“Are you growing your hair, Monralar?” Invenar’s voice dripped boredom.
The Monral snapped out of his reverie. The discussion of interprovincial raids in the south swirling among the assembled rulers had come to a halt. “If you desire the Game in its fullness, then let us return to traditional rule, and the strongest of us will prosper. If you desire safety from your neighbors, then hold the Sural to his peace-keeping responsibilities as your planetary master.” Tension crackled through the Smoke at the sound of the final word.
He paused to let the tension grow, then continued. “Unseating the Sural is a fantasy, and who should know better than I?” Murmurs greeted the frank admission of his humiliation. “But he wrongs us in barring trade with the other races inhabiting this part of the galaxy, while our scholars rehash old arguments and our artisans yearn for new techniques. The Sural allows us the Kekrax. The Kekrax! My artisans can do little that is original with trade goods that never change. Our civilization has become stagnant, sitting idle while younger races laugh at us. We must cease to deceive the Trade Alliance and welcome its ambassadors to Tolar. We need fresh materials and new ideas.”
Presences in the Smoke nodded.
“Meet with your allies, each of you, discreetly. The time has come to force the Sural’s hand and bring him to account.”
* * *
The meeting ended, and Father stood, his lower body still shrouded by the Smoke. Farric shifted from chant to song and kept an eye on the Monral, who took several deep breaths, exhaling strongly to clear the stuff from his lungs. As the bowl began to drain, Farric tilted his head back. He enjoyed this part of the process, when the song laid the Smoke to rest.
“Come to my study when you are finished here,” Father said.
Farric gestured his consent, an action which would normally be rude, were it not for the necessity of maintaining the rhythm of the song. Father nodded once and turned to make his way out of the room with his usual purposeful stride, ankle-length hair swinging across his back in elaborate knots. He disappeared through the small doorway.
Peace returned.
Down here, several levels below the stronghold, he could sense nothing but his own presence. Sharana claimed to be able to feel the small lives living in the soil and rock, but she was one of the most powerful sensitives alive. Only the Suralian scholar Storaas was stronger, and, of course, the Jorann.
The mother of all
. He looked forward to meeting her when his own turn came to rule Monralar. That time would not come soon, of course—he lacked the number of years required and had much to learn. But unlike Father, who ever burned with ambition, he was content to wait.
That Father plotted something, however, he did not doubt, for when the Monral claimed he could not countenance harming Parania… he had lied. Since the Smoke did not broadcast emotion, he had deceived his coalition allies, but he could not conceal it from his own son.
What is he scheming? To assassinate the Paran?
Was that why he had ordered Farric and a handful of his finest guards to increase their physical training? Because he wanted to assassinate one of the best fighters on Tolar?
The last of the Smoke slipped away through tiny cracks in the floor of the bowl, but he continued to sing, enjoying the way his voice echoed off the rock as he picked up the toweling he had brought with him and began to wipe away the moisture clinging to the polished stone.
* * *
CCS-51-1129
TO: Adeline Pearson Russell, Office of Field Operations, Central Security Headquarters, Tau Ceti Station
Have received word from the old friend so rudely interrupted the first time you were in the neighborhood. Wants to speak to someone with more authority. Please advise.
(signed) GH
Laura blinked out of a dream, an image of the Paran’s smiling face fading into turquoise sky spotted with fluffy clouds. She lay on a gently sloping bed of the fern-like groundcover that served as grass on Tolar, with trees resembling tall pines uphill and more ferny stuff below. Tiny blue flowers hid in the groundcover. A fresh transport pod hovered nearby, humming eagerness to itself. Azana and the servant sat engrossed in conversation within it; the pod had helpfully opened a portal to let in the breeze.
Her thoughts cleared of their nappish fog, and she remembered where she was—Brialar, somewhere in the southern hemisphere about two-thirds of the way through the journey. Azana hadn’t planned this break at a valley north of the city in Brialar; her original itinerary included only provinces allied to both Suralia and Parania, and the Brial, though a personal friend of the Paran as well as an ally to Parania,
hated
the Sural for reasons everyone seemed to know and no one bothered to explain. But Laura had begun nodding as they approached Brialar, and the servant knew of this beautiful place from previous travels. After keeping herself awake long enough to get through the city, Laura had dropped onto the soft groundcover here and promptly fallen asleep.
She stretched and yawned and sat up to scratch her itching feet.
They don’t look different yet
. She wiggled her toes. Eventually, those would grow together into a flap, and her attractive little feet would become
peds
, the only obvious physical difference between humans and Tolari. Would her skin darken like theirs? Would her hair turn black? No one seemed to know for sure, although Marianne, who was about a year farther along in the transformation, remained as fair and freckled and brown-haired as ever.
Maybe she’d stop missing Thursday night pedicures once she no longer had toenails to polish.
She scrambled to her feet and made her way the short distance back to the pod. The air here smelled crisp and clean, and a touch of winter chill tickled her nostrils. But the flowers… She remembered not to smack her forehead, and the delicate empathic nerves they now harbored, as the realization hit her. Right. Southern hemisphere. Spring bloomed here, not the early autumn she’d left in Suralia.
The servant touched the side of the living vehicle when Laura approached, and the opening in the crystal enlarged to form an oval door.
“You appear better-rested,” Azana said, as Laura clambered in and took a seat. The pod began to move toward the tunnel entrance at the end of the valley.
“I feel
much
better.” She ran her fingers through her hair, and discovered it a mess. Bits of vegetation fluttered to the floor. “Oh dear. I’m going to look a fright for the Paran.”
“Only a few more provinces to traverse, and we will be home.”
Laura nodded, continuing to finger-comb her hair and concentrating on drawing her shields about her. They hadn’t gone far from the city to get here, and she could still feel its brightness prickling at her. The pod plunged into the tunnel with a silent, gleeful warble.
When they had left the city behind, they spent more time traveling under Brialar than they had any other province so far. Laura took advantage of the time to get a little more rest, nibble on some of the fruit the servant had packed along, and think.
She’d left Parania as the Paran’s human lover, without the empathic abilities possessed by the Tolari, and most especially as far as she was concerned, without the ability to
bond
, to join hearts with another person. The emotional communion it would give to feel the Paran’s love for her from the inside, to give him the same experience of hers—oh, did she want it.
Yet somehow, in the three or so months she’d spent with the Paran, she hadn’t discussed it with him. And now, what if he didn’t want to? Not everyone on Tolar desired the consuming intimacy of bonding. The Paran might be averse to it for reasons having nothing to do with her. If that was the case, she’d have to live with the disappointment and somehow not let it affect their relationship.
If that were even possible.
Either way, she wanted to fill her days with him. If she couldn’t have the intensity she wanted, maybe… maybe she’d fulfill the other craving that had bloomed in her since the Jorann’s blessing not only made her Tolari but gave her back her youth: to have a baby, here. A Tolari heir for herself, to which the Sural, the leader of the ruling caste, had said she was entitled.
She needed the Paran’s cooperation, though. If he declined to father her Tolari heir, she simply wouldn’t have one, but she hoped, with all her heart, to build some shred of a new family to replace the one she’d lost. A little one who looked just like the Paran might fill some of the emptiness left by exile from her children and grandchildren and her brothers’ families.
But she had no intention of asking anyone but the Paran to father her baby, not when the Tolari did
that
the old-fashioned way.
Brialar’s haunting Song faded, and another Song took its place, confident and purposeful. She listened, marveling at the contrast, until the next city glowed at the edges of her awareness. Once more, she reached out to the… she didn’t have a word for it. As if all the hevalra swimming in the deep had one heart together, and it covered the entire world, like a glowing net. She pulled a thread of that net around herself as a shield, and held on tight.
* * *
The Paran had required the transit room to send its feed to his tablet, which allowed him to follow Laura’s progress across the planet. He had monitored it through the day with an impatience surprising even to himself, checking it at every free moment, watching the display update her position with grinding slowness. Now that the transport pod carrying her neared the stronghold, he nearly danced on his heels. The child at his side, heir to his lead mathematician and awake well past the time she should have walked the far shores of sleep, did dance on her heels, fidgeting in the dim light, eyes fixed on the opening in the center of the transit room. He too found himself unable to tear his gaze from that dark oval in the floor, unwilling to blink lest he miss the moment the pod arrived.
Laura is a sensitive
. The revelation had stunned him. She said nothing during their daily communications by tablet, doubtless warned by the Sural not to reveal anything she did not want a random listener to know. The Sural had then sent him a shrouded message after she left, describing in detail his observations of her empathic potential, that she had been tutored by the hevalra—
the hevalra!
—and would require more food and lower temperatures.
According to the Sural, the possibility existed she would become as powerful as the Jorann, as her transformation progressed.
Mother of all
. If word of her potential reached the ruling caste, he lacked the resources to protect her from the ambitious rulers who would try to capture her—which might include his own neighbor, Monralar. The man wanted to lead the caste, and with it the planet. He would use any tool that came to his hand to accomplish that goal, even if it meant taking it from an ally.
His senses tingled, and the child squealed. She clapped her hands together and bounced as displaced air rushed into the room, blowing their hair and robes, and the pod appeared in the opening, humming its satisfaction. Three women occupied it, sagging and rumpled—the English-speaking servant who had accompanied Laura to Suralia, the mathematician he had sent with a private message for the Sural and a letter for Laura, and Laura, his Laura, whose eyes locked on his.
Did he not know her presence, he might not recognize her, with her fair skin now smooth and youthful, and her hair no longer gray but a rich reddish-brown. The eyes remained the same, however, never leaving his as Azana, his foremost mathematician, exited the pod ahead of her. Somehow, a huge smile had taken over his expression. He smoothed his face and tore his attention away from Laura to focus on Azana.
The child threw herself into her mother’s arms, bubbling with happiness. Azana bowed, daughter and all.
“My gratitude to you, mathematician,” he said. “We will speak tomorrow.”
She nodded. “High one.”
The servant slipped past, bowing, to leave with Azana. The Paran opened his arms and stretched out his senses toward Laura, the smile back in place and matched by hers. As he folded arms and senses around her, holding her tight, her barriers somehow closed around him. For a moment, the world disappeared into the soft curves molding against him and the sweet smell of her hair.
“My love,” he whispered. “My heart rejoices at your return.”
His robe muffled her reply. “I missed you so much.” Tilting her face up, she offered a rueful grin. “I know I must look like a mess.”
“You are beautiful,” he murmured, and lowered his head to catch her mouth.
She gasped against his lips, and wonder filled her presence.
He lifted his face enough to stare into her eyes. “I can hide little from you now.”
“My word.” Her voice barely broke a whisper. “I had no idea how much you love me.”
He let his smile tilt. “
No
idea?”
Her face flushed. “Well…” A long groan issued from her midsection, and she sputtered an embarrassed laugh. “Maybe I should eat,” she said. “The servant didn’t take my appetite into account when she packed food for the trip.”
He straightened and smiled into her eyes. “Of course.”
* * *
As she feasted on night-time fare in the stronghold’s refectory, Laura was in heaven.
To her right, the Paran sat at the head of the high table, in the elaborately-carved, throne-like chair Tolari rulers seemed to favor, sipping tea and watching her eat like a crazed hippopotamus, his eyes crinkled with amusement. He wasn’t what she would call handsome, but he had a pleasant enough face, with winged brows, eyes so dark a brown they were almost black, and a masculine, sensual mouth that tended to a slight upturn at the corners from much smiling. Glossy black hair, twisted and knotted and braided in a complex pattern, cascaded into a pile at the foot of his chair. It reached his ankles when he stood, despite his height, which was not much shy of two meters. His pale green robe sported white embroidery from collar to waist and set off his coppery brown skin tone. She liked looking at him.