Men had collapsed throughout the courtyard, some dragging themselves out of the battle, but too many lying completely still. Avaril’s warriors continued to pour in; far fewer of Eldri’s men were coming out of Windward. Tears welled in Roca’s eyes. Brad and his hastily assembled team of proto-engineers couldn’t have many explosives left. Long after Windward’s defenders had depleted their numbers, weapons, and energy, Avaril’s much larger army would keep on coming.
Roca couldn’t find Eldri in the chaos below. She glimpsed his helmet among a mass of men by the western wall, but it vanished as the battle roiled across the courtyard. Another time she thought she saw him lying crumpled and broken against one wall. She cried out as another man fell, blocking her view, and she pressed her hands against her abdomen, praying her child wouldn’t suffer such a brutal death. She couldn’t believe Eldri lay in a broken heap under another dead man. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.
She couldn’t accept such an end for the man she loved.
When Roca first heard the thunder coming from beyond the castle walls, she feared Avaril’s men were using the battering ram again, though
why,
she had no idea. The relentless invaders were already pushing their way through the courtyard, cutting down Eldri’s men. It wasn’t until the fighting lagged in the courtyard, with men turning their heads upward, that she realized the roar she heard came from the sky.
Leaning out the window, her hair streaming in the wind, she craned her neck to look. She had been at Windward so long that for an instant she reacted as would a Lyshrioli woman, shocked to see a great gold and black beast soaring above Windward, its voice raised in an unnatural roar. Then her perception shifted—and for one brilliant, incredible moment she wanted to shout her relief at that great metal creature—a Skolian military shuttle.
Then the ship fired.
Its beam sheered off a tower, one far from the window where Roca stood. Another shuttle roared into view from behind the castle, looming over the battle. Warriors scattered, running for their lives as the ship blasted the courtyard with the exhaust of its landing. Roca shouted, her protest lost in the noise. They must have pinpointed her position—and were eliminating any threat they thought existed to that location. In “rescuing” her, they would destroy the very people who had protected her all these months.
She whirled around and took off, racing out of the suite. Her feet pounded on the stone floor in the hall. When she flung open the door to the stairs, shouts in the dining hall swelled in crescendo. She strode onto the landing at the top of the stairs—and froze, clenching the rail as she stared in horrified disbelief at the scene below.
Unaware of what was happening outside, Eldri’s men were still locked in combat with the invaders, the battle crashing throughout the hall. Several warriors were on the table, fighting back and forth, swords flashing as they parried and attacked. One of Avaril’s men suddenly found an opening in his opponent’s defense and stabbed him through the heart. Roca cried out, but in the tumult, no one heard.
The double doors of the hall slammed open. The dining hall was supposed to be inside the castle, but sunlight streamed into the room, coming through the destroyed wing beyond. A gold giant stood framed in the doorway like an avenging metal god, a man seven feet tall, indomitable and massive, towering over every other man in the room. He wore the harsh uniform of a Jagernaut Primary, black leather embedded with computers, more machine than clothes. His skin, hair, and gaunt-lets all glinted, hard and unforgiving. He had drawn his gun, a huge Jumbler that glittered black in the sunlight. His eyes showed no whites, only unbroken shields of gold, as if he weren’t human at all, but a machine.
Her son had arrived.
R
oca saw Eldri.
He must have jumped on the table just before Kurj threw open the doors. Eldri had lost his helmet somewhere, and his disarrayed hair was wild around his head. He stood with his feet planted wide, his body half turned to the door, his sword held out, blood dripping off the blade, his eyes wild, his chest heaving from exertion. He looked as much the atavistic barbarian as Kurj looked a warlord of the stars.
How Kurj knew Eldri was more than just another fighter among hundreds, Roca had no idea—but in that moment, when he and Eldri locked gazes, she saw the recognition in their faces and felt it in their minds. Time seemed to slow as Kurj raised his Jumbler in both hands, his arms straight out, pointing it at Eldri. And in that moment Roca knew, without doubt, that her son was about to commit the equivalent of patricide.
“KURJ!” She shouted her words. “
Don’t shoot!
”
Both Eldri and Kurj whirled toward her. Their reaction was so intense that for an instant she saw herself in their minds, her gold hair wild from the wind, untamed around her body, her face flushed, her eyes frantic. Desperate to stop them, she started down the stairs—and in her hurry, her foot caught on the top step. She flailed, yanked forward by the weight of her body. With relentless, unforgiving momentum, she toppled down the stairs.
The walls went by in a blur, too fast for Roca to comprehend fully. It hurt, hurt,
hurt,
every time she hit the steps. She wrapped her arms around her swollen belly, curling up, trying to protect the baby. Then she crashed into the lower landing and smashed against the railing on its other side.
Suddenly Kurj was bending over her, his voice buried in the roar in her ears, the roar of her pain, the roar of her own blood.
“
Mother!
” He grasped her arm. “Gods almighty.”
Roca groaned, her body wracked by a brutal contraction. “Kurj, you mustn’t—” Her eyes watered as the contraction worsened. “Mustn’t shoot him—ah,
no.
”
Other people were crowding into the hall, Skolian soldiers striding among the Lyshrioli warriors. Kurj shouted orders, calling for a doctor. Roca could barely hear for the roaring in her ears.
“Mother, you can’t die.” His words sounded so strange. She hadn’t heard the cold, clipped tones of Iotic in months.
Roca grabbed his sleeve. “Kurj! You must not hurt him.”
“Who?” His gaze hardened. “Who did this to you?”
“Listen!” She dug her fingers into his arm. “These people have protected me—ah!” She squeezed her eyes shut as another contraction hit.
“Primary Skolia!” A medic knelt next to Roca and did a quick exam. “She’s gone into labor. We have to get her to the port.”
Roca spoke through clenched teeth. “Won’t make port.” She could see Eldri now, down in the hall, struggling with Kurj’s soldiers. They were holding him back, keeping him away from her.
“Let him go.” She could barely talk past the pain. Medics crowded around her, bringing an air stretcher and blocking her view.
“No!” Roca shook Kurj’s arm. “I won’t leave!”
No one listened. They loaded her onto the stretcher and went down the stairs.
Then she saw who else was in the hall.
Avaril.
He was standing by the table, surrounded by his men, his sword lowered, his face stunned as he watched her. Skolians filled the room, no longer attacking Eldri’s men, but keeping them back. Eldri struggled against the Jagernauts who were holding him, his face flushed.
“Let him go!” Roca ordered as the medics carried her past the Jagernauts. She used her strongest Assembly voice, which had cowed more than a few delegates.
The startled Jagernauts, normally unflappable and impassive, released Eldri before Kurj had a chance to countermand the order Roca didn’t have the authority to give. Eldri lunged forward and ran alongside the stretcher as the medics kept going. His Trillian words poured over Roca like water. “Where are they taking you? Who are these people? Our son!”
She grabbed his hand and answered in Trillian, one of the few languages Kurj could neither understand nor translate. She longed for Eldri to stay with her, wanted it intensely, but it was impossible. Kurj was already moving to separate them. She spoke fast. “I swear I will find a way to come back.
I swear it.
Remember that.” Another contraction hit and she cried out, her grip tightening on his hand.
Then Kurj was dragging him away. The medics ran out of the hall into the ruins of the courtyard. The remains of the battle went by in a blur, as Skolians backed Lyshrioli warriors against the walls. The medics sped onward, taking Roca to the shuttle, and Kurj easily caught up with them.
The hatch of the ship loomed into view so fast, Roca hardly knew they had reached it before they were inside. She pushed up on her elbow, forcing out her words through another contraction. “No—can’t take off—the acceleration—”
“No acceleration.” The medic eased her onto a robot-gurney. “We’re only going to the port.”
Craning her head around, Roca saw the airlock shimmer closed, leaving a solid hull. She felt only a gentle lift as the shuttle rose into the air. Then she could think no more, caught in the grip of another contraction so intense, her nanomeds couldn’t ease the pain.
The doctors moved fast, preparing her for birth. She was vaguely aware of Kurj hanging back, flattened against the hull behind her head. Medics draped her body, giving her privacy, but nothing could hide her agonized face. Kurj’s panic surged against her mind. He had faced every horror of war without flinching, but now, in this, he was terrified.
Another contraction wrung her body and Roca screamed, her mind blanking to everything but the need to
PUSH.
“It’s coming!” a medic shouted. “Harder!”
She pushed again, tears streaming down her face. Again—
With a huge release, the pain ended. Roca gasped—and in that instant she heard a cry, a great protest to the universe. Straining up on her elbows, she looked past her draped knees to see the medics holding a baby, a boy, while they cleaned his face and body.
“Ah, gods.” She collapsed back and groaned with another contraction. She hadn’t finished; she still had to deliver the afterbirth. All she could think was that the baby should be held by his kin, not strangers.
“Kurj.” She croaked out the name. “Your brother—take your brother.”
“What?” He jerked away from the hull. “You want me to
hold
it?”
“Y-yes.” Roca could say no more, caught in the wrenching delivery of the afterbirth.
Mercifully, it soon ended. Finally she was free of pain. She was dimly aware of medics cleaning her, but she could think only of the baby. Her son. Eldri’s son.
Suddenly she remembered—gods, no, she had asked
Kurj
to take the baby. In that terrible instant, she remembered Kurj raising his Jumbler to Eldri. Frantic, she twisted around—
And saw a miracle.
Kurj was standing behind her with his feet planted wide, an indomitable giant. Cradling the tiny baby in his arms, he swayed back and forth in a rhythm humans had known by instinct since the beginning of their species.
Roca fell back on the pallet, wondering at the power of birth, that it could disarm even Kurj. By everything that mattered in love and fatherhood, it was Eldri who should be holding the baby now, Eldri who should have witnessed this miracle, Eldri who should be bonding with his son. But if the magic of this moment convinced Kurj to let his half brother live and thus made possible the day when the boy could know his father, she would accept that blessing.
“My son,” Roca whispered.
Another flutter of activity, and Kurj was putting the swaddled baby in her arms. Roca bent her head over her child. “Is he all right?” She looked up at the people clustered around her. “My fall down the stairs, did it—?”
One of the doctors answered, a woman with graying hair. “He is fine, Lady Roca. Healthy and hale.”
“Thank you,” Roca whispered. She held the infant against her body, looking down into his wide blue eyes. “So beautiful. You are such a beautiful boy.” He stared up at her, and she knew he recognized her voice.
“He is—astonishing.” Kurj knelt with one knee on a seat that jutted out from the hull, bringing his eyes level with hers. Incredibly, his gaze was tender when he glanced at the baby. But it turned into steel when he shifted his attention to Roca. “Was it the man with the red hair? The wild one on the table?”
She tensed. “You will not harm my son’s father.”
He said nothing.
“Kurj.” She recognized his expression. He had looked that way the day he had tried to kill Darr. “Listen to me.”
“I will take care of you,” he said.
She scowled. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I did after I had you and I will do so now.”
“This is different.”
“You heard me, Kurj.” She felt as if she were talking to a stone wall. “You will not hurt his father.”
A muscle twitched under his eye. “You didn’t want Darr hurt either.”
“Darr has nothing to do with this.” She willed him to listen. “Eldri never hurt me. And I married him of my own free will.”
“You
married
him?” Kurj stared at her. “That barbarian with the sword?”
“Yes.”
“So.” He sounded like he was gritting his teeth.
“You won’t hurt him.”
He said nothing.
“Damn it, Kurj. If you kill the man I love, I will never be able to bear your presence again.”
“Love?” He sounded more bewildered than angry. “You cannot love such a man. You are a Ruby heir.”
“And he is my consort.” Roca was growing desperate. She was so very, very tired. And the baby was nuzzling her shirt, wanting to nurse. She couldn’t do it in front of Kurj. She needed privacy, needed to be away from his deadly contradictions, his unbending love and anger. “Promise me you will never hurt Eldri.”
“Who is Eldri?”
“My husband.”
No answer.
“Kurj!”
His face remained impassive.
“He is a Ruby psion,” Roca said.
Nothing in his face relented. “Absurd.”
“It is true.”
“A wild tale, Mother.”
Roca knew she couldn’t keep this up. Kurj might think she spoke from desperation, but he would soon learn the truth. The proof in Eldri’s DNA would give her more to negotiate with. Until then, she had to make sure Kurj didn’t kill him.
“Make me a bargain,” she said raggedly. “If I swear I will never return to him, swear you will never harm him.”
He clenched the gurney. “You love him that much?”
“Yes.”
“And you would never see him again?”
“Yes.” She wanted to choke on the word.
He averted his eyes. “Very well. I agree.”
“Look at me.”
He raised his gaze.
“Now promise,” she said.
He said nothing.
“Kurj.”
It was a long moment before he answered. Finally he forced out the words. “You have my word.”
“You must not betray my trust.”
“Never again.” He spoke bitterly. “I did once. This happened.”
“You should keep your promises because it is right. Not because you want no more brothers.”
His voice suddenly cracked. “Gods, I thought you died. I thought I had killed you.”
His emotion startled her. He so rarely let her see how he felt, and he had walled his mind off from her. She spoke more gently. “Can we not find a way to trust each other?”
He started to answer, then shook his head, as if he couldn’t bear to reveal any more emotions or even let himself feel them. Instead he touched the baby’s head. “What will you call him?”
“Eldrin,” she murmured. “Eldrin Jarac Valdoria. For his father and mine.”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Kurj.”
He slowly raised his gaze to hers. “Would that I could make the universe perfect for you. But I cannot. I can only do my flawed, bitter best.”
She swallowed. “I fear your vision of perfection.”
No answer.
She spoke softly. “Are we going to war with the Traders?”
“The invasion plans are under way.”
“So you won.”
“By two votes.” He sounded weary rather than triumphant.
“Two votes.” She wanted to grieve for the deaths those two votes would inflict on humanity. “I hope you are proud of it.”
“Proud?” This time he didn’t try to hide his pain. “I have no pride in destruction or death. But I will do whatever is necessary to protect my people and those I love.”
“I know.” A tear ran down her face.
She felt too worn-out to say more. These people believed they were taking her to safety, comfort, the life she was destined to live. But regardless of what they wanted to think, they were ripping her away from the home she loved.