She burst into laughter. “Veryth!” She ruffled the giggling toddler’s hair and pulled him into a hug. “You little scamp! What are you doing in here?”
The door to the hall opened to a slender woman in pale green. The white embroidery of the ruling caste marked her collar and cuffs, its arcs and swirls telling the tales from her province’s history. Veryth’s little robe, the same green, sported no such embroidery. He wouldn’t become a member of the ruling caste until he passed the trials, still some years away.
“Veryth!” the green-robed woman called, then added something impenetrable but stern in Paranian.
The Paran’s grandson squirmed out of Laura’s arms. “Fafea!” he cried, and wrapped himself around his mother’s knees, head tilted back to look up at her, sputtering out something through his chortles that Laura couldn’t understand. A brief spasm of nostalgia gripped her. One of her own boys had employed that standard self-defense tactic of the burgeoning rogue—when Mama disapproves, turn on the charm.
“It’s all right,” Laura said. She pushed herself up and rubbed her face. “I shouldn’t have let myself fall asleep.”
Vondra bent to pick up her son and planted him on a hip, frowning into his face. He flashed a winning smile. Her lips twitched. Then she looked around and shivered. “Father said you must keep your quarters cold now. Perhaps it will discourage Veryth from intruding.”
“I don’t mind.” She stood and stretched and chucked Veryth under the chin with a forefinger. He buried his face in his mother’s shoulder, but turned his head enough to give Laura a toothy grin, as if to acknowledge a partner in crime. “He’s adorable.”
Vondra cocked an eyebrow, a gesture reminiscent of the Paran. She didn’t look much like her father on the outside, but many of her mannerisms echoed his. “You missed the midday meal. Father is still in the refectory, if you will want to join him.” She turned at the door and smiled. “Joy of the bond, artisan.”
Laura went to the door and watched them disappear around a curve in the hall. No, she’d not want Veryth to walk in just
any
time he liked, but if he took the same liberties with her that her own grandchildren did, it couldn’t be that terrible. After all, once she and the Paran were bonded, wouldn’t she be a sort of step-grandmother to him? It wouldn’t be exactly like having her own family around her, but—
Her stomach grumbled. She turned toward the refectory, picking up her pace. Better not to think about losses.
When she walked through the doorway, the Paran’s presence flared with happiness. He set down his mug and left the high table to meet her.
“My love,” he murmured, as he took her hand.
She tugged him away from the high table, toward the kitchens. “I want to eat outside,” she said, by way of explanation.
A few servants bustled about in the cooking and preparation areas, cleaning up from the midday meal. At a word from the Paran, one of them offered Laura a cloth bag. She filled it to bulging with rolls and fruit and dragged the Paran by the hand out the garden door.
When she reached a shaded section of the low retaining wall at the end of the garden overlooking the city, where the gardeners allowed trees to grow for the benefit of shade-loving plants, she found a place to sit and dug into the bag.
“What’s this?” she asked, holding up a brilliant red, pear-shaped fruit, about the size of her fist. She pressed into its skin with a fingernail, experimentally.
Rather than answer her question, he settled next to her on the low wall and said, “You are trying not to think about something that troubles you.”
She heaved a sigh. “I can’t keep anything from you.” She bit into the fruit. Crunchy. Tangy. Flavor sort of like pomegranate, with the texture of apple.
“You will soon notice that I cannot conceal anything from you, either.”
She focused on him. He, too, held something back. “So what’s bothering
you
?”
He grinned. “The woman who captured my heart agreed to bond with me, but we must wait until I can find the time in my schedule. And you, my love? What weighs on your heart?”
“Vondra scolded Veryth for disturbing my nap.” She stared off over the city. “I didn’t mind him, truly I didn’t.”
“Ah.” He pulled her close. “And as a result, you long for your grandchildren.”
Her vision blurred. “Always.” She pushed down the lump in her throat with a hard swallow.
“Have you given thought to engendering another child? So much of your heart is given to being a mother, yet you are separated from your children. If you began a new family, you might find fulfillment once more.”
She straightened to stare at him, food forgotten. He
couldn’t
have known she had been thinking about it. “Th-the Sural told me I have a right to an heir. I—” She sucked on her lower lip.
“You…?”
“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. But you have to know I couldn’t… if I can’t…” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want anyone but you to be the father.”
His eyes crinkled. “You honor me.”
“So…” She cleared her throat. “It’s all right to ask?”
“You are neither a member of the ruling caste nor a caste leader. You may make the request of any man, including me.”
“No, I mean… I wasn’t sure if… You have a lot of rules about these things. I don’t know how to go about it or what to do first.”
“You request a genetic analysis with the man you wish to father your child.” He held out a hand, palm up. “I will show you, if you like, if you allow me your tablet.”
She handed it over, and his fingers danced as he brought up a series of sigils she hadn’t known it possessed. “What do those do?”
“These access Parania’s genetic archive.” He paused and looked her in the eye. “This does not obligate you in any way. It will compare your potential with mine and calculate the most likely outcome of the match. The results are private.”
“Something on this planet is private?” She blinked, all wide-eyed innocence.
He favored her with a crooked grin. Turning back to the slim rectangle, still covered with sigils unfamiliar to her, he resumed his activity. “Sent,” he said at last. He cleared the strange sigils and handed it back to her. “It will take some time for the analysis to complete. You should receive the results by evening.”
* * *
Sharana’s study lay at the far end of the scholars’ wing in Monralar’s stronghold. A desk with a research console and a few chairs made up the sum of its furnishings; its sole decoration hung on the wall across from the desk, a framed portrait of her father, bent over his work. The room’s simplicity soothed her, and she took pains to maintain it.
Her apprentice had departed moments ago, both more tired and more enlightened than when she arrived. Sharana was training the young woman to become a member of the scholar caste. As a small child, the girl herself had thought to become an apothecary—but the Monral had convinced her otherwise. Sensitives were too rare and precious to waste, he said, and insisted she come under Sharana’s tutelage. Her talents would bring benefit to her province, and he offered assurance that the girl’s mother, a farmer, would be allowed another heir to follow in her own footsteps, raising food for city and stronghold.
Many times since, Sharana tried to persuade herself that she would have tutored the child in any event, being herself the only sensitive within the surrounding provinces, the only one qualified to teach her the control required for such sensitivity. The argument never quite convinced her the girl would have sought the scholar caste of her own accord.
The Monral appeared in the doorway. The bubbling pleasure he displayed earlier had not diminished, though now it carried hints of disappointment. She rose from her chair and came around the desk to meet him. As his arms slipped around her, his robe’s pale lavender contrasting against her deep scholar blue, warmth and love wrapped her senses.
“Beloved,” he murmured against her hair.
She sighed into his embrace. A light breeze from the open window played over them, ruffling their robes.
This
was what she wanted from him, if only she could sway him to give up his mad schemes.
He read the movement of her heart and stiffened. “You still doubt my ability to defeat the Sural.”
She sagged. “No one can defeat the Sural.”
“I need not engage him in combat to defeat him.”
She met his eyes, searching for reason, and found glowing ambition instead. “The Jorann favors him. As long as he lives, he leads the ruling caste, regardless of what you accomplish with the
odalli
.”
“Unless another province, one with a proper ambassador, comes to an agreement with them first.”
“And how would such a province even begin these negotiations? They cannot come here, and you cannot go to them.”
His smile turned smug. “Sometimes, humans are careless, as they proved when they visited us. Do you recall how they arrived? And how they left?”
“Beloved—” She stopped.
The phase platform. They left their phase platform.
“You cannot conceal such a plan. Your communications can be traced.”
“It will do the Sural no good. And this time, no spy will spoil my aim.”
She buried her face in his robe and peered into him without probing. He held something back, but he interrupted the question she wanted to ask by lifting her chin with one hand and bringing his mouth down across hers.
* * *
Laura’s tablet chimed at the end of the evening meal, after Vondra left with Veryth. She stifled a yawn and pulled the gently-vibrating object from her pocket. A symbol she didn’t recognize blinked in one corner.
“I can’t read it,” she said. “It’s not one of the syllables Kellandin taught me.” She handed it to the Paran. “What does it say?”
He settled his chin in one hand while the fingers of his other hand danced over its screen. Then he nodded.
“Well?” she prompted.
“The analysis rates as very good,” he answered. “The crossover points are admirable.”
“So that’s good enough?”
“Overall, yes. Inheriting your artistic skill is the most important factor if you want your heir to follow you into the artisan caste. The probability of that is very high.”
She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t think that far. It never occurred to me that my child might have a… place… in Tolari society.”
“We will guide you.”
Laura nodded. She was almost too tired to care, but she pressed out the next question that came to mind. “Now what?”
His lips twitched. “Now you send a direct request to the Paran’s apothecary and await the response.”
“Your
apothecary?
” She choked, suddenly wide awake, face burning. “But—”
“It is our custom. Requests for an heir made to a member of the ruling caste must go to the head apothecary. The same practice holds in every province.”
“But—” Her heart fell.
Not Meilyn
. The head apothecary didn’t like her, though he always behaved with strict courtesy in her presence. He had been a close companion of the Paran for years, and she had more than a little suspicion he neglected to learn English so he wouldn’t have to deal with her directly. If he had any say in it… She sagged back into her chair.
So much for that idea
.
The Paran peered into her face and handed the tablet back. “I sent the request. Should I not have?”
“No but—I mean, yes but… I mean…” Her stomach lurched.
“My love.” He stroked her cheek. “I have known him all my life. He is not a cruel man.”
“He’ll tell you not to,” she muttered, looking down at the table.
“If he does, I am free to ignore him. The analysis rates well enough that he can make no compelling argument against it.” He cocked an eyebrow.
She blinked at him through the fog of fatigue.
“I have little doubt he will seek me out shortly.”
“What?” She straightened, glancing at the door to the hall and then back at the Paran. “And why are you so bright-eyed? You stayed up all night too.”
“The stimulants we use to counteract winter drowsiness work well after what you call
pulling an all-nighter
.”
“That’s cheating.”
He lifted one corner of his mouth. “Nevertheless.”
She grumbled and opened her mouth to retort, but closed it when an approaching presence, filled with a convoluted mix of conflicted annoyance and resignation, caught her attention. “I think he’s here,” she whispered.
A solidly-built man just beginning to gray, Meilyn came through the doorway wearing the bright yellow robe of his caste and an expression that could curdle fresh milk. Laura hurried to clear her emotions the moment he walked into the room. If he wanted to read her, well, he was out of luck. If he tried to
probe
her, he’d deserve what he got. Fully awake again, at least for the moment, she flashed him her most insipid social smile.
Meilyn bowed to the Paran deeply, gave Laura a cursory nod, and waited.
“
Speak
,” the Paran said, in his own language.
The rest of what the two men said dissolved into a babble of syllables. She recognized a word now and then, until the Paranian word for
beloved
came out of the Paran’s mouth and Meilyn went still.
So, he hadn’t heard the news of their planned bonding. She pasted another bland smile on her face. Oddly enough, the annoyance cleared from Meilyn’s presence, leaving him tinged with a sort of resigned acceptance. After a further short exchange, Meilyn bowed to the Paran. Then he bent another slight bow toward Laura, turned, and left without another word. The Paran’s eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing until after the healer disappeared into the hall.
The Paran leaned forward, eyes glinting. “My apothecary informs me you desire an heir of me.”
She giggled. Like a girl.
Laura, you silly goose, grow up.
She bit her lip, but she couldn’t get control of her grin.
“Shall I show you how this is done?”
“It’s not… you know. What we usually…?”
“I have work to finish before I may retire for the evening. If you care to wait in my quarters, I will join you there later.”
She nodded, toying with the remnants of her meal as the Paran rose and left. Thoughts of Meilyn’s change of heart wiped away her grin. Shaking her head, she grabbed another roll. Being an empath involved more than just empathic awareness. It had a whole etiquette of its own. She hoped she could get the hang of that.