The Fall (40 page)

“Enough,” the Paran said.

He straightened and met the Paranian ruler’s eyes with a steady gaze and an impassive face. “I offer apology, in the name of my province and on my own behalf, and beg forgiveness for the injury done to you and to Parania. Should you desire to declare enmity, I will offer no retaliation.”

“Sit, Monralar. We all heard the Jorann pronounce you innocent. Making an enemy of you will not restore life to my daughter.”

He expelled a breath, and bowed again. “My gratitude, Parania.” He took a seat.

“You surprised everyone today. Some say you may be even more clever than your father.”

He lifted one corner of his mouth. “I have never hated Suralia.”

“Still, no one expected you to back him.”

“He came to me with a compelling argument.”

“To countenance your agreements, and make your victory his own. The Den will build a station in Tolar orbit. A growing list of trade compacts. And while you were forthcoming enough in Circle, I heard no mention of your father’s whispered intent to offer a base to Earth’s Central Command.”

“In fact, a treaty was offered and accepted. Sadly, when the Sural transmitted to the Den my confirmation-letter as Tolar’s ambassador, the effective date was a quarter day
after
the agreement with Earth was signed. I believe Lord Albert used the term ‘properly back-dated.’”

The Paran’s beloved burst into laughter, and the Paran looked down at her with open affection. “Well played,” she said.

The Monral gave her a seated bow and a sincere smile. “Artist.”

“An impressive trick,” the Paran added. “The Sural used it, along with concessions to interstellar trade, to rebuild his majority.”

“And he knows now that he can be unseated. Perhaps it will teach him to listen to voices of dissent and make accommodations before they resort to extremes.”

The Paran lifted an eyebrow.

The Monral cleared his throat. “I said I do not hate him. I did not say I love him.”

The Paran chuckled. Laura straightened, her eyes on the door to the hall. A servant opened it, and Sharana walked through. He and the Paran stood to greet her. Sharana bowed, an air of weariness about her.

“Help me up,” Laura murmured, struggling to stand. When the Paran steadied her, she crossed the room and embraced Sharana.

His father’s former bond-partner returned the embrace, tears leaking from her eyes. “My gratitude,” Sharana whispered.

The two women moved into the seating, heads together. The Monral—the title felt strange—offered Sharana his chair and took the divan next to it.

“Beloved of Parania, I cannot give you enough gratitude for saving us from the… from dishonor,” Sharana said, after she lowered herself into the chair.

A jolt went through the Monral. “Sharana, did not the Jorann strip his bonds?”

“No, she did not.” Sharana’s voice was firm, and the Paran’s beloved, back in his arms once more, flushed red. “Laura did.”

“Beloved?” the Paran said, his voice gentle. “That was you?”

She glanced up at her bond-partner, her face growing redder. “He intended to kill you,” she replied. “I did not even think, I just… grabbed all the connections giving him strength and yanked them away from him.”

“And they included our pair-bond along with his ruling bond,” Sharana added. “I am free.”

The Monral stared. The power that implied was staggering. “We must tell no one else of this,” he heard himself say.

“I agree,” the Paran said. “Few know, and those few who do are already too many.”

“I will tell no one,” Sharana said.

The Paran gave her a nod. “My gratitude.”

“What will you do now?” Laura asked, looking at Sharana.

“Return home,” she answered, eyes glistening. “After that, I do not know.”

* * *

Laura molded her body along the Paran’s long form and shoved at the blankets until they covered him and not her. “Poor Sharana.”

The Paran grunted. “She is fortunate to be free of such a pair-bond. She can make a new life now.”

“She is still entwined with him.”

He grunted again. She pulled her mouth sideways. He couldn’t summon any sympathy for the Monral’s father. She supposed that was a bit much to ask, considering what he’d done. If she could remember the Paran’s daughter and grandson, perhaps she’d be less understanding, herself.

“That could have been us,” she said.

He expelled a long breath, his long fingers trailing down an arm. “Yes.”

“My father wanted me to be smart. He said everything would be better when I was smart. He tried everything, and he waited for the… the apothecaries to make me smart, but no matter what they did, it never worked. I stayed stupid.”

He shifted onto his side and pulled her into his chest. “You are not stupid.”

“You and Marianne and Syvra, you were all waiting for me to remember my life and become wise and wonderful, just like my father waited for me to become smarter. He was so disappointed in me when the treatments did not work. Make me smarter, make me wiser—not much difference, so far as I can see. I figured you would be disappointed too.”

“Forgive me, beloved, for hurting you so.” He sighed and kissed her hair. “And still you saved my life.”

“Well, I do sort of like you.” She pressed a kiss into his chest. “And the Jorann let everyone think it was her, anyway.”

“To protect you, I think.”

“Because my mind is… broken?”

“You are not broken.” He put a finger over her lips when she tried to protest. “Injured, yes. You need time to heal. But your heart is beautiful, and I want to be with you as long as you will have me.”

The refectory in Parania. The Paran’s fingers laced through hers, his eyes intent on her face.
Why then did you do it?

To be with you as long as you’ll have me.

His joy flowed over her.

“Beloved?”

The dim light of the sleeping room snapped back.

“What did you say?” she asked. The love she’d felt
then
thrilled through her now.

“I want to be with you as long as you will have me.”

She tilted her head back to look into his face. “I said that to you. Before.”

“Yes, you did.” His eyes gleamed. “It was a few days after we decided to bond.”

“I wish I could remember more of the days we had—then.”

“Oh beloved.” His arms tightened around her. “My heart is still yours.”

She caught her breath. “Truly? If I never remember? If I stay the way I am?”

“I am content to hold those memories for both of us. You mean more to me than the two short seasons we lost.”

Her eyes stung, and she nuzzled into his neck. “Help me make some new memories tonight,” she whispered.

* * *

Another ceremony in the great hall. Laura extended her senses and drank in the complex mix of emotion while the Sural talked, other rulers talked, rulers stood up, rulers sat down. When the Paran sat back on his heels—again—she snaked out a hand and caught his fingers. He emitted a noise like he couldn’t quite succeed in stifling a chuckle.

At the end of it all, the Sural turned, walked into the field around the Jorann’s throne, and knelt at her feet.

Look as much as you like,
the Jorann’s voice had said in her dreams.

Laura looked. The Jorann put a hand on each side of the Sural’s head and riffled through him like the pages of a book, searching his soul. After what had happened with the Monral—with the Monral his father—whatever—she guessed the Jorann couldn’t be too careful with her rulers, but even devious as he was, nothing in the Sural came close to the darkness she’d seen in the former Monral, there at the end. Smiling, the Jorann lowered her hands from his head, opened the crystal box in her lap, and fed him one of the little cubes directly from her fingers.

Laura cast a glance around the Circle. The young girl in the heir’s place on the Suralia dais—she had the Sural’s eyes—sat bursting with pride, and Marianne had all she could do to keep bright little Rose quiet as the tot strained and reached for her daddy. Farric—the new Monral—
whatever
—sat alone, watching the proceedings with no expression on his face, but underneath, sadness echoed through him. The Brial met her eyes and broke into a wicked grin, making a pointed glance at where her fingers twined with the Paran’s. Her face heated, and his grin broadened.

The Sural stood and backed away from the throne, turning to face the Circle. He spread his arms, and, just as at the first ceremony, pairs of rulers began to take places in the center of the room. They danced again, and this time, when the Brial passed near the Sural, their fingers touched, if only for an instant. Euphoria grew and overwhelmed them all, and the rulers danced until none could continue, and they returned to their daises, chests heaving, faces glowing. The Paran climbed back on the dais, elated, sparks of pride shooting through him as his eyes swept around the room.

The Jorann rose to her feet and spoke, hands extended.

“The Circle is complete,” the Paran whispered.

When Laura looked again, the Jorann had disappeared, and her glow moved toward the passageway to her quarters.

“What now?” she asked.

“We return home,” the Paran said, his voice resonant with relief.

* * *

The transit hub echoed with the voices of hundreds of people and servants milling around dozens of huge transport pods. All around Laura the pods hummed with anticipation, well-rested and eager to dive into the tunnels. A small figure in brown, a young girl of perhaps ten or eleven standard years, streaked across the hub.

“Laura!” she cried, throwing both arms around her.

Laura steadied herself on the Paran’s arm and put a hand on one brown-robed shoulder. “Do I know you?”

The girl looked up, blinking, her forehead wrinkled, and uttered something in another language. The Paran spoke to her in a kind voice, but her eyes widened and she answered him with a stricken expression on her face.

“Her name is Thela, beloved,” the Paran said. “Her father had recently suffered a sudden death when you first came to Tolar. You found solace spending time together.”

“Oh.” Laura hugged the girl. “My heart grieves for your pain.”

Thela squeezed her, speaking in emphatic tones.

“She said she is still your friend, and she will learn Paranian so she can speak with you again.”

Laura squeezed her back and smiled into her face. “My gratitude.”

“Thela!” Marianne crossed the hub, Rose on her hip, speaking to the girl in the same language the Paran had used.

Thela gave her one last squeeze and scampered off. Marianne hesitated, glancing back and forth between Laura and the Paran.

“This will be farewell for quite some time,” she said, finally.

The Paran replied before Laura could force her mouth open. “My gratitude, dear one. You are always welcome in my stronghold.”

“Marianne—” Laura’s mouth went dry. “Forgive me. For what I said. It was wrong.”

Marianne’s face relaxed into a smile, and she pulled Laura into a warm, one-armed hug. “Forgive me,” she said. “I made you feel unwanted.” Rose squealed. “And Rose agrees.”

Laura ruffled the baby’s hair. “Take good care of this one. She is very bright.”

“I will.” Marianne stepped back. “I have to go.”

Laura watched her cross the hub to the Suralian transport pod. The Paran touched her shoulder.

“Come, beloved,” he said. “Our pod awaits.”

* * *

CCS-52-2953

FROM: Adeline Pearson Russell

SUBJECT: Tolar activity

Communications intercepted between Lord Albert Rembrandt and his father’s holdings on Britannia indicate a major shake-up in the ruling caste, but no change in leadership. In a successful attempt to contact the Sural (transcript and recording attached), we reminded him of his ambassador’s agreement re: an Earth-controlled trade station, and he responded with a suggestion that we review the dates on our documentation.

I regret to report that when all dates are adjusted to Den station local time, our compact with Monralar predates Farric’s official appointment by approximately six hours.

(signed) Adeline Russell, Major, Central Security

Head of Field Operations, Inner Sector

Chapter Thirty-One

After

Winter’s last gasp, such as it was on the equator, blew cold north winds over the ocean into Parania. Laura stood at the edge of the stronghold gardens, facing into the wind, eyes closed. The cold sharpened her senses. Thus focused, she could stretch them over the city spread out before her.

In the scholar’s tower, a woman gave birth to a daughter. An old man breathed his last breath in the laborers’ quarter, sparsely populated now that most had poured into the countryside to prune the trees in Parania’s fruit orchards, but his daughter and grandson stayed with him as his light went out, their bright, sharp grief piercing Laura’s heart. In a laboratory on the outskirts of the city, an over-eager apprentice burned himself. Everywhere, people went about their daily tasks, some focused, some not, none aware of her scrutiny.

She opened her eyes and pulled her senses back.
You’re really
not
human anymore, girl.

Her days were full now. Her heated resin paintings of planets from orbit had begun to achieve some small fame in Parania, and she taught two young artists a variety of shadow-pen techniques their elders had never seen. No one stood still, waiting for the new trade compacts to bring materials from the outworlds; already signs of an aesthetic renaissance cropped up everywhere. She might be a part of art history here, some day.

As for her nights—

Behind her, the Paran thrummed with deep happiness as he left the keep and crossed the ferny groundcover. Shivering. She grinned, but didn’t turn when he came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him.

“Beloved,” he breathed in her ear.

“Mm.” She hooked a hand around the back of his neck. “What brings you outside on a day like this?”

His arms tightened around her to steal more of her body heat. “The framer returned your painting.”