The Marann (12 page)

“It will be a long wait.”

“I am a patient man.” He paused.
“Proctor, when suitable opportunities present themselves, read her
and report to me.”

“Yes, high one.”

A man in the dark brown robes of the
science caste entered the room and stood waiting for the Sural to
speak.

“I want you to determine if you can
scan and copy the human ship’s data archives without being
detected,” the Sural told him.

“I am not confident it can be done. I
can defeat their protections, but not without alerting
them.”

“Look into it further. I want access
to their medical information.”

Chapter Seven

Marianne stood at a window in the family library,
five standard years into her assignment—her second autumn on Tolar.
The trees, bushes, and groundcover had turned yellow late in the
season, preparing for the long winter. Kyza had become a little
girl, and she had her father, if not captive to her every whim, at
least subject to them. Marianne herself found it difficult to deny
the child anything. Only Storaas resisted her manipulations. The
old proctor had tutored the children of too many Suralian rulers—no
one could connive him into anything, not even a talented,
beautiful, and charming child.

Storaas had directed a guard to search
for Kyza when she burst out of hiding with a piercing shriek and
flung herself at Marianne, clinging to one of her legs.

“Kyza,
NO
!” the old tutor
boomed in deep, authoritative tones, gesturing to the guard, who
sprinted out of the room. Marianne’s stomach twisted in panic for
no definable reason, and she reached down to pat the girl’s head.
“No!” Storaas barked, to Marianne this time.

Marianne jerked the hand back and
looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“This is a matter in which you cannot
become involved.” His tenor voice dropped to a low and intense
pitch. “Do not move. Do not attempt to comfort her.”

The Sural burst into view in the
doorway, striding toward them. He dropped to his knees on the floor
matting and pried his daughter from Marianne’s leg. Once he had
broken Kyza’s hold, Marianne’s stomach stopped twisting. Kyza flung
her arms around her father’s neck.

“Fafee, I am alone! All alone!” she
cried into his robes.

“Hush,” he murmured, his eyes closing.
“I am here now.”

“Come, proctor,” Storaas said in a low
voice. “We must leave them.” He took an arm and pulled her along
with him out into the corridor, giving Kyza a wide berth. Marianne
looked back at father and daughter. The Sural held Kyza in a gentle
hug, eyes closed, but Marianne’s skin still prickled from the wild
panic in the air.

The Sural’s face drained of expression
and became serene. He was handsome enough to make a woman’s heart
ache. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Her own heart tightened,
and she squashed the thought altogether.
That
was
unprofessional.

<<>>

Kyza’s emotions surged as she beat her
senses against the Sural. With gentle ease, he caught her and
wrapped his own senses around hers, holding her fast. The world
faded, leaving only his small daughter, clinging to him and drawing
on his strength with a tenacity and fierceness that swelled his
heart.
So strong
. And she was
his
child—
his
continuation—
his
legacy. Instinct sent his senses questing
outward, seeking adults close enough to interfere and try to take
her from him, and found two guards. He turned toward the nearest
and scowled.

<<>>

Storaas guided the human tutor to
safety in the corridor, relieved that bonding with his daughter
occupied too much of the Sural’s attention for him to notice the
woman’s flash of desire—Tolar’s captivated leader needed no further
encouragement. As he led the object of his ruler’s infatuation
away, two guards flew out the door of the library, where the Sural
remained with his daughter. Storaas chuckled.

“What was that all about?” the human
proctor asked, turning toward him.

“Let us walk in the garden,” he said,
ignoring the question and heading out a nearby exit.

“All right.” She followed him into the
morning sunshine, and he sensed annoyance rising in her. Her voice
rang with it as she added, “You Tolari, you have a lot more going
on under the surface than you let me see.”

He released her arm and picked an
autumn flower from the groundcover, holding it close to his face
and taking a deep breath of its sweet fragrance. “A pity you cannot
smell this. It is quite lovely.”

Her annoyance gave way to curiosity.
“Is that an allegory?” she asked.

“Human senses are quite dull compared
to ours,” he continued, hoping she might make the conceptual leap
from comparing physical senses to other, less obvious,
ones.

A thoughtful look crossed her face.
Then she shivered. It was a brisk autumn morning—which, he
remembered, must seem quite cold to her. He turned to her and
smiled.

“Come, child.” He colored his voice
with paternal affection. “I forget you consider this weather cold.
Take my arm.”

She let him take her hand. He tucked
it into his elbow as they continued down the wandering path.
Focusing on her, he angled toward a gazebo and strolled at a slow
pace as he sorted through the many and varied emotions flowing
through her. Gentle and harmless, with a bit of temper, he thought,
touching around the edges of the buried pain.
She tries to hide
this even from herself.
He probed into it. Violation and fear
of death wove through a tight ball of anguish. He had never seen
anything like it.

“Had you friends on Earth?” he asked.
“Do you miss them?” Her emotions swirled into a complex mixture of
surprise, longing, and a touch of homesickness. No intimate
feelings rose—she was not entwined with anyone on her home
planet.

She nodded. “Why do you
ask?”

“The Sural would not have you be
unhappy.”

The mention of the Sural sent a
cascade of unsettled emotion through her, attraction warring with
anxiety. The girl clamped down on herself, not even aware of what
she did. He rubbed his chin with his free hand and glanced at her.
The time the Sural had spent with her had a deep effect. If she
were Tolari, she would have long since shared her blanket with
him—but intimacy terrified this child, with a deep and reflexive
terror. He guided her into a gazebo and assisted her to a seat,
taking one opposite her.

She radiated gratitude and stopped
shivering. The gazebo, though open, was warmer.

“I remind you of someone,” he
said.

She smiled and nodded. “Gramps,” she
replied. “My grandfather—my mother’s father. He worked as an…
account-keeper—very bookish, like you.”

Storaas returned the smile. “You are
your mother’s heir, then?”

“I suppose you could say that,” she
answered. “I was an only child.”

“An only child?”

“My parents had no other children,”
she explained. “I was the only one.”

“Ah, I see. A human two-parent
family.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Why then did they not have two
children,” he asked, “to give themselves an heir for
each?”

She pulled her smile sideways. “We
don’t think of it that way. Humans just have children—however many
they decide to have. Some people don’t have any, other people have
a lot, or any number in between. It’s up to them.”

“How peculiar. Should Kyza pass her
trials and become the Sural’s heir, he will not have another
child.”

Marianne laughed. “How would you know
how many children he’ll have?”

“It is our law. He can have but one
heir.”

She sobered. “Truly? What happens if
she dies before he does?”

“He would be permitted another child.
It is not only his right, but also his duty. Suralia must
continue.”

“What about you, do you have an
heir?”

He fell silent for a moment. “No,” he
replied, focusing on her. “And I am too old for that now,” he
added. “Do you plan no child for yourself?”

“No.” Her response snapped out almost
before he finished speaking. As if she realized she’d revealed
something of her anxiety by her quick answer, her expression turned
rueful. “I’m in the ‘some people who don’t have any’
category.”

“You are young,” he said. “You may
change your mind.”

Her voice went flat. “No I won’t. And
anyway, by the time I leave Tolar, I’ll be too old to have
children.”

“It would be a shame for your gift of
language to die with you. Perhaps the Sural would allow another
human on the planet for a short time, to father a child for
you.”

“No
,” she exclaimed.

Anxiety—close to panic—burst out of
her. Her desire to avoid intimacy ran deep, and he had triggered a
stronger reaction than he intended. Storaas spread his hands,
apologetic.

“Forgive me. I did not at first
realize you cannot bear a child. Can your medical science not
correct this?”

Marianne fell silent, eyes wide. The
anxiety turned to surprise.

He smiled. “You would like to know how
I could know that.”

“Yes, actually.” She closed her slack
jaws with a soft click and swallowed.

“Among my people, I am renowned for my
ability to read others.”

“To re—”

“You are familiar with our science of
observation?”

Marianne nodded, and he sensed her
surprise settling into comprehension. She could not truly
understand—not yet—but he let her think what she would. She
resembled a flutter with broken legs—able to fly, unable to land,
pained and frightened by the very trees which should give her rest.
Yet to be so gentle, even with all the pain she harbored, was
remarkable, and he could understand the Sural’s attraction. He
wondered what could have given her a wound so grave. Whoever harmed
her was unforgivable, he decided, to wound such a beautiful
flower.

“Come,” he said. “Let us return to the
keep. Your time is your own for a few days. Kyza will be
unavailable.”

<<>>

Marianne spent the remainder of the
day reading in her quarters and studying in the library. It
surprised her when neither Kyza nor the Sural appeared for the
evening meal. They continued to absent themselves the following
day, so she began to join Storaas at a lower table to take her
meals. He welcomed her company.

“Proctor,” she asked during the
evening meal of the second day, “what’s happening?”

He paused a moment before answering.
“Kyza has reached a critical point in her development. The Sural
must—restructure—his parental bond with her. Their relationship
will then remain stable until she comes of age.” He paused again,
then added, “The process requires three or four days.”

“Ah.” Marianne nodded. Storaas smiled
at her, but was otherwise unreadable, and she got the feeling she’d
amused him. She grinned. “No, I don’t understand. What do you
mean?”

He gave her a Tolari stare before
answering. She’d grown used to them, but they could still unsettle
her. “Our children are bonded to us, for emotional stability. To
the mother from birth, then to the father—if the child is his
heir—from a little later in childhood. Kyza has reached the age of
second bonding. Her first bond with the Sural dissolved, and she
panicked when she felt alone. For several days, she will seek
comfort and strength from the Sural, in the same manner you
witnessed today. It takes place in seclusion, because while she
draws on his strength, his instinct will be to protect her should
another adult approach—with violence, if necessary. When their
parental bond has re-formed, they will resume their normal
activities.” He fell silent and regarded her with another
stare.

“Wait—she’s been bonded to the Sural
all this time rather than to her mother?”

“It is unusual, but it does occur.” He
bowed and left the refectory before she could voice the next
question on her mind: Who was Kyza’s mother?

Such a strange people. If she could
have found woman friends among them, maybe then she’d understand
them better, but perhaps Tolari women didn’t have the same need she
did. She couldn’t talk to anyone on the ship other than Addie and
Laura, though she would have liked to get to know that young
lieutenant she met on Tau Ceti station. They might have become
friends.

Adeline didn’t seem inclined to tease
her during the next morning’s chat, much to Marianne’s relief. “So
you haven’t seen either the Sural or his daughter since the day
before yesterday?” she asked.

“Not a sign,” Marianne answered. “They
don’t even come to the refectory for meals. Storaas said the Sural
needed to ‘restructure his parental bond’ with his daughter. She
will seek reassurance from him for several days, or something like
that, and while she does that, he’ll protect her from any adult who
comes near. Storaas wasn’t clear.”