The Marann (21 page)

“This is where Kyza walked into the
dark,” he said. “Under this cora tree. This is where she proved
herself a worthy heir to Suralia.” He reached up and picked a
twig.

Marianne could almost feel the pride
he radiated.
Am I reading him?

“Yes,” he replied, looking down at her
with a lopsided smile. “I am broadcasting loudly enough for even
you to read me.” She blinked. “I want to give you a taste of what
is to come. But tell me—before you go before the Jorann and become
one of us—tell me if you can be content to make Tolar your home.
Tell me you will not miss your homeworld enough to make you
unhappy. Can you tell me that?”

She mulled it over. She couldn’t give
him a quick, glib answer, but how could she know what she would
feel in the future? “I’ve been content here these past eight
years,” she answered. “Four years,” she amended, trying to think of
time in Tolari terms.

“You evade my question.”

She bowed in apology. “Forgive me,
high one, but I don’t think I can answer your question. I can say
I’m content here now, and I’m content to remain here for now. I
don’t know what the future will bring.”

“A wise answer.”

“A satisfactory answer?”

“Yes, proctor. Quite sufficient.” He
turned and continued down the path. She followed. “If I told you
why I wish you to stay on Tolar, would you be required to tell your
Admiral?”

“Yes, if he asked. And he probably
would.”

“And if I told you after you are one
of us, and I commanded you to say nothing of it to
anyone?”

“Then I wouldn’t tell him.”

“Ah,” he said. “Then I shall not tell
you—until then.” He stopped broadcasting and closed his emotional
barriers. It surprised her to feel it.

“I understand, high one,” she said,
bowing. “I’m at your service.”

The Sural stopped and turned. “I know
that, proctor,” he said, his voice devoid of expression. He headed
back into the keep.

<<>>

The Ambassador and Adeline stood
together in the ship’s infirmary a few hours later when the
Alexander
’s chief medical officer phased two implants, each
with a clear, bold label, down to the planet.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,
Smitty,” Adeline said.

“Of course I don’t,” he grumped at
her. “Diplomacy is an art, not a science.”

“That
wasn’t diplomacy,” she
snapped, pointing at the empty phase platform. She sighed,
shoulders slumping a little, and turned to the ship’s physician,
who still stood next to the phase platform, making notes. “So what
exactly were those drugs and what are they going to do to
her?”

He looked up. “The one contained an
overdose of a sedative, the other held its antidote. They’ll be
inserted inside each side of her jaw. The sedative causes painless
death in about four minutes—we were careful to choose a drug that
would be short and sweet, but not too short. As long as the
antidote is administered within three minutes, she’ll survive with
no permanent aftereffects.”

Adeline shuddered.
It’s too late
now,
she thought. “At least it’s not a suicide switch,” she
muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” the doctor
asked.

“Nothing.”

<<>>

Marianne awakened to throbbing misery
and groaned. A troupe of spiky little fire demons danced inside the
entire lower half of her face. A warm, gentle hand took one of
hers. Calm strength flowed from it. Then a voice spoke over her
head.

“Give her relief for the pain,” the
Sural said. “Humans are not like us.”

She tried to speak. “N-n-“

A finger touched her lips. “Trust me,”
he said in English. She tried to nod and gasped from the pain, her
eyes flying open. The Sural bent over her, slipping a strong hand
beneath her head, touching a cup to her lips. “Drink.”

She tried. When she opened her lips,
pain blazed through her jaws, and the liquid tasted the way floor
polish smelled. She gasped, making a face and spluttering into the
cup. The Sural chuckled.

“Drink,” he repeated. He held it to
her lips until she managed to swallow the entire contents, and then
lowered her head. Her thoughts went muzzy.

What did I just drink?
she
wondered
. I hope it’s not poisonous to humans—

She slept.

<<>>

When Marianne woke again, a pink and
orange dawn painted the eastern sky and tinted the walls of her
sleeping room. Quiet surrounded her, and warmth had replaced the
pain.
I know doctors who would pay good money for a drug like
that,
she thought. She raised both hands to her face, running
her fingers under her jaws, finding the implants nestled where the
apothecaries had said they would be. Something fell from the
blankets as she pushed herself to a sitting position. She picked it
up.

The twig the Sural had picked from the
cora tree lay in her hand, half the thickness of her little finger.
Swelling buds covered it.
A budding branch,
she thought. To
the Sural’s people, the budding branch was a symbol of renewal. It
was also the symbol of hope: hope for new life, hope for better
things to come, hope for joy and hope for gentle rain and growing
things. Some Suralian poets used it as a symbol for blossoming
love.

She ran a finger along the twig,
wondering why he had left it.
I’ll bet it’s a symbol of my new
status,
she decided, as the door to her sleeping room opened.
The Sural and Kyza stepped in, both wearing layers of heavy brocade
robes in shades of Suralia blue, followed by a female servant. The
servant carried a tray of food and a steaming carafe.

The Sural’s eyes fell on the budding
twig in her hands, and he smiled that infuriating, enigmatic smile.
“How do you feel?” he asked.

She licked dry lips before trying to
speak. “No pain,” she replied, her voice a little rough. She
cleared her throat.

“Good,” he said. “The servant will
help you to dress. You must eat, and then it is time for you and
Kyza to see the Jorann.”

“I thought that wasn’t until
tomorrow.”

Kyza grinned. “It
is
tomorrow,”
she chirped.

Marianne rubbed her face with both
hands. “I slept so long?”

“The drug we gave you is known to have
that effect,” the Sural said. Marianne started to protest, but he
raised a hand to stop her. “We knew it would not harm you. My
apothecaries know more of your physiology than the Admiral thinks,
after studying you for eight of your years.”

She blinked, thinking about the
Admiral, about the ship, about the humorless spooks at Central
Command Security. “Well,” she said with a grin twitching the
corners of her mouth upward, “don’t tell
him
that.”

Kyza giggled. The Sural turned toward
the door. “You will find the robes you must wear in your closet,”
he said as he left. “The servant will show you how to wear
them.”

Marianne snatched bites of food while
she dressed. It took some time, but the servant managed to get her
into the correct pieces of clothing in the correct order. The
lightest weight, darkest-colored robes lay next to her skin; the
lighter-colored, heavy brocade robes covered them, the colors
ranging from dark to pale Suralia blue. Something warm and soft
lined the three inner layers. Kyza gave her a visual inspection
after the black-robed woman left and nodded approval.

“You will need them,” the girl
explained. “It is cold down there.”

“Down where?”

“In the ice cave where the Jorann
lives.”

“I see.”

“No, you do not—but you will!” Kyza
grinned and scampered off. Marianne blinked at her. She hadn’t seen
Kyza display so much emotion the four Tolari years she’d lived on
the planet as the girl had in the past three days. Four days, she
corrected herself. She’d lost a day to the vile potion the Sural
had made her drink.

They’re already letting me
in.

Moving like a mummy swathed in the
five layers of heavy robes, she went into the hallway and found the
Sural waiting. Her heart skipped a beat. In the flickering
torchlight, wearing the Suralia brocade, he dominated the
primitive-looking, banner-lined corridor like a New Chin
emperor.

His mahogany eyes flashed. “Follow
me,” he commanded, setting off toward the family quarters. At the
end of the corridor in the family wing, a short hall split off to
the right and ended at a winding staircase leading down. She looked
into the stairwell. Lights spotted the wall as far as she could
see. The Sural started to descend. Marianne hesitated.

“It is a long way to the bottom,” Kyza
said. “Are you strong enough? Father can carry you if you are
not.”

Marianne flinched at the thought of
being carried down a bottomless staircase by Tolar’s sovereign
ruler. It would be like hiring a king to be her chauffeur. She
couldn’t imagine how she’d ever explain it to the Admiral, and if
Addie ever found out, she wouldn’t stop teasing her until the heat
death of the universe.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, hoping it
was true. Setting her jaw, she followed the Sural down the
stairs.

With the Sural leading and Kyza
bringing up the rear, they descended the long stairwell. It seemed
like forever, though Marianne thought a half hour was closer to
accurate. The stairs ended at a wide, chiseled tunnel which
continued for perhaps a kilometer, then came to another staircase,
this one leading up. She hesitated, her legs shaking. This time,
the Sural smiled and said, “You are no burden,” and swept her into
his arms to carry her up the staircase. Marianne looked over his
shoulder at Kyza, who gave a one-shouldered Tolari shrug and
grinned. The Sural carried her without effort.

Marianne leaned into him and tried to
keep a grip on herself. He glanced at her with an impassive
expression and adjusted his hold. She’d never been this close to
him before, and it provoked sensations she didn’t welcome. He
radiated body heat, and she could smell his skin—it was a little
like almonds. Spicy. Male. Her stomach clenched. If the Tolari
released pheromones to attract each other, she could make a fool of
herself.

She felt attracted all right. Her arms
ached to return his embrace. Giving herself a vicious mental kick,
she held her arms rigid and concentrated on counting the steps of
the broad spiral staircase, hoping he concerned himself too much
with climbing them to give any thought to reading her.

The staircase they climbed was much
shorter than the stairs down from the keep. That helped. She wasn’t
sure how much longer she could keep a lid on herself with the
Sural’s arms warm around her. She found herself wondering if his
lips were as warm as his arms and gave herself another mental kick.
She’d never wanted to kiss anyone before; she couldn’t start now
with her employer. Her
aristocratic
employer. For good
measure, she bludgeoned herself again.

When the staircase opened up into a
grand cavern, the Sural let her down onto her own feet. She took a
quick step away from him, shivering. The Sural and Kyza looked
relaxed and comfortable, but they belonged to this world, cold as
it was. They stood silent and still, facing the cavern’s center.
She imitated their example.

As the minutes ticked past, Marianne
became aware of a figure sitting motionless on the ice in the
middle of the cavern—the most wizened, old white-haired Tolari she
had ever seen, in a sleeveless robe of icy white that might have
been a shade of pale blue.

This must be the Jorann,
she
thought. She blinked.
Her skin is
fair?

“Do you bring guards or weapons or
implements of destruction into my home?” the Jorann challenged in a
strong voice belying her age.

“No, highest,” the Sural replied. His
voice resounded with a sincerity even Marianne could
hear.

“Come, my children.”

The Sural led them forward. The Jorann
motioned them to sit on thick fuzzy white blankets covering the ice
before the dais. When they had seated themselves, she spoke
again.

“I greet you, children.” Her face
wrinkled into a fond smile.

“You honor us, highest,” answered the
Sural.

The Jorann turned her attention on
Marianne. “You are not one of my children.”

Marianne looked up into the old
crone’s face and gasped at the blue eyes gazing back at her. The
Jorann broke into a merry laugh.

“You’re human?” Marianne
blurted.

“It is more accurate to say that I was
once
human.”

“What—” Marianne stopped
herself.

The old woman cackled with glee. “Oh
ho, you have learned good manners from my grandson!” In the corner
of Marianne’s eye, the Sural bent his head to acknowledge the
compliment. “I can see why he wants to take you into the family.
Brains as well as beauty.”

Marianne swiveled to look at the
Sural. He raised an eyebrow in reply.