Skyfall (21 page)

“So it is true.” Lahaylia’s voice cooled. “You married the father.” She didn’t seem to have heard anything beyond Roca’s first sentence. “How could you commit such an abomination?”

This wasn’t going the way Roca had hoped. “I love him.”

Her mother made an incredulous noise. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Roca scowled at her. “He is a good man.”

“He is unworthy of you.”

“His people might argue I am unworthy of him.”

Lahaylia arched a perfect eyebrow. “I hardly think so.”

Roca was aware of Kurj listening with the same concentration he used to size up combat situations. Although she spoke to Lahaylia, her words were as much for him. “It doesn’t matter to you that this man may be a Ruby psion?”

“A far-fetched proposition,” the Ruby Pharaoh said.

“But true.”

“Perhaps.”

Roca refused to back down. “You will see.”

“It makes no difference, Daughter.”

“No
difference?
He would be priceless.”

“Certainly he would. We could make much use of him.” Lahaylia crossed her arms. “He would still be unworthy to become your husband.”

“He isn’t a thing to ‘make use of,’ ” Roca said angrily.

Jarac spoke. “Lahya, if she loves this fellow, we should be happy for them.”

Roca could have hugged him. Her mother had other ideas. She frowned at her husband. “Pah.” She made that one word an imperial rebuke that would have struck fear into the most stalwart soul.

Unlike the rest of the universe, however, Jarac didn’t blanch under the force of her disapproval. Instead he smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “Loving one’s spouse is a good thing, Wife.”

Although she gave him her most regal, aloof stare, gentleness underlay her gaze. But when she turned to Roca, her frown returned. “Have you informed your betrothed about this marriage of yours? Perhaps you have forgotten him—Prince Dayj Majda, nephew of the Majda Matriarch?”

“Or course I haven’t forgotten.” Roca wished she could, but that was another matter. “Reparations have been made.”

Roca had spent the past months going over files in her node, studying precedents. While en route here, she had sent a careful message to the House of Majda. She phrased the news of her marriage in a manner that court protocol specified as an apology in situations that precluded an open statement of regret. Her betrothal to Dayj had never taken place, so technically she owed Majda no explanation. But implicit promises had been made. Majda had been grooming its prince to become a Ruby consort. In reparation, Roca had deeded the Matriarch a lucrative shipping company, one Vaj Majda had long coveted. To Dayj, Roca sent a jeweled box with two art figurines considered priceless. It wouldn’t diminish what she had done, but it conveyed a message that he and his House would recognize, an apology of the highest order.

Lahaylia, however, looked unimpressed. “No reparations are going to appease Vaj Majda.” She crossed her arms. “And I am sure the prince who had expected to carry your name and sire your children will be enthralled to know you have given birth to another man’s child.”

Eldrin’s face scrunched up and he began to cry.

“Lahya, stop.” Jarac gently handed Eldrin to his mother. As Roca soothed the crying infant, Jarac drew his wife away, to a window across the room. Light from the Sun Lamp slanted through the window, illuminating the two potentates as if they were in a gilded portrait. Roca wondered how they could look so beautiful and be so infuriating, though this time it was only her mother.

With a hearty cry, Eldrin turned toward Roca’s breast. She cuddled him close. “Are you hungry, sweetings?”

Kurj spoke hurriedly, his fierce demeanor replaced by alarm. “If you need me, I will be in the other room.”

Roca nodded, her attention focused on Eldrin. As Kurj made a quick retreat, she crossed the room, murmuring to the baby. She left her parents in the other room, deep in discussion, and secluded herself in an alcove. She felt Eldrin’s relief at being comforted. Some people believed a baby this young had no real personality, but she could already sense his moods and needs.

She nursed him, knowing this moment of peace wouldn’t last. Had her mother accepted the marriage, or even remained neutral, it might have mitigated Kurj’s hostility toward his stepfather. She had thought if Lahaylia knew Eldri was a strong psion, perhaps even a Ruby, she would be more open to him, but it seemed a futile hope now. Without the Ruby Pharaoh’s blessing, the marriage had no future.

No matter. She had no intention of divorcing Eldri. Even if it turned out she couldn’t see him again, she could protect him with her title. Otherwise, she feared ISC would demand control of his life, taking his freedom, dignity, and self-determination. An unknown native of a primitive world had few defenses against an interstellar empire, but they would think long and hard before they dared touch the consort of an heir to the Ruby Throne.

Whether her family liked it or not, Eldrinson Althor Valdoria was a member of the Ruby Dynasty.

K
urj sat sprawled at his desk, intent on the holos rotating above its glossy surface: graphs, plans, reports, details of the planned invasion. Only five days had passed since he had found Roca, but in that time his team had done a great deal of work. He had spent hours today scrutinizing their reports. His EI strategists continually communicated with those of other officers, just as he communicated with the officers themselves. He had sent so many messages through the Kyle web today, his mind ached.

They had so far spent over eight months planning the invasion. Had they intended a fast strike, they could have gone in long ago. But they had to prepare for the possibility of a protracted, debilitating war. This would be no quickly undertaken and quickly won conflict; they could be embarking on a course that would lead to years of warfare across a region of space that encompassed hundreds, even thousands, of human settlements.

Finally he closed his files and EI shells. As he leaned his head against the back of his smart-chair, it shifted to make him more comfortable. For a short time he simply sat with his eyes closed, recharging his systems.

When he felt fully powered again, he went back to work. The files he brought up now had no connection to the invasion. The helices and diagrams showed the mutated DNA that produced a Ruby psion—him, to be exact. It wasn’t just one gene, but many, corresponding to a wide range of traits, most associated with empathy and telepathy.

“Node
A
attend,” he said.

“Attending.” The deep voice belonged to the EI that ran the computers in his huge office. Dehya, his aunt, had designed it for him, at his request. He had set his spy programs against it himself, to check its security. It was the only system he knew of that his spies had never cracked.

“Find me the medical records on Eldrin Jarac Valdoria,” Kurj said. He refused to give the Skolia name to his half brother.

And yet, as much as he sought to distance himself from the child, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. In that incredible moment when he had held the newborn, his universe had flipped upside down. Was it a form of insanity that made him shaky inside when he saw that baby? No matter how much he tried to deny the emotions, they refused to go away.

The intensity of his response unnerved him. He had always kept an iron control on his emotions, lest they throw him about like driftwood on a storm-lashed ocean. His passions were too strong to let free. Yet, somehow, Eldrin reached that inner core. For some inexplicable reason, Kurj wanted to see the boy, hold him, say things just as ridiculous as those nonsense words his grandfather used. It was absurd and inappropriate, but nevertheless, he couldn’t stop feeling that way.

“Medical records located,” the EI said.

“Copy them into my memory stacks,” Kurj said.

“The records are confidential.”

Kurj waved his hand. “Never mind that.”

“I haven’t permission to copy them.”

“I’m giving you permission.”

“Only Roca Skolia or her doctor can give permission.”

“So change the access protocols.”

“That isn’t allowed.”

Kurj frowned. “I’m allowing it.”

“You should not have the authority to do such.”

“Node
A,
do what I tell you.” Unfortunately, Dehya also tended to program some annoying traits into EIs, such as this resistance to overriding other people’s security protocols. Every time he fixed this one, it tried to evolve back to its original parameters. He would have to run a personality check on it again.

“Medical records copied,”
A
said.

“Good.” Kurj leaned back in his chair and it shifted to accommodate his weight. “Bring up the analysis of my half brother’s DNA.”

The holos above his desk disappeared, replaced by new ones, similar but not identical to Kurj’s DNA.

Kurj studied the diagrams. “So is the baby a Ruby psion?”

“The analysis is incomplete,”
A
said. “But yes, it looks like he has the full complement of Rhon genes.”

Kurj blew out a gust of air. He genuinely hadn’t believed his brother could be a Ruby. No wonder his mother had acted rashly toward the Skyfall man. His pheromones would have muddled her judgment. Kurj didn’t believe she loved him. She couldn’t. It was impossible. The scum wasn’t good enough for her. Of course, no one was good enough for her, but this barbarian was about as far from suitable as possible. At least Dayj Majda had impeccable heredity. The fact that Dayj never let anyone forget that didn’t make him any easier to tolerate, but as long as he stayed in seclusion, it didn’t matter.

Kurj frowned at the holos. “Is it possible the father of this child is not a Ruby Dynasty psion?”

“Yes,”
A
said. “For him to be a Ruby psion, he must carry two of every Ruby gene. If he has only one of any of them, he won’t manifest the full traits, but he can still pass the genes to his son.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Kurj knew perfectly well a child could be a Ruby psion even if his father wasn’t; he was living proof of that.

“I meant, is it possible he isn’t part of the Ruby Dynasty. Is his marriage to my mother legal?”

“No written contract exists.”

That sounded promising. “Is an oral agreement enough to make it legal?”

“Yes, if the bride, groom, and witnesses testify and have their statements verified by physiological monitoring.”

“What would invalidate their testimony?”

A
paused, working. “If monitoring determines that any of the parties are lying; if one or more of the parties has a previous contract that precludes the marriage; if the contract violates Skolian law; or if any of the parties involved are mentally incapable of agreeing to a contract.”

“Interesting.” Kurj swiveled his chair around to look through the window that took up the entire wall behind his desk. Far below the window, Ground sloped away, rolling down to City, which glowed like a gem in the distance. The sight soothed him, all the more so because his mood had lifted.

He knew how to rid their lives of Eldrinson Valdoria.

Windward lay in ruins.

Eldri and Garlin spent the morning walking through the castle with Shannar and the Memory, taking stock of the damage. Eldri felt as if he were withering inside. He had lost everything: Roca, his son, Windward, and so many of his men that he hurt every time he thought of it. In the five days since the battle, he had gone through the motions of life, but his existence seemed like a barren plain, a place that would never again see joy.

A group of people entered the courtyard through the broken gateway. Eldri frowned, squinting at them. His warriors were escorting several unfamiliar men. His stomach dropped when he recognized the man in their center. Avaril Valdoria.

Eldri stopped, his hand going to his sword. He touched nothing, of course; he had no weapon at the moment. In truth, it mattered only to his pride. His men wore swords, disk mail, and armor, all of them well equipped to defend him. Even that wasn’t necessary; one of Avaril’s men had tied a red scarf to his staff, the traditional request for a truce.

Eldri glanced at Shannar. “I would see my godsforsaken cousin leave Windward.”

“He will soon be gone,” Shannar said. “His army is broken.”

“So is ours,” Eldri muttered. “He will rebuild.”

Garlin drew in a weary breath. “And so will we.”

Shaliece spoke. “Shall I accept their request for truce?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Eldri nodded to her. “Take extra care in recording all he says and does.”

She inclined her head. Then she pulled off the violet scarf around her waist and raised it high, making the cloth ripple in the wind.

They fell silent as the warriors escorted Avaril to them. Eldri’s men kept their hands on the hilts of their swords, but no one drew a weapon. To do so after both sides had raised their colors would have been unforgivable.

Avaril regarded Eldri with undisguised distrust. The wind blew back his hair, showing more of the gray. “Cousin.”

Eldri only grunted. He had no intention of making whatever Avaril wanted to say any easier.

Avaril’s mouth tightened. “Must we continually fight?”

Eldri crossed his arms. “It is you who chooses to fight.”

“It is you who usurps the rightful heir.”

“Our grandfather chose his heir,” Eldri said. “You may hate that choice, but nevertheless, he was within his rights.”

Avaril started to reach for his sword, then took a breath and relaxed his arms. “You can argue your supposed rights forever. It will not change the truth.”

“I don’t need to change any truths,” Eldri said tightly. “No matter how many of my men you murder, your claim will never be valid.”

Avaril’s gaze flashed. “You have no shame. The immorality of stealing a title is not enough? You suborn the very queen of the suns to your debauched cause.”

Eldri made a conscious effort not to grit his teeth. “My wife has nothing to do with this.”

“Your wife’s kin destroyed your castle. The gods have made their displeasure clear.” Avaril swept out his hand, indicating the ruins. “Relinquish the title, Eldrinson, before you bring this disaster to all of Dalvador.”

“You go too far.” Although Eldri would never admit it to his cousin, he feared Avaril spoke the truth, that the sun gods had turned their disfavor on his union with Roca. The last person he wished to discuss it with, however, was Avaril.

“Valdor and Aldan took vengeance on your army.” Eldri glowered at him. “They destroyed you because you threatened their queen. Now take your men and be gone. I give you two days.”

“And if I don’t?” Avaril asked. “You have no more men left than I do.”

Eldri lowered his arms, his fists clenching. “I will defend my home. Know this. Whatever I have to do, I will.”

“Do not think you have won.”

“Two days,” Eldri said. “Then the truce ends.”

Avaril’s jaw visibly clenched. He moved his palm outward, a formal and forbidding gesture of farewell. Eldri did the same, their hands almost hitting. Then Avaril turned on his heel and strode toward the shattered gates, escorted by his warriors and Eldri’s defenders.

Garlin spoke heavily. “He will return. Probably not for years, with his army broken. But he will come back, Eldri. He will never rest until one of you is dead.”

“Would that it could be different.” Eldri rubbed his eyes. “He is our only other kin.”

Garlin laid his hand on his shoulder. “Come. Let us see to the repairs.”

Eldri nodded, his gaze downcast. Accompanied by Shannar and Shaliece, they continued their appraisal of the castle. He felt queasy. In the days since Roca had gone, and his dreams with her, he had suffered several convulsions, including one Garlin had told him went on and on. Eldri knew only that it left him bruised and sore, and also groggy for longer than usual. He had begun to question why he bothered to keep going at all.

He knew the answer as soon as the thought came to him, knew it every time the survivors of Windward looked to him for help, succor, and leadership. Even if he couldn’t find the will to live for himself, he had to be strong for them.

Nor could he forget Roca’s words, spoken with desperation as her people swept her away. She had promised she would return. Eldri swore to Valdor and Aldan, the sun gods, that he would be more diligent than the most devout acolyte in performing the proper rituals. If there was more to this business of sun deities than he had believed, perhaps they would forgive his earlier impiety and let his wife come home.

But he had to stop dwelling on this. Shannar was speaking.

“The northern towers are solid.” Shannar indicated a wing of the castle far from where Avaril’s men had battered the gates. The graceful turrets of three towers reached to the sky. Their foundations also remained solid, but the rest of Windward had fared worse. Avaril’s men had only destroyed the gates; the minions of the sun god had brought down the entire front of the castle, sheering through the stone with swords of light. Eldri shuddered, unable to blank the vision from his mind.

Nor could he escape his guilt. Despite his recent seizures, he had suffered far fewer of the big attacks since he started the salts. By chasing the demons from his body, he may have let their human incarnations loose among his people. It was one of two possible explanations for what had happened. The other was that the sun god had come to avenge Roca. Or perhaps the gold man had been a war god. Either way, Eldri knew it was his fault. He had brought her here, daring to love a goddess he had no right to claim in marriage.

Wife. She was his
wife.
She had carried his son. He thought he would break inside with their loss. The gold man had taken both Roca and Brad, but Eldri had no idea where. He couldn’t find out anything. They weren’t anyplace he or his men had searched in the five days since Dalvador had “won” the battle. The port remained empty, with the strange droids taking care of it. Eldri had never been easy around those little metal creatures, and now he found them positively eerie.

“We can rebuild a portion of the main keep,” Garlin said. “But the rest—it seems impossible. How did our ancestors raise these incredible walls and towers?”

“The gods weren’t angry at them,” Eldri said darkly.

Garlin shrugged. “I don’t think any gods attacked Windward. Just men.”

“And
women.
” Shannar looked alarmed. “Many of those warriors were women.”

Shaliece, the Memory, pointed southward. “Look. The metal flyer from the port.”

Eldri squinted. A familiar sliver sparkled against the sky, one far more innocuous than the killing vessels from five days ago. His hope leapt. “Perhaps Brad has returned and fixed it.”

The flyer grew in size, until they could see it clearly. As it sailed over the mountains, the light of the suns reflected off its silver body, highlighting the blue symbol that indicated it belonged to the Allied Worlds of Earth, whatever that meant. In any case, it was the only flyer on Lyshriol.

Eldri couldn’t fathom why Brad liked these “symbols.” He had once shown Eldri a most remarkable cup, a mug made out of a material that resembled glasswood, but was more brittle. Brad claimed the symbol on the mug matched the one on his flyer. But it didn’t. The one on the flyer was larger and a different shade of blue, and had many other differences despite what Brad deluded himself into believing.