Irresistible Forces

by Catherine Ansaro et al

  Regret washed out from her mind. They both knew the third dream that inspired his heart. "She's a lovely girl," Roca said. "In a different universe, I think you and Lily could have been very happy."

  "Not could have been," he whispered. "Will be."

  Her voice caught. "I am so, so very sorry." With the grace he had always admired, she held up her hand as if to offer him the studio. "We can't have all our dreams. But we can have some of them."

  Vyrl struggled against the heat in his eyes. He wouldn't cry, not now, not in front of his mother.

  What made it so hard was that, deep inside, he yearned for the gift she offered, the chance to follow his most secret dream.

  Even expecting it, Vyrl jumped when the knock came at the door. He suddenly wished he hadn't chosen this chamber, the circular room high in the tower. When his father had asked where he would like the meeting to take place, he had thought he would be calmer here, but instead it felt as if his sanctuary was being invaded.

  Clenching his blue-glass goblet, he swirled its liquid, inhaling the tangy fragrance. Normally his parents didn't let their children drink wine, but today his father had made an exception, treating him as an adult instead of a child. Although Vyrl appreciated the gesture, it didn't help. He had never liked the taste of wine.

  The knock came again.

  Taking a deep breath, Vyrl stood and walked across the blue chamber. Then he mentally steadied himself and opened the door.

  Devon stood on the landing outside.

  Instead of a uniform, today she wore suede trousers and a gold shirt. She even had on a gold necklace with a hawk design, the emblem of Majda. She seemed subdued, her face drawn and her eyes dark with fatigue.

  She bowed from the waist. "My greetings, Prince Havyrl."

  So they were back to titles. He nodded. "My greetings, General Majda." Moving aside, he invited her to enter.

  Devon entered the chamber. "This is beautiful."

  "It's… calm." He couldn't say more. To tell her what this place meant to him would be a betrayal of a trust, somehow, though he wasn't sure to whom. Himself, perhaps.

  She waited until he sat on his bench, then settled on another one nearby that curved against the wall.

  With stiff formality, Vyrl spoke the words he had been practicing all day. "Please accept my apology for my offense to Majda. I deeply regret any insult my actions gave your line. I hope our House and yours may remain allies."

  Devon answered without delay. "Majda accepts your apology. We look forward to a fruitful alliance with the Ruby Dynasty."

  Vyrl exhaled. There. It was done.

  So they sat.

  When the silence grew strained, Devon said, "Vyrl, I—" in the same instant that Vyrl said, "My father—"They both stopped and gave awkward laughs. Then Devon said, "Please. Go ahead."

  "My father told me what you and he discussed."

  Devon gave a tired nod. "Perhaps it is best to do this soon instead of waiting. As long as you live on Lyshriol, you will be…" She hesitated.

  "Distracted?" He heard his bitterness. "By memories of my former wife?"

  Devon said, simply, "Yes."

  Vyrl tightened his grip on his goblet. "So let's just marry off the recalcitrant groom now and get the whole business over with."

  She shifted on the bench. "I am sorry you see it that way."

  "Everyone is sorry." He looked out the window, trying to hide the pain he knew showed on his face. "Lady Devon, you should marry the man you love. Not me."

  Startled tension snapped in her voice. "What are you talking about?"

  Vyrl turned to see her sitting rigidly, gripping the edge of the bench. He said, "The handsome man with the dark hair and eyes."

  She seemed to close up. "I have no idea what you mean."

  "I saw him. In your mind."

  For a long moment she remained silent. Just when he thought he had made a fool of himself with his assumption, she spoke quietly. "If the Matriarch of Majda were to marry a commoner, it would be a great scandal. An outrage. She would be stripped of her title and her authority. Nor would the children of any such union be considered Majda heirs."

  Gods. What could he say? He and Devon each had their duty, and love had no place in it. What did it matter if they died inside a little more every day, as long as the pillars of the Imperialate remained strong?

  Devon gentled her voice. "Vyrl, I won't ask for anything you aren't ready to give. We can live at whichever of my estates you prefer. And you will have advisors, people to help you learn your new role. No one expects a youth your age to manage a palace with a staff of many hundreds. You will have time to adjust."

  "Adjust." Vyrl felt as if he were caught in a nightmare that kept going. He would never wake up.

  She spoke carefully. "It is true that Majda has certain expectations for your behavior. But this isn't the Ruby Empire. Those days are long in our past. I don't expect you to stay in seclusion or cover yourself in robes. You are free to pursue your interests."

  If that was meant to reassure him, it had the opposite effect. "What do you mean, expectations for my behavior?"

  "You will be a highly placed member of the Imperial Court. Certain protocols are required."

  Vyrl finished his wine with a long swallow, trying to wash away the bitter images. Yes, he knew court protocol. He couldn't imagine living that constrained lifestyle, always under scrutiny by the noble Houses, caught in their webs of intrigue. And regardless of what Devon promised about modern-day freedoms, he knew he would be viewed and treated as her possession.

  He stared at his empty goblet. Then he lifted it and let the glass drop. It shattered on the tiles, blue crystal shards scattering everywhere. "That is what you will do to me if you make me leave here."

  When Devon stiffened, he feared he had gone too far and destroyed the long hours of conciliation his parents had spent, repairing the rift he had created. What was wrong with him? He had nothing to accomplish by antagonizing the person he would spend the rest of his life with. But if this was any sample of their future, he didn't see how he could bear it.

  Devon stared at the broken glass strewn across the floor. Then she braced her hands against her knees. "I can't do this. I feel like a monster."

  Do what? "I don't understand."

  She turned to him. "The betrothal."

  It was his turn to go rigid. Surely he misunderstood, his heart hearing what his brain knew was false. "What do you mean?"

  She took a long breath. "I can't force a child to become my consort against his will." Although she watched him with a guarded expression, there was no mistaking the pain that came from her mind. "If you choose to end this arrangement, I will accept your decision without rancor to your family."

  Vyrl's heart lurched. "You mean, I could stay married to Lily?"

  Devon exhaled. "Yes."

  Yes. Yes! He almost shouted it, but he managed to hold back his exuberance, aware of the insult it would add to the injury he had already done Majda.

  Devon continued in her throaty voice. "But, Vyrl—before you decide, consider this: If you choose to stay here, you will never realize your dreams."

  His joy crashed down again. He told himself it was only his fear that she would withdraw her offer. That was true—in part. But he longed for the freedom to dance, to perform, to explore the limits of his ability, and to do it without shame or guilt, admired instead of scorned.

  The dream tempted him like a siren call.

  A small cleaning droid whirred through the doorway. It nosed around the shards of glass, then began to vacuum them into its interior.

  "I've seen holos of your dancing," Devon said.

  Vyrl froze. "Who showed you?"

  "Your teacher. Rahkil Mariov."

  He wanted to sink into the floor and let the droid vacuum him up, too. "I hope it didn't offend you."

  "Offend me?" Incredulity washed across her face. "You really have no idea how you look, do you?"

  "Yes, I do. I work o
ut facing the mirror." It showed every mistake, again and again, until he fixed the problem.

  She spoke slowly. "I have often wondered what it does to a person to stare for hours into a mirror for the sole purpose of finding flaws. Your dancing seems a cruel art."

  "But it isn't." He didn't know how to describe what was intuition for him. "It can be frustrating, but when you see improvement, it's magic."

  "Magic, yes." For the first time since she had entered the room, her face warmed with a smile. "When you dance, it is extraordinary. Mesmerizing. With your gifts and your spectacular looks, you could have an empire at your feet." In her throaty, compelling voice, she added, "I can give that to you."

  Vyrl stared at her, unable to respond. He could barely imagine people tolerating his dancing, yet Devon promised him an empire. Of all the inducements Majda could have offered, she had chosen the single one that made a difference.

  Devon stood up. "I'll wait downstairs. Take as long as you need to decide."

  After she left, Vyrl pulled up his knee, rested his elbow on it, and gazed out at the rippling plains. Today his tower chamber offered no serenity. He could have what he wanted—Lily and a farm—but it would weaken crucial alliances built on the expectation of his marriage to Devon. Nor could he perform. If he accepted the marriage, he would lose Lily and Lyshriol, but he wouldn't have to give up farming completely, and he could have the dance career he craved, one almost beyond his imaginings.

  The droid whirred around his feet, cleaning up the last shards, hiding the broken pieces inside itself. Once again, the chamber was spotless and smooth, like a polished box.

  A tear gathered in Vyrl's eye and slid down his cheek. He knew the decision he had to make. He went to the door and descended the stairs, headed toward Majda.

  Maybe he could never escape the pain—but he could hide it inside.

  6

  Dreams

  Vyrl tried the combination of steps again, studying his technique in the mirror as he skimmed across the floor. His reflection showed a young man with long legs and red-gold curls, in black pants and a black pullover, all soaked with sweat. Frowning, he tried the steps yet another time. Pah, No wonder he kept stumbling on the last jump. He was leaning to the side, almost imperceptibly, but enough to throw off his balance.

  "Are you going to glare at yourself all day?" a voice drawled from the doorway.

  Vyrl refocused on the mirror, looking at the reflection of the doorway. His brother Del-Kurj stood there, resting his lanky self against the frame, his arms crossed. Vyrl glowered at him via the mirror, but he decided to be civil. For all that Del-Kurj could be a bog-boil, he had been remarkably decent lately, even showing sympathy for his younger brother's melancholy.

  Vyrl turned to him. "Has the broadcast started yet?"

  Del nodded. "In the Hearth Room."

  Vyrl felt as if a lump was lodged in his throat. The meditative calm of his dancing vanished. He cleaned up and changed into trousers and a white shirt, then followed Del upstairs.

  His siblings were already gathered around the hearth: Althor in an armchair, his large size and self-assurance dominating the room; Chaniece, fraternal twin to Del-Kurj, poised and regal, gold hair spilling over her arms; thirteen-year-old Soz, with wild, dark curls, busily taking apart Althor's laser carbine, trying to figure out how it worked; twelve-year-old Denric, smaller than his brothers, with a mop of yellow curls and violet eyes; eight-year-old Aniece, also dark-haired, small and pretty, curled on a sofa by their mother; and four-year-old Kelric, a strapping toddler with gold curls, gold eyes, and the kind of heartbreakingly angelic face that only beautiful young children could have. Their father was sitting in a large armchair, his booted legs stretched across the carpet. Only ten-year-old Shannon was missing.

  Seeing his family together, knowing this would soon all change for him, Vyrl wanted to hold this moment close, like a treasure within a box. He would miss them more than he knew how to say.

  Del-Kurj dropped onto the sofa next to Chaniece and sprawled out his long legs. On the other couch, Soz eyed Vyrl dubiously, as if she hadn't decided yet whether or not brothers qualified as human. But then she moved over, making room for him.

  Vyrl sat down, with Soz on one side and Althor on the other. As he settled in, the room lights dimmed.

  "Got dark," Kelric stated.

  "So it did." Roca picked up the small boy and put him in her lap.

  A news-holo formed around the hearth, encompassing the entire area. It unsettled Vyrl; he suddenly seemed to be sitting in a balcony of the Assembly Hall on the planet Parthonia. Hundreds of men and women packed the amphitheater, rank upon rank of interstellar leaders, dignitaries, diplomats, military officers, and newscasters.

  In the past, Vyrl had never had much interest in such broadcasts. Nor had he paid enough attention to his physics to understand how this transmission came to Lyshriol, many light-years away, except that the technology bypassed spacetime, making light speed limitations irrelevant.

  After a moment, Vyrl located Devon. She was standing on a dais in the center of the amphitheater by a podium. Seeing her, he felt the proverbial shimmerflies in his stomach. She made an impressive sight, resplendent in her dress uniform, tall and strong, like an ancient warrior queen from the Ruby Empire.

  People surrounded her, aides and dignitaries. More were seated at consoles below the dais, probably minor clerks recording the Assembly session. An unfamiliar woman was speaking at the podium, and many people in the amphitheater were talking as well. It seemed like bedlam to Vyrl, but perhaps the meeting had an organization he didn't see.

  Finally the speaker finished and moved aside, glancing at Devon. The general nodded to her, then stepped up to the podium. As Devon tapped the com, the newscasters zoomed in, so that instead of being in a balcony, Vyrl abruptly found his virtual self only a few meters from Devon. It gave him vertigo.

  Suddenly Vyrl froze. At a console across the dais, a dark-haired man was talking into a com. Heat spread in Vyrl's face. He knew that man. He had seen him in Devon's mind.

  Vyrl leaned toward Althor and spoke in low tones, trying to sound nonchalant. "Do you know who that man is? The one with the gray sweater and dark hair?"

  "I haven't a clue," Althor said. "Why?"

  "I just wondered."

  Althor pulled off his palmtop and flipped it open. While Althor worked, Vyrl watched people argue and yell in the Assembly session.

  After a moment Althor spoke discreetly. "His name is Ty Collier." When Vyrl turned to him, Althor added, "He's a recorder for the Imperial Library."

  "That's it?" Devon was in love with a clerk? Vyrl had expected more. But perhaps that wasn't fair to Collier.

  Althor gave him an odd look. "Do you know him?"

  Vyrl avoided his gaze. "I thought he looked familiar, but I was wrong." He could tell Althor didn't believe him, but his brother didn't push. Vyrl wondered how he would feel if he met Collier. Right now, Devon showed no sign she even knew Ty sat a few meters from where she stood.

  When Devon began to speak, the amphitheater went silent. Vyrl could almost feel people leaning forward. Her throaty voice rolled over the audience.

  "A great deal of speculation has occurred in regard to my marital state." She stopped while more newscasters zoomed in. Ty Collier had stopped working and was watching her with poorly disguised pain.

  "Rather than let rumors proliferate," Devon continued, "I have prepared a statement." She paused. "It is true that I plan to marry."

  "What the hell?" Vyrl's father said.

  "The Ruby Dynasty and House of Majda have long been allies," Devon continued. "Strengthening ties between our Houses offers many advantages to the Assembly and its governing bodies." She raised her head, surveying the amphitheater. "The House of Majda honors the Ruby Dynasty. We esteem the Imperial line and welcome the idea of joining our Houses through the Majda Matriarch and a Ruby prince."

  Vyrl felt blood drain from1 his face. No. No! This couldn't be happen
ing. "She told me she would accept my decision! She gave me her word."

  His father spoke tightly. "She certainly did. We all heard her."

  Lights glittered as newscasters recorded Devon's next words. "And it may be that someday such a joining will grace our House—if my sister Corejida Majda so wills."

  "Corey?" Vyrl's mother said. "What the blazes?"

  Voices rumbled in the Assembly Hall, and Devon paused, waiting for them to quiet.

  Eldrinson gave his wife a puzzled look. "Have we spoken to Corey Majda?"

  "Not that I know of." Roca spread her hands in a shrug, then quickly brought them back to keep Kelric from falling off her lap. "I've no idea what Devon is about."

  "Devon has a sister?" Vyrl asked.

  His mother nodded. "Two sisters. Corey and Naaj. Corey is next in line. She's ten years younger than Devon."

  "Maybe she's making Corey her heir," Althor said. "She has to do something, or she will lose power within her House."

  Devon was speaking again. "A young man once told me something I found true, words with a wisdom well beyond his age: 'For all that our dreams bring meaning to our lives, we cannot have them all. What we give up may cause regret, even grief, but we must find a balance we can bear. Otherwise our hearts will shatter.' "

  Vyrl gaped at her. She had just repeated the words he had spoken when he told her that he couldn't become the Majda consort.

  Devon had an odd look now, as if she were about to jump off a precipice. "In this matter of balance, I, too, must choose." Her voice carried throughout the amphitheater. "For that reason, I am abdicating my position as the Majda Matriarch."

  "Gods al-flaming-mighty," Vyrl's mother said.

  "Has she gone mad?" Eldrinson demanded.

  The newscasters exploded with questions. Vyrl couldn't sort them out, the session had turned into such a tumult. Devon stood calmly, waiting for the clamor to subside.

  "Why would she abdicate!" Roca said.

  "Corey is next in line," Eldrinson said. "Saints, Roca, she's making Corey the Matriarch. That's what she meant."