“Beloved, it is enough to touch your hand.”
She pressed his hand to her cheek. “It’s so strange to take your hand and know how you feel. You knew how I felt all along, didn’t you?”
“It would have frightened you to know this.”
She nodded. “Probably.” She sighed and took a small cup from a nearby table. “Your apothecary told me to give you this when you woke.”
The Sural made a face. “Another of her vile potions,” he croaked, taking it from her.
“Drink up!” Marianne told him.
The Sural drank it and handed the cup back to her. “Not as bad as some of her mixtures,” he said, his voice a little clearer. His eyes glazed. “But very... strong...” He sighed into sleep.
<<>>
“They moved me to the family wing,” Marianne said. “There are even more guards here.”
Adeline laughed. “What did you expect?”
Marianne shrugged.
Adeline laughed again. “So tell me about that petty little religious leader, the Jorann.”
“They don’t have a religion,” Marianne replied.
“Then what was all that ritual about?”
“It was about family.”
“Family?”
“You can’t have status on Tolar unless you belong to a family—and I couldn’t continue teaching Kyza without status. It was more like a legal adoption. I had to be a member of the Sural’s family. So—the Jorann had to do it, the one person on the planet whose rank and status are higher than his.”
“You said she’s like a legend on Tolar. The First Tolari. The Highest One. The one they would never think to disobey, much less harm—while the rest of them plot and scheme against each other like medieval barons.”
Marianne’s head on the monitor tilted sideways. “There has to be someone at the very top.”
“And we all thought that was the Sural, but he’s not sacrosanct. Why did she like you so much? Why is she protecting you?”
Marianne shrugged. “I really don’t know.”
Adeline paused the recording and looked over at the Admiral. He nodded. “She’s hiding something,” he said.
Adeline sat on the edge of the desk. “I agree. There’s been a sea change in her communications with us. She’s less open, more calculating.”
“Maybe it wasn’t such a grand idea to let her do this,” Smithton said. “Looks like she’s taking her new loyalty to the Sural too seriously, if you ask me.”
“He didn’t ask you,” Adeline replied in an officious voice, then grinned. “But you’re right. She is.”
“The question is, does her loyalty to Earth still mean more to her,” the Admiral said. “You know how the Chairman reacts to divided loyalties. Do we pull her out?”
“The Sural would never forgive us for it if we did,” Adeline replied.
The Admiral shrugged. “It’s easy enough to invent a family emergency. Surely even the Sural would understand that.”
“And surely the Sural would never allow her to set foot on Tolar again, family emergency or no family emergency.”
“Damn,” said Smithton. “She’s right, John—it was one of that damned Sural’s damned conditions for letting us send a teacher down there in the first place. After gaining their trust, she couldn’t leave, because outside of their protection she could be tampered with by enemies.”
The Admiral went to the viewport and looked out at Tolar. “So—we can’t trust her, and we can’t pull her out to debrief her.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Adeline replied.
“Play it out, John,” Smithton said, “see where it goes.”
The Admiral growled. “Looks like I don’t have any real choice.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Sural sat under a cora tree in the gardens. Three days had passed since the Detral’s attack, and though the poison had slowed his recovery, he wanted out of his quarters. His apothecaries had given their consent to a walk in the garden, as long as he rested more than he walked. Now he basked in the afternoon sun, his heir laughing and playing in the brook nearby, the woman who had captured his heart sitting at his side. He was content.
He reached for her hand. She gave him an almost shy smile and blushed, a hint of fear and apprehension coloring her presence.
“I will never hurt you,” he whispered.
She dipped her head, and her eyes fell on his wounded side. “I’m so sorry that happened. If I’d only—”
“No. I was able to survive. You would not have.”
“Why did the Detral do it?”
He shook his head. “He is unbalanced and intolerant. He deduced my feelings for you.”
“Apparently, I was the only one who didn’t,” she said, her voice dry.
He grinned, then grew serious. “He is sensitive enough to have heard the truth in my voice when I declared you. Yet he believed I attempted to deceive him.”
“Enough to try to assassinate me? I didn’t know Tolari used bow and arrow.”
“It is a game of skill, nothing more. We do not use them to kill each other. For the Detral to attempt it is unthinkable. My guards thought nothing of it when he arrived with a bow, supposing him intent on testing his skill against mine, as he has done many times. He concealed his intentions well.”
“It would be easy to assassinate a ruler with a distance weapon,” Marianne murmured.
“It would be—unspeakable. Dishonorable. What he did—” He shuddered. “It is not unprecedented, but a provincial ruler has never attempted it.”
“I thought he was your friend.” Her forehead wrinkled, and she leaked confusion.
“He was a good friend and a strong ally for many years.”
Marianne shook her head. How the Detral committed an atrocity, against a friend, seemed to defy her understanding. “The Admiral doesn’t understand why more Tolari rulers don’t use archery to gain an advantage over each other.”
He shuddered again. “To kill an unsuspecting individual from a distance is forbidden. Combat is only honorable if the intended target has an opportunity to defend himself.”
“This target is glad you defended her, but I wish it hadn’t almost cost you your life.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand. “What do your friends on the ship think now?”
“They’re relieved you’re alive,” Marianne replied. “But they seem to know I’m hiding something, especially Adeline, the Ambassador’s wife. She’s a sharp one.”
The Sural let his smile tilt. “Perhaps she would have been a better choice to be here,” he teased.
Marianne cocked her head. “She’s loyal to Earth to her very core,” she replied, as if she thought it had been a serious statement. “And I think she used to be an intelligence operative. Who knows, it might be Central Command’s way to keep an eye on the Ambassador. Maybe she never stopped being a spook.” Her eyes widened as she said it.
“Now you think like a member of the ruling caste.” He allowed himself an open grin.
“Is she a spook?” Her face became wary, and he sensed uncertainty in her—she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“I am certain of it. She is more than she appears to be. Much more than her Ambassador thinks her to be.”
“Humans have a saying: love is blind.” A sigh gusted from her lips. “I’m not learning fast enough. I’m even giving myself away to humans.”
He laid a hand on one shoulder. “Have no concern, beloved. She will never be able to guess the true nature of the Jorann, nor of your transformation.”
“No, I don’t suppose she could.” She lifted a hand halfway to her face and froze.
“What troubles you?”
“They’ll discover everything if they pull me out.”
He went cold. Fixing his eyes on hers, he straightened, suppressing a flinch as his wound spasmed. “Tell me.”
“Before I left Tau Ceti station to come here, they put a locater chip in my brain,” she said. “It’s tiny, ea
sy to insert, and impossible to remove. Central Command puts them in anyone who sets foot on a nonhuman world as a safety protocol. They can lock onto my chip and phase me out if something should happen that they think threatens my safety.”
“Why did you not tell me of this?” He considered anger and discarded it.
She spread her hands in apology. “It’s been eight years. It was a short little procedure in the middle of an eventful day. The layover on Tau Ceti station lasted all of maybe thirty minutes. I’d forgotten it until just now.”
“It must be removed.”
“That’s impossible,” she said. “Especially not after all this time. It’s worked its way into my brainstem, and it’s booby-trapped.”
“We shall see.” He started to get up. She helped him to stand and dusted bits of vegetation from his robes. “Beloved—”
She glanced up at him, expectation in her eyes.
“Trust me.”
She nodded, but doubt still colored her presence. Will she never trust me? he thought. Withdrawing back into himself, he leaned on her as they made their way back into the keep.
<<>>
Marianne blinked and raised her eyebrows when they entered the apothecaries’ quarters. The Sural only twitched his lips. Several guards lay injured on the examination beds—apparent victims of the games they played to keep their reflexes sharp. Medicinal smells filled the air, and aides and nurses clogged the room, carrying medical scanners and other arcane equipment. The head apothecary was mixing one of her infamous potions and couldn’t interrupt her work. The Sural went into her private study to wait. Marianne followed, sensing a guard even there.
“Must they be everywhere?” she complained.
The Sural chuckled. “I have seldom known a day without them.”
“And I never knew a day with them until I came here. There’s no privacy in this place.”
“Ah.” He sighed. “Is that what holds you back?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Well... maybe, partly. Mostly. Well... yes.”
“You saw what happened when I sent the guards out of range for you.”
She flinched. “This is personal.”
“The guards would give their lives for you, beloved,” he said. “What have you to hide from them? They love you—why would they hurt you?”
“You tell me,” she challenged, just as the apothecary walked in.
The healer bowed in respect and took her seat behind the desk, waiting for the Sural to speak.
“How much will the physiological transformation occurring in the Marann’s brain increase the risk of a medical procedure performed on it?” he asked.
Marianne made a mental note to ask the Sural about that title.
“It would not be wise to tamper until the transformation is complete, high one,” the apothecary answered.
“How long?”
“Perhaps a year, perhaps more. Very little of her brain is Tolari at present, but the rate of change should accelerate over time.”
“We may not have a single season.”
Marianne added, “We may not have ten days.”
The apothecary’s brows furled, and she radiated concern. “What does this regard?”
“Central Command had a locater chip implanted on my brainstem while I was on Tau Ceti station, on my way here from Earth,” Marianne answered. “It’s tiny and easy to insert, but it’s rigged to destroy my brainstem if it’s tampered with. And as long as it remains, the humans can phase me off the planet whenever they decide to.”
She digested this. “I see your concern,” she said. She paused to think, then pulled her medical tablet from a pocket and studied it. The Sural allowed her time. “I think it can be done, high ones, but not without risk.”
The Sural straightened. “Tell me.”
“Accelerate her transformation.”
Marianne blinked several times, taken aback. “You can do that?”
“No,” the apothecary answered. “I cannot. The Jorann would have to do it.”
The Sural gave a slow nod. “What are the risks?”
“It will be painful,” she answered, “extremely painful. Pain can kill a human, and at present the Marann remains largely human. I cannot predict what it would do to her.”
“Can the pain be controlled?”
She stared past them as she thought about it. “Possibly. It might be more practical to keep her unconscious until her brain has completed the change. Seven, perhaps eight days, if the Jorann consents. At that point, I can repair anything they did to her. However—if she is phased off the planet during the process, she could die.”
The Sural pulled out his tablet and busied himself.
“What are you doing?” Marianne asked.
“Disabling the phase platform on the Alexander,” he murmured. “I am uncertain how long it will take them to acquire a replacement, but it will gain us time.”
“You can do that? From your tablet?” She gaped.
He turned to her with a crooked grin. “It is your decision, beloved.”
She took a deep breath and ignored the sinking feeling in her midsection. “When do we start?”
<<>>
The journey to the Jorann’s cavern took much longer than Marianne’s first trip—an entire afternoon, since the Sural refused to stay behind and required frequent rests. The head apothecary seemed displeased with him, but kept it to herself, for the most part. Her medical authority extended over him only so far.
“What did you tell the Ambassador’s wife?” the Sural asked as he limped along.
Marianne blushed, and he radiated delight. She could not understand what Tolari found so enthralling about a blush. “I told her we were taking a romantic vacation and would be out of communication for ten days or so.”
He chuckled. “Did she believe you?”
“Maybe not. Spending time in an ice cave isn’t Adeline’s idea of a romantic getaway. It’s not mine either, for that matter, but I didn’t tell her that. She wished me joy, and I blushed a lot. I might have pulled it off.”
He drew a deep breath and released it. “We cannot rely on having enough time.”
Marianne shuddered. She didn’t want to think about what was coming.
“You called me the Marann,” she said, to change the subject. “The guards and servants have called me that since I returned from my first visit to the Jorann. Does it mean something?”
“Your name is close to an Old Tolari word.” He turned a smile on her. “In that language, Jorann means ‘First One.’ Marann means ‘Second One.’ The servants could not resist beginning to call you that amongst themselves, and it spread. Do you not find it appropriate?”
She stared at her hands. “I don’t want to lose my name the way Tolari high ones do.”
“Beloved, you are a Tolari high one,” he said, “but you do not rule a province. There is no reason for the Jorann to take away your name.”
They reached the stairs leading up to the ice cave. “You will rest, high one,” the apothecary ordered.
The Sural nodded and sat on the staircase with a groan. “Willingly, apothecary.”
Marianne bit her lip to keep from laughing as the apothecary forced the most powerful man on the planet to sit on a staircase for a full twenty minutes before allowing him to continue. She repeated the performance twice more before they reached the top.
“Why do Tolari rulers lose their names?” Marianne asked during their last stop on the stairs. “What purpose does it serve?”
“The Jorann took my name from me when she bonded me to my people.” He put a hand to his chest. “I can feel them—I can see them, like stars shining on the surface of the province. I am Suralia. If I had a name, I could not be Suralia.” He smiled up at her. “Beloved, I do not even wish to be anything else.”
“So that time I asked you what your name was—”
“You asked him his name?” the apothecary interrupted, her eyes huge.
“Well—y
es.”
“And you did not banish her?” she asked the Sural.
The blood ran out of Marianne’s face, and her voice came out thin and high-pitched. “Is there anything else I should be careful not to say?”
The Sural took her hands. “I will never harm you or send you away, beloved,” he said. “Have no fear of me.” He shot a vexed look at the apothecary.
“Forgive me, high one,” the healer murmured, and turned to Marianne. “High one—it is not clear to us why the ruling bond affects our leaders the way it does. If you ask a bonded ruler his name, he will perceive it as a threat. It is extraordinary that the Sural did nothing.”
“She could not have known.” He grated the words. “I refuse to be a slave to my instincts.”
“Is there anything else like that I need to know?” Marianne persisted.
The Sural shook his head. “I think you already know not to approach an adult in the grip of a bonding child,” he said. “That is the truly dangerous instinct we all have.”
“Is that why Storaas pulled me away when Kyza’s first bond with you dissolved?”
“Yes. Storaas knows better than anyone how dangerous I can be.”
“High ones, we should finish our journey,” the apothecary said.
As he stood, supported by the healer, he shut his empathic barriers and disappeared from her senses. Marianne blinked. It had not taken long to become accustomed to his presence, and its absence unsettled her. He smiled down at her and reached for a hand. As their fingers twined, she sensed a faint echo of him.
The Jorann seemed to expect them when they reached the cavern. Without issuing her challenge, she pointed to the blankets at the foot of the dais. The Sural let go of Marianne’s hand and limped forward, the apothecary hovering to one side.
The healer’s words echoed through Marianne’s head. It will be painful, extremely painful. She forced her feet to move forward until she stood at the Sural’s side, looking up at the Jorann.
Looking up. Though shorter than the Sural, the woman towered over her, blonde braids in intricate knots cascading around her shoulders to the floor. Marianne’s jaw loosened. Either she had colored her hair, or her blessing did impossible things. And if the color was natural, it raised questions about her origins. She had said she was once human. Had she been born on Earth? Why was she not, like her children, black-haired and caramel-skinned?
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