The Fall (37 page)

The Vedelia supported Suralia in most things, but she did have an interest in the possibilities of off-world trade, and Father, of course, was happy to exploit any opportunity to increase his majority. The greater the potential humiliation to Suralia, the happier he became.

But Farric sensed more to it than that. The line of Vedelar was not only influential, but had traditionally been the final arbiters in questions of Tolari honor, short of a full meeting of the ruling caste, or a decision of the Jorann. Father seemed to find that important, and Farric was not at all sure that he wanted to know why.

Farric put aside those uncomfortable thoughts and let his mind drift.

Memory intruded.

After the initial meeting of the Circle, fatigue had forced Sharana to enter the Monrali quarters to seek rest, and she and Father had fought. He had, it seemed, been trying to stay close enough to keep her bond-hunger triggered until she would allow him to touch her. The endeavor had failed. She left her sleeping room, and they stood in the sitting room near the door shouting at each other, until Farric sensed violence building in his father and stepped between them.

Father had committed the shocking act of raising a hand as if to strike his bond-partner, and then thought better of it.

They had all slept badly, after that.

He very much feared that if the Sural succeeded in keeping caste leadership, Father would commit further desperate acts, and all of Monralar would die. He might already have done enough to dishonor himself, either on Tolar or in his dealings with the outworld races. And though Farric could not determine the extent of his actions, Father had fooled everyone. His allies thought him a genius; his enemies believed him an arrogant disturber of the peace. Neither side knew the true extent of his ambition.

There had to be a way to bring his father back to sanity.

“Do you have any other questions?” Bertie asked.

Sharana translated. The Vedelia shook her head and glanced up at her son. “Tannyf?”

“No, Mother,” the boy said, his voice cracking on the second word. A flash of embarrassment radiated from him before he shut his barriers as tightly as he could. Bertie flashed him an encouraging grin.

“Lord Albert, you may go,” Father said.

Bertie executed a perfect bow to each ruler, first to the Vedelia and then to the Monral, and strode from the room. Sharana took advantage of the brief confusion to follow him out before Father could stop her.

“Farric.” The Monral pointed his chin at the door.

Farric chose to misunderstand. Once in the corridor, rather than go after Sharana, he camouflaged and hurried to the great central hall. When the servants closed the great doors of meteoric iron behind him, then, and only then, did he drop his camouflage. No one out of range would know the color of the one visiting the Jorann.

She sat alone. “Come, child,” she said.

He crossed the room and knelt at her feet in the stinging cold within the field.

“Mother of us all,” he said, “help me save my people.”

* * *

In answer to the Jorann’s summons, the Monral strode into the great hall and waited as the doors closed behind him. Ahead of him, the Sural stood before the Jorann’s seat, his face a mask. And to one side of the Sural, bowing to him respectfully, was—

Farric.

The Jorann stood and spread her hands. “You have a matter of importance to discuss,” she said, and turned to descend from her seat and leave him with the Sural.

He went forward to face his… son, if he could still call him that. Denunciation sat ready on his tongue, but Farric met his eyes without flinching.

“Do you betray me?” he asked instead.

Farric opened his barriers. “No, Father.”

Truth.
He expelled a breath and nodded. But if Farric had not betrayed him, then the threat hanging in the air came from—

“Monralar,” the Sural said. “You assassinated the heir to Parania and her first-bond child.”

He whipped his head up to glare at the blue-robed giant. “You dare to accuse me?”

“You did not conceal your activities as carefully as you believe.”

He had covered every trace, every action. The Sural could have nothing. “You cannot have proof of something which did not happen.”

“Will you risk the lives of your people on that? And make another Detralar of your province?”

“What do you want, Suralia?”

“You will step down in favor of your heir. I will support any eligible ruler you choose for caste leader.”

His lips curled into a sneer. “And if I refuse?”

“Dishonor before the Circle.”

No. It was impossible. The Sural sought a response or a reaction he could use as indirect proof. If he grasped at that, he could have no real evidence. “You have nothing, Suralia.”

“I ask again, will you risk the lives of your people on that?”

Farric put a hand on his arm. Filial affection flowed from him. “Father.”

“Is this your doing?” he demanded. “Do you have ambition after all?”

“I would walk into the dark for your honor, Father.”

His barriers still down, his hand in physical contact, he sensed and felt truth ring through Farric, but neither did his son protest his enemy’s accusation. It shook him. The Sural had convinced Farric. Could he have left some piece of evidence behind, somewhere? Or had the Sural’s engineers somehow deduced the method he had used to collapse the transport tunnel?

He shook himself. The affection coming from Farric fogged his perceptions. He had left no sign of his actions.
Necessary actions.
He jerked his arm away.

“No, Suralia, I risk nothing to continue my path,” he said. “It is you who risk losing all, not I.”

“Very well,” the Sural said. “The Jorann will call for a vote on the request to return to conventional rule at first meeting tomorrow.”

* * *

Laura hovered again.

Am I dreaming? Or is this really happening?
She’d fallen asleep after returning from the refectory, and… now she was flying, high above the planet’s northern pole. Below her, the Benefactors’ complex lay buried in snow and rock and winter night. Above, stars sparkled in the black. She pivoted until she found the stars pointing to Sol. Could she fly there like this? Or home, to Tau Ceti?

Come to me
.

She looked down. The Jorann’s bright, bright light shone. She dove toward it and found the fair Tolari standing alone in a room resembling nothing so much as a cave of ice, attached to the great central hall by a passage behind her throne.

“I greet you, child,” the Jorann said, her eyes sparkling. “But why are you not with your beloved?”

Laura sank under the weight of the pain the question triggered, then drew herself together.

He can have his memories. He doesn’t even know me.

“But how can he come to know you, child, if you will not share your heart and your time with him?”

She couldn’t think of an answer to that.

The Jorann smiled. “Your time is short. Find him now, child. Listen to what he says to one he trusts.”

Spy on him? Wasn’t that dishonorable, to the Tolari way of thinking?

“Not in matters of the heart. Go.” She flicked her fingers. “Go.”

Laura fanned her senses over the complex. The Paran was… there, not far from their quarters, with the Brial. She glanced back. The Jorann flicked her fingers again. With a mental shrug, Laura flew toward him, through the complex, through the walls, and once, through a servant, to the place where…

The Brial and the Paran occupied a sitting room, a bottle of spirits on a low table between them. The Brial sprawled back in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, affecting indifference, but deep concern lay beneath his façade. The Paran bent forward over his knees, hands hanging loosely, head down. His barriers were shut to the Brial, but his heartbreak seared through her own soul.

“She was beautiful,” the Paran whispered. “Burned and aching, more concerned for a frightened transport pod than for herself. We had forgotten to teach her how to barrier herself—did not know she had forgotten because we did not ask—but she uttered not a word of complaint. And here, just yesterday, uncomplaining when those around her forgot themselves and carried on a conversation in a language she could not understand. She called no attention to herself and left only when she truly needed rest.”

“Go to her.”

“I did not know I could hurt her so badly.”

The Brial poured from the bottle into two shot-glass sized cups. “Parania, hear me. Go to her.”

“She told me to stay away.” The Paran picked up one of the cups and swallowed its contents, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You think she meant it?”

“I know she did.”

“And
your
feelings never change? Go to her.”

“Her heart is shut against me.”

“Did you replace your head with a rock? Hear me. Offer her your heart. You are bonded. She will know you mean it.
Go to her
.”

“Speaks the heart thief.”

“Better a thief of hearts on a warm mat than a bonded heart on a cold one.”

The Paran snorted. “Digger squid.”

“Sand crawler. Go to her, or I will trade my surplus lumber for Vedeli marble rather than Paranian.”

“Hah! Your artisans would turn their backs on you.”

“As will yours on you, when they discover they cannot make their superb Paranian bows without Briali greenwood.” He poured more spirits. “Here. One more. Then get out of my quarters. I will need my wits about me tomorrow if the Jorann confirms Monralar.”

Laura backed away.
I need to wake up
.
How do I wake up?

Open your eyes, child.

The dream broke into fragments of thought as she gasped and opened her eyes on the dimly-lit sleeping room. Above, unseen through layers of ice and rock, she could almost feel the stars burning in the long polar night. Heart racing, she threw off the blanket and wrapped her arms around her knees. Would the Paran take the Brial’s counsel and come to her? He was moving this way, but that didn’t mean he would follow his friend’s advice. She shadowed him with her senses, felt him come through the outer door into the sitting room,
heard
him now, moving… past her door.

Her heart splintered into shards of anguish. She buried her face in her knees and sobbed. It had only been a dream.

He stopped. Moved back toward her door. Opened it.

“Beloved?”

She sobbed harder. He closed the door behind him and came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Why do you weep?”

“It was—only a—dream,” she stuttered between sobs.

“Did you suffer an unpleasant dream?”

“You were drinking spirits with the Brial. He told you to come to me.” She hiccupped. “But you walked past my door. It was only a dream.”

He went still. “How could you hear us?”

“I saw—today I saw two people meet and be attracted to each other,” she stammered. “And I thought, if you were attracted to me like that, maybe you still wanted me. But you pulled your senses in when you saw me, and the Jorann said you would never really know me if—if…”

His brows pulled together. “When did you speak with the Jorann?”

“In my dream. And then I thought—when the Brial told you to go to me—I thought you would because you said—you said I was beautiful—but you walked past my door.” Knives stabbed her heart, and she fell into deep, wracking sobs. “It was just a dream.”

“You still want me?” he asked, in an almost inaudible whisper. A warm hand touched her shoulder.

She jerked away. “Does it matter? I am not
your
Laura anymore! But I remember who I am. I remember my father giving me a diamond necklace for my eighteenth birthday, and my mother comforting me when the other girls teased me, and Thomas and Steven getting black eyes defending me from bullies. I am
Laura.
I lost forty years of my life—
my life
—when I fell. You did not lose me.
I
lost
you
!”

He lifted a hand to her face. “Beloved, look at me.”

She sucked in a ragged breath and raised her eyes. He lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss onto one eye, licked her tears from his lips, and kissed the other.

Sightless, she gazed into his heart to confront her rival—and saw herself. His heart unrolled before her, and she found the treasures of her life in the recesses of his mind. Motionless, he held it out before her as a gift. His mouth moved down her cheek and nibbled at the corner of hers. She swallowed a hiccup.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured, and slanted his lips across hers, his tongue tickling and seeking, salty with her tears. She opened her mouth to him, moaning, and their tongue tips danced against each other. He nibbled the other corner of her mouth, across her cheek and down her neck. “I want you,” he said, his voice hoarse. He poured himself into their bond, and his radiance burst around her. “Bond with me.”

She reached into him, fumbling—found the way—found
him
. He gasped, and her body came alive, her skin electrified, every touch sending shivers from head to toe. She looked for the fastenings of his robe, yearning to feel his skin against hers, but he was already tearing the unwanted fabric away. Then, in a gentle rush, he untied her bed-robe and slipped it over her shoulders.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. She leaned forward to seal his mouth with hers. Only sensation existed, mouths and skin and loins, the rhythm and the building exaltation, until, at the still point, they reached for each other at an even deeper level and shattered together into rapture.

He was… he was... the name eluded her, as she knew it must. But she knew every movement of his heart as if it were her own.

She was Laura, and his heart held no other.

Strength exhausted, she collapsed onto him, panting against the soft skin of his neck as the radiance faded. He wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back and arms, gentle, blissful.

“Is it,” she whispered, “is it always like that?”

He purred. “Yes.”

“Then I cannot understand how you get anything else done.”