The Marann (23 page)

“As long as I do not lose your favor,”
he said in a low voice, squeezing her fingers. She looked down. He
still held her hand. She blushed, and his dark eyes glinted with
the delight her blushes seemed to inspire in most
Tolari.

She took a shaky breath, but didn’t
pull her hand away. The pressure of his fingers increased again,
and her breathing hitched. Did he
want
to hold her hand?
“What did she mean, she could see why you are besotted?”

He stopped and raised her hand to his
lips. In the Jorann’s ice cave, he had seemed—blank, walled off,
unreadable. Now, his presence came alive with emotion, powerful,
almost shattering in its intensity. Love and longing flowed from
within him and washed over her. She pulled away and put both hands
to her face, trying to hide the blood rushing to her cheeks.
Oh
my God,
she thought.
Is that him? Was Addie
right?

Her stomach sank. If she could sense
so much of him, he must have long ago sensed the inappropriate
feelings she struggled to keep under control. She stared up at him,
eyes wide. Her throat tried to close, but she had to
know.

“The Ambassador’s wife told me you—you
were trying to court me,” she said.

“I am,” he replied, his voice almost a
whisper. “I have been. For quite a long time.”

She couldn’t breathe. “But that can’t
be true.”

He pried the hands from her face and
held them close to his heart with both of his. The contact brought
his feelings into sharp focus again. Love. Tenderness. Longing.
Oh my God,
she thought again.
This can’t be
happening.

“Tell me why.”

“I’m just a teacher.” Her voice
dropped to a hoarse whisper. “My ancestors are all farmers. I’m a
nobody. You’re the sovereign ruler of a
planet
.”

His face crinkled into a bemused
smile. “Such distinctions mean nothing to us,” he said, mirth
coloring his voice. He touched her reddened face with his
fingertips. “What matters to me is who you are, not what you
are.”

Marianne found her mouth dry. A
concerned look replaced the delight on his face. Her mind raced,
trying to absorb it all. It couldn’t be possible.
He—he
loves
me. How—why—?
Fear stabbed her as the implications
flashed before her mind’s eye. He sensed it.

“I have never harmed you,” he said,
cupping her face with both hands and stroking her cheek with a
thumb. “And I never will. Why do you fear me? Why do you fight
yourself?”

“I don’t—” she stammered. A voice rose
above the confusion in her head.
You’re a professional,
it
said.
Act like it.
“I don’t love—”

He locked eyes with her. She looked
down, the voice silenced and the lie stuck in her
throat.

“I can sense your feelings, dear one,”
he said. He folded his arms around her.

She trembled. He was so warm, the
comfort he offered so… tantalizing. She let her arms slip around
him, sighed, and sank into his embrace. Joy, fierce joy, burst from
him, and his hold tightened.

Memory intruded of another taut pair
of arms. She stiffened.

“Do not panic,” he told her. “I will
not hurt you, and I will not allow anyone else to hurt
you.”

She buried her face in his robes, her
throat constricting, her knees turning to water.

“No one is hurting you,” he said. “No
one can hurt you while I live.”

Gulping air, Marianne struggled to
calm herself. Breath by breath, the panic diminished. Grief for her
came from the Sural, and longing for him pierced her heart,
creating a trail of warmth straight down to where she didn’t want
to feel it. He lifted her chin to make her meet his eyes. Her
stomach quivered.

“I will never harm you,” he
said.

Marianne nodded, biting back tears.
The Sural stroked her hair. “I will never hurt you,” he
repeated.

She took a deep breath. “I—I don’t
know why I get so afraid,” she said, her voice
trembling.

“You have been hurt.” The hand under
her chin shifted to cup her face. His mahogany eyes searched hers,
but he didn’t probe. She thought. “Who hurt you? Will you tell
me?”

She shook her head and looked down. “I
can’t talk about it,” she whispered.

Disappointment flashed through him. He
took a step back and offered an arm. “Walk with me,” he said. “We
cannot delay our return to my stronghold any longer.”

She hesitated, then took his arm. The
Sural touched her with a delicate probe, letting a little comfort
flow into her as they walked. The turmoil within her began to
ease.

When they came in range of the first
guard—close to the top of the long flight of steps to the keep—he
closed his empathic barriers with an almost audible snap. An
instant later, Kyza stopped playing and became the sober child
Marianne had always known.

Marianne did her best to imitate them
but failed. Still, she reasoned, she could be expected to be in
considerable confusion from her visit with the Jorann, which
everyone in the stronghold knew she had just experienced. She hoped
she didn’t give away anything she shouldn’t.

At the top of the stairs, her jaws
itched and her lungs burned, but she had expected worse so soon
after a medical procedure. The strange energy she’d awakened with
still buzzed through her body, giving her a new strength, but she
knew herself weaker than the Tolari around her. And they were
everywhere
around her. Guards lined the corridor, guards she
always knew had to be there, but she had never known where or how
many. Now she could sense them.

The Sural led her to a door in the
family wing. “Your quarters have been moved here, dear one,” he
said. The reaction to his words rippled through the guards. The
news of just how high the Jorann had raised her status would be all
over Suralia by nightfall—which was not far off. Through the window
at the end of the hall, sunset painted the sky shades of red and
purple. “Kyza’s apartments are next to yours. The servants moved
your belongings exactly as they were in your old
quarters.”

Marianne nodded, giving him a shaky
smile, a little surprised. Then she decided she should have
expected it. It was no longer appropriate to keep her in guest
quarters. He opened the door for her and she peered into her new
sitting room. It looked identical. She started to walk in, but he
stopped her.

“No time for that now,” he said.
“Follow me.”

“Yes, dear one,” she replied, feeling
an even stronger ripple of reaction run through the guards. She
wondered what they thought.

He led the way to the audience room
near the entrance of the keep. Dozens of representatives of the
Sural’s allies—provincial heirs, regents, or trusted chief
advisors—and numerous representatives of the city and the
surrounding regions of Suralia stood scattered through the huge
room. As they entered, the guards along the walls flickered into
sight.

The Sural left Marianne and Kyza at
the door. “Stay here until I call you,” he said, walking ahead into
the room with long, ground-eating strides. When he reached the
dais, he lowered himself to sit on his heels in its center. The
guards disappeared from view, and the guests sat.

The Sural spoke. “Kyza,” he called in
a strong voice, “Today you are legal heir to Suralia. Come forward,
dear one.”

As Kyza reached the Sural’s dais, one
guest stood; a figure in a pale tan robe with embroidery from
collar to waist. The color showed he came from Detralar; the
embroidery proclaimed him its ruler, the Detral, the Sural’s ally
and the second most powerful member of the ruling caste. His
province lay on Suralia’s western border, or, bonded ruler that he
was, he would not have come. Provincial rulers never strayed far
from their provinces without a strong reason, and bonded rulers
even more so.

The Detral held out both arms. “Who
stands witness that Kyza has passed the great trial of Suralia?” he
called.

Storaas stood from among a group of
the Sural’s advisors.

“I stand witness,” he said. “I am the
Sural’s family tutor. I administered the trial.”

The Sural’s head apothecary rose next
to him. “I stand witness,” she said. “I am the Sural’s head
apothecary. I witnessed her return from the dark.”

The Sural stood and gazed at his
daughter. “Who receives your obedience?” he asked.

“Accept my obedience, Father,” Kyza
said. “I pledge my life to your life. I will walk into the dark for
your honor.”

He smiled and held out a hand. She
climbed the steps onto the dais to take the hand and stand beside
him.

“Hear me and stand witness that Kyza
pledges her life and her honor to the Sural. Her life belongs to
mine. I will defend her with my honor, my life, and my people. She
is the legal heir to Suralia.”

Kyza looked up at her father, her eyes
shining, then moved to the heir’s place behind and to his right and
sat on her heels.

“Marianne, daughter of Suralia,” the
Sural called. “Come forward, dear one.”

Marianne felt the Sural’s words hit
the guests like cattle prods.
That will be all over the
planet
by nightfall,
she thought. She walked forward and
stopped at the foot of the dais.

“Who receives your
obedience?”

“Accept my obedience, dear one,” she
answered, repeating Kyza’s words. “I pledge my life to your life. I
will walk into the dark for your honor.”

He looked out over the guests. “Hear
me and stand witness that Marianne Woolsey pledges her life and her
honor to the Sural. Her life belongs to mine. I will defend her
with my honor, my life, and my people. She is a daughter of
Suralia.

“Hear me,” he continued. “The Jorann
has given Marianne her protection.”

The Sural stepped to the edge of the
dais and held out a hand to Marianne. She took it and let him pull
her up by his side. Loud conversation broke out as every man,
woman, and child in the room crowded around. Music filled the room.
Servants appeared carrying trays of food and drink, which emptied
before they reached her. Thirsty, Marianne stepped down from the
dais and searched for a drink, overwhelmed by the uncharacteristic
revelry, wondering how she ever could have thought these people
were cold. Her people.
My people.

Chapter
Thirteen

The audience room emptied late in the night, the
guests leaving to return to their own homes or to take guest rooms
within the Sural’s keep. The Sural stepped down from the dais, on
which he had spent the entire evening, with a satisfied air.
Marianne, on the other hand, was tired, giddy, and inebriated. At
first, she hadn’t realized the drinks were alcoholic. After the
first few, she knew but drank them anyway.

“You could have the decency to be
tired, even if you’re too stubborn to let yourself
look
tired,” she said.

He laughed. “What tells you that I am
not fatigued?”

She tittered. “A little birdie told
me,” she whispered in English.

He lifted both eyebrows.

“It’s an old saying people on my
planet used when they wanted to reveal they knew a secret but
didn’t want anyone to know who told it to them.
A little birdie
told me.
”

“Ah,” he said. “A colorful people,
those people of old Earth.” He led her from the audience room and
into the corridor.

“I am not ashamed of them!” she said,
tripping a little. “Oops!” She giggled. “I think I’m
drunk.”

The Sural put out an arm to steady
her. “Yes, dear one, you are,” he said.

She clung to his arm as he led her
down the corridor to the family wing. The hard muscle of his
forearm flexed under her hand, and her body, every inch of her
skin, ignited with sensation. She wasn’t sure if she should
attribute it to the alcohol or her newly-acquired Tolari senses,
but whatever the cause, she liked it.

He stopped at her door and gestured
the guards out of range. She leaned with her back against the door
and faced him. “Are you coming in?” she asked. Her voice came out
husky and low.

He took her hands and brought them to
his lips, shaking his head with obvious effort, eyes full of
regret. “No, dear one.”

Marianne gaped at him, confusion
adding to the fog in her head. “But I thought you—”

“I had hoped we would take joy in one
another this night,” he said, tracing the line of her jaw with a
finger. “Nothing would give me greater happiness, if I knew that
you would not regret it in the more... sober... light of morning.”
He stopped. “But you would.”

Her new empathic senses registered
regret in his voice and pain in his heart. She drew a breath. “No
I—”

“Yes, you would, and you know
that.”

She pouted a moment, and then had an
idea. “Do Tolari know how to kiss?”

The finger stopped tracing. He cupped
her face in both hands. “Yes,” he murmured. “But we find that
touching the empathic nerves in our foreheads is
more—intense.”