The Fall (36 page)
“If
you
back Suralia, it might sway enough of Monralar’s supporters back to me.”
“Your coalition is dead, my friend.” The Brial slurped his drink.
He heaved a loud sigh and sipped from his own cup. “What would the Paran my grandfather say?”
The Brial smirked and puffed out his chest. “However did
my
daughter produce such a weak heir?” he said, in his deepest voice.
The Paran grabbed a small stone statue from a side table and threw it at him. The Brial ducked to one side, and it bounced off the back of his chair to fly into a cabinet against the wall. Something within rattled.
“
Daakh
,” his friend muttered. “That would have hurt.”
“Toughen your skin in the arena. Or sharpen your reflexes—you should have caught it.”
The Brial snorted. “I’m glad this Circle will be a short affair—I would wager three days at most, thank the absent Benefactors. All you bonded rulers are growing irritable already, being so far from their people, but you more than most.”
“Do you not intend to go before the Jorann tomorrow and join us among the bonded?” he asked, ignoring the second half of the comment.
“I do, but you evade my point.” He cast a pointed look at the door to Laura’s sleeping room.
The Paran stood up and paced. “Hah.” His own eyes fell on her door, and he stopped mid-pace. He turned. “How is Bradyn?”
Brialar shook his head. “He recovers but slowly, buried in his work; he sent word that he would be here tomorrow.”
“He should have arrived for the opening.”
“Such is his distraction of late. Did he not already have an heir, I would fear for my line. Your daughter had truly captured my son’s heart.”
“She was a remarkable woman.”
“She was, in truth.”
They fell silent. Eyes stinging, the Paran resumed his pacing.
“And what of your new son?”
“Fortunate to live and thrive.”
“The timing of your bond-partner’s misfortune was… interesting.”
The Paran threw himself back into a chair. “You find schemes where none exist, Brialar. I was present. I saw my beloved—” Her scream rang in his memory, and he shuddered. “It was purely accident. She tripped.”
“Forgive me, my friend.” The Brial’s eyes glimmered in the low light.
The Paran shook himself and refilled the cups. “No doubt we will survive the Monral, as we have survived other rulers in the past. My artisans will welcome trade with races other than the Kekrax.”
“As will mine. Monralar may be right that joining the Trade Alliance could foster an artistic awakening.”
“Still, we jump into the fire too quickly.” He swallowed the cup’s contents in one gulp and poured more.
“There is little point in debating it.” The Brial sipped at his cup. “We already sit at that fire. Monralar made binding agreements.”
“Indeed. And Suralia did nothing to challenge them.”
“I did notice. You think he schemes something?”
The Paran snorted. “The Sural
always
schemes something.”
* * *
Marianne brushed a kiss across her sleeping daughter’s chubby little cheek and tucked the blanket covering her into the sides of her cot. The Sural lounged in the doorway behind her.
“If you wake her,” she whispered as she tiptoed away, “you’re a dead man.”
He rumbled a chuckle as he followed her back into the sitting room.
“I’m serious.” She aimed a poke at his stomach. It never landed. He bent over the hand he’d captured and kissed her fingers, eyes glinting.
Men!
“Keeping her on a regular schedule was impossible with all the traveling.”
“Time has no meaning at a Circle,” he said. “It can be the night meridian on one side of the complex and the day meridian on the other.”
“And everything in between, yes, I know.” She pulled her mouth sideways and dropped into a divan. “Storaas told me. I don’t care. Babies need structure.”
He took a seat beside her. “Rose is not human. You cannot expect her to behave as one.”
“Yes, I can. She’s
my
daughter.”
He laughed. She clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Dead man, remember?” Heat flared in his eyes, and his tongue tickled her palm. She snatched her hand back and shook a finger at him. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting your way with me until you explain what’s going on.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Monralar seeks to unseat me.”
“No! Really?” She rolled her eyes. “I could see that, even without understanding all the nuances. Which you ought to explain to me, by the way.”
“He has a chance to succeed, this time.”
Marianne considered the prospects for a Tolar led by the Monral, and the thought provoked a shudder. She knew enough Tolari history to imagine what
that
might be like, at least for the ruling caste. “Doesn’t the Jorann have a say?”
“In caste matters? She has always been reluctant to interfere.”
“But she
appointed
you!”
“She did, but the position was vacant. And I have been caste leader longer than most of her grandchildren. The opposition bloc’s argument has merit, on that point.”
She blinked. “Are you saying you want to step down?”
“No.”
“Can you beat this?”
“I have plans to undermine Monralar’s scheme, but much depends on how much his ambition has affected his sanity and his honor. And regardless of which of us leaves the Circle as leader of the ruling caste, Tolar has veered away from the course I had envisioned. I must make accommodations to his bloc, even should I prevail.”
“Hence all the private meetings.” She nodded to herself. “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
“Those unbonded rulers who wish may go before the Jorann. Meanwhile, we continue to debate the best course for our world.” He snaked an arm around her and pulled her toward him. “Have I answered enough questions?”
His eyes fixed on her mouth. A shiver went through her belly.
“Ba! Ba!
Ba
!”
The Brial knelt in the blankets piled before the crystal throne and suppressed a shiver as he settled onto his heels. Within the shimmering field surrounding the Jorann and her seat, the cold bit through the five layers of ceremonial brocade robes he wore.
He looked up into the fair face and blue eyes, so different from the dark skin and brown eyes of her children. She appeared very young, but her presence—what of it she allowed to show—showed signs of the long years she had spent guiding Tolar. He felt like an infant before her. Her lips twitched into a slight smile.
“You lack your grandfather’s ambition, child.” A glint shone in her eyes. She cocked her head, and fantastically complicated braided knots shifted around her shoulders.
“Yes, highest,” he replied. “I love my province and my people, but leading the ruling caste carries no attraction for me.”
“And yet your grandfather burned for it.”
“The caste decided on another.”
“Is that why neither you, nor your father before you, came at my summons?”
“Grandfather declared enmity. My shadow will never fall in Suralia.”
The Jorann lifted a disapproving brow. “My grandson is bound by law to provide safe passage for any ruler I summon. I summoned your father when your grandfather walked into the dark. I summoned you when your father did in his turn. Why did you not come?”
“The Suralia his grandmother—”
“Yes, your game,” she interrupted. “You cannot forgive my grandson for what his grandmother did, though he had not yet been born.”
He looked down at his hands, resting on his knees. The Sural would rule Tolar today regardless of who had won the power struggle in his grandfather’s time.
“Brialar.” He looked up. “It would be far more fitting for you to hate Parania.”
Surprise loosened his tongue. “Hate Parania?” he sputtered. “Why should I hate Parania? We have been friends from childhood.”
“It was the Paran his grandfather who thwarted
your
grandfather’s ambitions, not Suralia.”
“The Paran is not responsible for his grandfather.”
“Neither is the Sural responsible for his grandmother.”
The Brial opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Hear me, child,” she said. “My grandson was not even of age when I gave him the leadership of the ruling caste. Do you know why?”
“Because even in his youth, he could kill any of us if he chose.”
She tilted her head, a denial and a rebuke. “Because the fire of events the day he took power forged him, despite his lack of experience.”
“Highest, what has this to do with me?”
“It is time for you to consider that you may have misjudged Suralia.”
He lowered his gaze. “Yes, highest.”
“Give me your hands.”
She held slim hands out to him, waiting. His own swallowed them.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
He did so, then drew a sharp breath. An empathic image of his province filled his senses, its hundreds of thousands of people dotting the surface like stars.
Her voice grew soft. “See your people. Fold your senses around them.” As she uttered the words, his senses expanded over Brialar and engulfed the lights, melting into them, becoming a part of them. The life of every Briali on the planet flowed into him. He gasped.
“You are Brialar.”
Joy burst through him. He sensed it flow into the ruling bond and lift the spirits of every Briali in the complex. Longing to be in the heart of his province filled him, almost painful in its intensity.
The Jorann pulled her hands from his to open a crystal box on the arm of her chair. She took a tiny white cube from it and placed it in his hands.
“Take my blessing,” she said. “You have ruled well. Now guide your people with my heart.”
“You honor me, highest,” he said, and placed the small cube on his tongue. It dissolved, leaving his entire body tingling.
“Go now, Brialar.”
Heart flying, he stood and gave a profound bow, then turned and walked to the heavy metallic doors to the corridor.
* * *
Laura sipped at a thick yellow soup. Everyone was being so careful of her, the Paran most of all. Now he had gone off to the Circle, and Azana sat across the table from her, eating one-handed while cradling Laryth. Few people occupied the refectory, which suited Laura. She kept a grip on her barriers and blocked out everyone, though it broke her heart to block the baby. His innocent probing would have given her an opportunity for a quick and hopefully unnoticed empathic caress.
The Brial came tripping through the door, his face glowing, ties and connections flowing from him that hadn’t been there before. Eyes alight, he spotted her and crossed the room to take the chair at the head of the table.
“I greet you!” he said in a cheery voice.
“You forgot to bow,” Laura said, deadpan.
He jumped up and performed an elaborate obeisance. “A beautiful woman must
never
suffer disappointment!” he exclaimed. Then he turned to Azana and repeated the bow. “I am the Brial.”
“This is Laryth, the son of Parania,” she said, “and I am Azana, his fafea.”
Laura’s heart twinged.
“I greet you also,” the Brial pronounced, slipping back into the chair. He grabbed some food off the trays on the table, his eyes wandering over Azana and taking in the color of her robe. “What manner of science do you study?”
“Mathematics.” Azana tried to wipe her fingers one-handed and shoved the cloth around the table instead. “I am engaged with one of the Paran’s research teams.”
The Brial snatched the cloth and grasped her hand with it, wiping away the crumbs from the roll she’d just eaten. His presence stretched in her direction—and hers toward him. He was not quite the carefree ruler Laura had met on her arrival, but neither had the bonds that now joined him to his distant province entirely changed the man.
Laura nudged her aide. “I would like to rest,” she said.
“Do you leave us so quickly?” the Brial asked. “I might come to believe you do not share your Paran’s affection for me.”
“I have spent too little time in your presence to feel anything for you.” The aide helped her to her feet.
He clutched at his belly. “Wounded by a beauty!”
“You will find a way to survive.”
“Perhaps comforted by another?” He waggled an eyebrow at Azana.
Azana smiled and shook her head as Laura turned away. In the cool of the corridor, Laura stopped to catch her breath.
“You did not rest long enough in the refectory, artist,” the aide said.
“No, but…” She leaned on the sturdy, yellow-robed woman and took a few more steps. “I want to be alone.”
The aide nodded and took most of her weight as she made her way back to the Paranian quarters. The Paran stood in the middle of the sitting room, reading his tablet and rubbing his chin, when the aide helped her through the doorway. He stuffed the tablet in a pocket and strode toward her, pulling his senses into himself as he approached.
But they were bonded, after all, and she looked deeper. He was full to overflowing with longing and heartsickness, for a woman she did not recognize. Her rival. Herself, once upon a time.
Her heart contracted. “No,” she said simply.
He stopped, brows knitted. Escaping from the hand of the aide, she stepped past him and managed to walk without staggering into her sleeping room.
Numbly, she collapsed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. The Brial and Azana had yearned toward one another. The Paran had, on the other hand, pulled away, so that he could fulfil the courtesies that decency demanded. But as for his heart…
He doesn’t want me anymore
. She tried to feel something, anything, but nothing came, no tears, no anger, not even hurt, just soul-draining fatigue. Perhaps she was just too tired. She shut out the world and slid into sleep.
* * *
Farric stood at his father’s right shoulder in the small, round meeting room; Sharana stood at his father’s left. Across the table, the ruler of Vedelar sat, her adolescent son at her right shoulder and her chief advisor next to him. Bertie paced and gesticulated to one side, explaining with glowing eyes the details of interstellar commerce on the trade station soon to be built in Tolar orbit, while Sharana translated.
