouflaging until she realized the new smell mingled with her human tutor’s scent. Marianne must have anointed herself with one of those strange, scented oils she favored, one Kyza had not yet encountered. Satisfied, she dropped out of camouflage and moved on to continue her quest for food, calculating how long she had slept. More than two days had passed.
Moon
light streamed through the kitchens’ large windows, illuminating trays of grain rolls set out to cool. Her mouth watering, she plucked one from its tray and bit into it, hunger driving her to devour the entire roll before slowing down. Still not satisfied, she grabbed another and chewed on it as she leaned back against the near wall, sliding downward until she sat on the floor with her knees against her chest.
Eating at a more civilized pace, she finished half the second roll, thinking about the trial. If it had accomplished anything, it had removed any fear she had of the dark. Perhaps that had been its purpose? When she became the Suralia someday, she must have no fear of the dark and be willing to lay down her life for her people. The pain, though—she shivered and closed her eyes, leaning her head on her knees. If honor ever required her to walk into the dark, she would make certain she was too far from a Suralian apothecary to be brought back.
Chapter Ten
At dawn, the cooks found Kyza asleep in the kitchen with a half-eaten grain roll in one hand. She woke when one of them approached her. Stumbling to her peds, she let the smiling head cook shoo her out of the way and into the refectory. Steaming carafes of tea stood on a table by the door, with a collection of mugs beside them. She poured some and went to her usual seat at the high table to finish off the roll. Her father walked in as she ate the last bite.
“Father!” she called out as his gaze fell on her. She slipped from the chair and started to run toward him, but stopped when her knees wobbled. With a few long strides, he crossed the space between them and swept her up into a warm hug.
“Will I get all better?” she asked, rubbing her forehead against his cheek.
“So say the apothecaries,” he said as he set her back down, smiling. He radiated a pride that went straight through her, straightening her back, swelling her heart, and firming her resolve to be worthy of Suralia.
Servants began to appear with trays of food, readying the refectory for the morning meal. Satisfied with her father’s answer to her question, she grabbed a piece of fruit from one of the trays and returned to her place at the high table.
“I have something to discuss with you, dear one,” the Sural announced as he began to eat.
Dear one. He had just given her the familiar salutation of a high one. Kyza focused her full attention on him, eyes wide.
He smiled, eyes twinkling. “You passed the great trial.”
“The great trial?” Kyza exclaimed. “That was the great trial?”
“Even so.”
“I thought I was supposed to be older.”
“You pushed your training ahead of schedule,” he said, disapproval lacing his tone, “by a year.”
“Is that why Proctor Storaas always tells me to be patient?”
“One reason,” he replied. “You must listen to him in the future. There is enthusiasm, and there is recklessness. You must have the one and not the other. It was almost your undoing. You came close to death.”
“Forgive me, Father.”
He gave her the smile he used when he wanted to reassure her. She grinned back at him. “It is past now, daughter. The apothecaries confirm you will make a full recovery. I do expect you to continue your physical conditioning, but from today, you will have no further trials, only practice—rigorous practice. You must see the Jorann, and then I will declare you heir to Suralia.”
Kyza bounced out of her chair and into her father’s lap, hugging him tight. He gave her a squeeze and tapped her nose with a long, strong finger, his smile luminous with pride. Her heart wanted to fly.
“You begin your more academic studies today,” he said. “You will spend as many long hours studying as you did in your physical training. Are you up to the task?” He quirked a smile. “I can replace you if you are not.”
She giggled, then sobered. “I will make you proud of me, Father.”
“You could not make me prouder—” her father interrupted his reply. She winked out of sight and slipped from his lap to return to her chair.
“Marianne comes,” he said, his eyes fixed on one of the guards, a trace of disapproval in his gaze. The guard had been in her line of sight and hadn’t flickered—and he should have. She climbed into her chair and dropped her camouflage just before her human tutor appeared in the doorway.
Marianne was clad like a Tolari, in a loose robe of pale Suralia blue—the only color she could wear since she belonged to no caste. The clothing she had brought from Earth was not durable and had worn thin, so she had begun to wear Tolari robes more and more often. It pleased her father to see her in them, and sometimes she thought he had forbidden the humans to phase down more human clothing for that very reason.
Marianne smiled at Kyza as she chose morning foods safe for her to eat. She still smelled of the fragrance she had used during the previous evening, although it seemed she had tried to scrub the scent from her skin. The Sural gestured to a servant and gave a quiet order for her quarters to be disinfected and deodorized. Again.
Unaware of all this, Marianne took her usual seat across the high table, to her father’s left—the place reserved for a bond-partner, if her father had had one. It was funny to see a human sit there, unaware of what it meant. Kyza almost grinned, but her father reached along their bond and helped her suppress it.
“You are glad to see Kyza,” the Sural said. In English.
Marianne nodded, recognizing the compliment he gave by using her language rather than his own. “I’m always glad to see Kyza,” she answered. “But you know I couldn’t help being worried.”
“Worry is counterproductive.”
She shrugged and focused on the food.
The Sural studied her for a time. Then he broke into a crooked smile and continued, “Then you will wish to continue tutoring my heir.”
Heir! Marianne thought. The great trial! When she’d heard Kyza had almost died, she thought it had to be. The Sural had maintained a forbidding silence while Kyza lay near death, so she hadn’t dared to ask.
“So that was the great trial!” she exclaimed. She beamed a smile at Kyza. “You passed it!”
Kyza grinned around a mouthful of food.
“Even so,” the Sural said. “As a consequence of Kyza’s accomplishment, the Jorann has requested her presence. She has also requested,” he paused for effect, “yours.”
Marianne stopped chewing and met the Sural’s gaze, eyes wide. The grain roll’s spicy afterburn hit, and she snatched up her mug to gulp some tea. The Sural grinned and took a huge bite of his roll, eating with a hearty appetite. The man consumed vast amounts of food. She had no idea how he could stay so lean. He emitted a snort. He enjoyed this, Marianne thought. She glanced at Kyza. The child’s face glowed.
She turned her attention back to her meal, thinking. There weren’t many reasons why the Jorann would request someone’s presence, and most involved a status change, whether up, down, or sideways. The reason to send for Kyza was obvious, but Marianne wasn’t Tolari—she had no family and no status to raise, lower, or change. Unless—unless they had some ritual to give her status. She looked up at the Sural again. His smile turned enigmatic. She’d come to think he should patent that smile.
“Yes, we do have a way to give you status,” he said. “It is necessary now. Kyza has become a member of the ruling caste, and we have no law to allow for an individual without status to tutor a high one.”
“High one, of course I—”
He lifted a hand, and she stopped. “Do not consent before you give it thought. I will give you time to speak with your Admiral.”
“Of course—but... why?”
“You must become Tolari,” he answered. “To have status, you must become a daughter of Suralia. Do you know what it means to become Suralian?”
Marianne thought about it and couldn’t remember hearing him say anything on the topic. She shook her head. “No, high one.”
“As you are, you are nothing to my enemies,” he replied. “They have no interest in harming you. If you become a daughte
r of Suralia, you will become a prize, something they might think they can use to dishonor me. They will try to capture you just as they would try to capture my daughter. And you are in far more danger from them—in truth—because you are untrained. A Tolari child could capture you.”
Marianne gave a rueful smile. There were humans the Tolari would find difficult to sneak up on—spooks, intelligence operatives, what-have-you—but she wasn’t one of them. She put down her food and met his eyes.
“Understand before you consent,” the Sural went on, “I must require you, as I require every Suralian, to pledge your life to mine. Can you do that?”
She let out a breath. Pledging her life to the Sural’s meant she would have to walk into the dark if he died in dishonor. She couldn’t imagine the Sural would ever allow anyone or anything to sully his honor, but the pledge carried a serious obligation. She would have to commit suicide.
It’s been two thousand years since the last time a ruler died in dishonor.
“There are... ways,” she said. “I’m not trained or equipped for it, but we do have ways to kill ourselves even faster than a Tolari can.”
The Sural nodded. “Good. Then I can give you permission to consent if it is what you decide.”
Marianne blinked. It seemed circular that the Sural had to give permission for her to consent to something he had asked her to do. Infinite loop, see loop, infinite. She studied the grain roll in her hand. This was important to the Sural, she thought. Why?
“Marianne,” he said. She jerked her head up—he seldom used her name. “Could you be content to spend the rest of your life here?”
“You mean—stay on Tolar after my assignment is complete?” she asked.
“Yes.” His eyes were fixed on hers, but she couldn’t interpret his expression.
“Never go home?” Her mind refused to absorb the idea.
“You will be Tolari,” he said. “You will be a daughter of Suralia. My province will also be your home. Perhaps you will never want to leave, once you are one of us.”
“What if I become Tolari and decide to leave anyway?”
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