B00CH3ARG0 EBOK (31 page)

“What does the Paran think?”

He shook his head. “How he makes use of his lover is not an
appropriate topic of conversation between us, but he would be a fool not to
value her highly.”

“You mean he should make use of her sensitivity? Or that he
would be an idiot not to bond with her?”

“That is not for me to say,” he said, but he smiled. “I will
say that I do not take him for a fool.”

* * *

The Sural stretched his long legs under the desk in his open
study and brought up the next report on his tablet. Seven days without Storaas.
He felt lost without his oldest advisor. It was like trying to breathe without
one of his lungs.

As he read the report, a man in a scientist’s brown robes
entered the room and stopped before the desk, waiting. “Speak,” he ordered,
still reading.

“You honor me, high one,” the man said. “I am a marine
biologist working with the hevalrin in the bay.”

The Sural looked up. “You bring news?”

“I believe I know what the hevalrin wants.”

He put the tablet aside and gave the man his full attention.
“Tell me.”

“He wants to communicate with you.”

The Sural’s brows shot up. “With me?”

“Yes, high one. You, and no other.”

“I see. Is there anything else?”

“No, high one.”

“You may go.”

The scientist disappeared out the door. The Sural pocketed
his tablet and pushed himself out of his chair, heading for the transit room.
His head guard met him there to join him in the transport pod.

The drop to the tunnels almost brought a smile to his face.
Almost. It was always exhilarating, but even that couldn’t break through his
somber mood. Vidar gave him a sidelong glance and said nothing, lips twitching
from the effort to conceal his own enjoyment.

The hevalrin lay stationary in the waters of the bay,
waiting for him. The Sural brought the pod up against the creature’s colossal
head and pushed his hand through the living crystal onto its rough hide. He
closed his eyes.

A rumble went through the gigantic creature, the sound so
low-pitched he felt rather than heard it. A perfect emotional image took shape
in his senses. His eyes flew open.

“
Where is he?
”

* * *

Storaas stood atop the highest hill on the island and looked
down on his little world. Eight days, and he’d found the way up to this point
only the day before. It gave him a commanding view of the teardrop-shaped,
tree-covered island, which had proven to be an afternoon’s walk wide and a
half-day’s walk long, at his old man’s pace.

The hevalrin’s shadow lurked in the deep water to the north.
She disappeared for short periods each day – he presumed to forage for food –
but she was never gone long. Did she never become bored, lying out there? How
long would she remain with him?

He could not fathom the creature.

He kept busy, gathering driftwood and deadfall, weaving mats
out of grasses, searching out different types of food. There were no grains to
be found, but one variety of weed in the forest had a large, starchy nut. It
was filling and provided a welcome addition to his diet, particularly if
roasted. He kept an eye on his ‘crop,’ picking them as they ripened. He’d
turned his trousers into storage bags for them by tying a knot at the end of
each leg and hung them inside his little hut, out of the reach of sand crawlers
and other small creatures. The nuts would keep well for the winter.

Turning to make his way back down the hill, he took careful
steps. It was steep, but from the bottom it would be an easy walk to his
shelter. Loneliness stabbed at him. He hoped the hevalrin would be willing to
converse.

What he really ached for was Cena’s companionship. It had
taken him far too long to realize how deeply he was entwined with her. When it
was that she had replaced his lost Suralia, that she had become the center of
gravity in his life, he could not say, but she had. He wanted nothing more than
to return to Suralia – to return to
her
– and spend the rest of his very
long life making her happy. However long that was. Forever would not be long
enough.

He glanced toward the ocean where the hevalrin’s shadow
lurked in deep water, and lost his footing on the steep, rocky slope.

* * *

“At least the Neven is allowing your searchers in,” Marianne
offered.

The Sural growled and paced across her sitting room. Back
and forth. Forth and back. She wanted to scream, but she held it down. Rose squeaked
against her shoulder.

He flung himself into a chair. “Forgive me,” he said in a
low voice, sighing heavily. “Negotiating with the Neven was ... taxing.”

“I can see that.”

A brief laugh sputtered out of him. “I am grateful he is
allowing Suralian apothecaries to investigate if it is indeed Storaas on that
island. In truth, were our positions reversed, I might not allow Neveni into
Suralia, but—”

“But?”

“I would not use a rescue mission as leverage to broker a
trade deal.”

Marianne screwed her face into a sour expression. “That
was
a little mercenary of him.”

“He knew he had a needle to my throat. My affection for
Storaas is too widely known.”

She shot him a grin. “It’s Storaas on that island if Cena
has anything to say about it.”

* * *

Now he was hallucinating. A face – Cena’s face – appeared
and disappeared before his eyes.

Storaas blinked at the ceiling of his hut and groaned. Agony
shot through his legs. One was broken. Both were covered with deep cuts, festering
and ugly. He’d somehow dragged himself back into his little shelter, falling
unconscious from pain several times on the way. The whole memory was a haze. He
wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying here, floating in and out of
consciousness. It had to be … at least a day.

Just when he decided he wanted to live after all, he was going
to die. He coughed a laugh and cried out at the resulting pain that seared
through his chest.

The face appeared above him again. He could even smell her.
It was a wonderful hallucination.

“Cena,” he said, his voice ragged and hoarse. “If only you
were here.”

Warm fingers touched his face.
Truly
a wonderful hallucination.
He would die contented if it continued a little longer.

“I am here, Storaas,” the face said with Cena’s voice.

“If only you knew my heart ...” Tears filled his eyes,
blurring the beloved face. He blinked rapidly, desperate to clear them, to get
the sight of her face back. “If only I could have told you while there was
still time.”

The face hushed him. “There will be time. Sleep now.”

Something cool touched his neck, and darkness washed over
him.

 “How many bones did he break?” Marianne asked between
bites. She looked across the refectory’s high table at Cena, who was sitting opposite
her and Laura. Kyza and Thela had scampered off to their afternoon studies, and
the Sural sat in his throne-like chair at the head of the table with Rose over
one shoulder.

A lighter mood reigned in the stronghold since it became
known that Storaas had been found alive and would recover. Marianne winced at
the thought of his injuries.

Rose squawked a protest at the uncomfortable feelings. Marianne
glanced at the Sural, who shifted Rose to his other shoulder and kept eating.

“Fewer than I expected, given his appearance,” Cena
answered. “A leg broken in three places, two ribs, and a bone in his shoulder. Of
more concern were the infections and the internal injuries.”

Marianne shuddered. Rose voiced another loud complaint.

The Sural tapped Marianne’s wrist and gave her a significant
look.

“My apologies,” she murmured.

Laura stirred. “I’ll take Rose,” she said, reaching around
Marianne. “She likes me.”

The Sural shot Laura a grateful smile and handed Rose over.
She heaved a tiny sigh in Laura’s arms and promptly fell asleep. Laura
chuckled. “I haven’t lost my touch.”

Cena gave the baby a penetrating look. “She is content with
you. Unusual.”

“Much is unusual about Rose,” the Sural said, smiling.

Marianne cocked an eyebrow at him and turned to address
Laura. “I think he means because she shouldn’t be content with anyone but me.”

“Why?” Laura’s expression went blank.

“Our newborns are not like those of humans,” the Sural said.
“The parental bond gives them all the emotional support they need, and they are
normally only content with their bonded parent.”

“I see.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t see.”

Marianne chuckled. “Can you see Rose’s bonds?”

“Is that what that is? The way she’s sort of ... tied to
you?”

“Yes, exactly. Now look at the Sural.”

Marianne watched with growing amusement as Laura’s eyes flew
back and forth between Rose, the Sural, and herself.

“She’s ... she’s tied to him too.”

“Storaas noticed it,” Marianne said. “I’m surprised you
didn’t.”

“I’m new to all this, remember? I don’t always know what I’m
looking at, and the Sural is tied to everyone. You and Rose and the girls most,
though.”

Cena cleared her throat. She was staring at the Sural. “Had
you any plans to inform your apothecary you acquired another parental bond?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were preoccupied. I thought it
best to delay the revelation.”

“You have three daughters.”

“So it would appear.”

She shook her head. “Most unusual.”

Marianne chuckled again and made a gesture to indicate Laura
and herself. “Not to us.”

“I only had two daughters,” Laura said. “But I did have
three sons.”

“The Paran was pretty impressed with that.”

Laura’s eyes went dreamy. “Yes.” She shook her head as if to
clear it. “It’s good we appear the same age now. It was a little uncomfortable
carrying on with a man who looked half my age, even if he was born two
centuries before I was.”

Marianne laughed. “Maybe you’ll have your own little
daughter of Parania.”

The Sural nodded. “You are entitled to a Tolari heir,” he said.

“I’ll think about it.” Laura’s tone was sardonic. “What does
that
mean
, anyway? ‘Daughter of Parania.’ ‘Daughter of Suralia.’”

“At its most basic level, it refers to a female born in one
of those provinces,” Cena said.

“Cena’s a daughter of Suralia,” Marianne chipped in.

Cena rose to the topic, which seemed to interest her. “As is
the Marann, by the Jorann’s declaration. Kyza and Thela are daughters of
Suralia and of the Sural himself. And ...” She glanced at Laura, who was
staring off with her brows drawn together. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Laura said. “Just thinking about the whales out in the
bay.”

“Hevalra,” Marianne corrected without thinking. “What about
them?”

“They’re intelligent, aren’t they?”

“Apparently. One of the scientists told me they can’t
communicate with everyone, though. Just a few.”

“What about the baby born in the bay – it was female, right?”

Marianne nodded.

“Doesn’t that make her a daughter of Suralia too?”

* * *

He felt no pain. Was he dead?

No, his legs itched. He must be alive.

Storaas took a deep breath. With it came the smells of an apothecary’s
quarters: herbs, powdered minerals, and astringent cleansers. He cracked his
eyes open. The ceiling above him was the dark stone of Suralia’s stronghold.

The hallucinations had not been hallucinations.

“Cena,” he whispered, the thought of seeing her a bright joy.

A yellow-robed aide appeared beside him. “I will send for
her,” he said, making a gesture.

“How long ...?”

“Three days. Your injuries were severe.”

Storaas breathed in, held it a heartbeat, and breathed out
slowly. “I am too old.”

Cena’s voice came from the doorway. “That can be remedied.”

The aide disappeared.

Cena.
Storaas drank in the sight of her, his heart
overflowing. “Yes, it can, my love,” he said, voicing the familiar endearment he
had not used since … before his Suralia had walked into the dark.

She froze, her lips parted. Then she took a slow step, and
another, until she was standing at his bedside, her eyes huge with hope. They
locked onto his, searching.

“Do you mean ... do you intend ...”

A smile wrinkled his face in spite of himself. He reached
for one of her hands. “Yes.”

“You—”

He tugged on her hand, impatient with his own weakness,
until she sat on the bed beside him. “My heart is yours.”

She surprised him by bursting into tears and throwing her
arms around him to squeeze him tight. He struggled to breathe.

“Cena. I am still an old man.”

She loosed her hold and buried her face in his chest. He
winced a little as her emotions surged against his senses. He slid his arms
around her.

She took a few deep breaths, regaining control of herself,
and looked up. “I thought I would lose you.”

“Forgive an old fool. I no longer knew my own heart.”

She put an arm on each side of his chest and pushed herself
back to look at him, her face soaked with tears. “What changed you?”

He reached up to wipe away the tears. “I argued with a
hevalrin who showed me how foolish I was to let the past keep me from giving
you my heart.”

“The hevalrin in the bay...?”

“Is she here?”

“She? The hevalrin in the bay is male, though he was joined
by a gravid female, evidently his mate. She gave birth this morning.”

More joy brought another smile to his face. “That is
good
news. Is the young one well?”

“Yes, the biologists say she is quite healthy, although the
waters here are colder than those to which an infant hevalrin would normally be
exposed.”