B00CH3ARG0 EBOK (7 page)

“What is her condition?” she asked.

“The Marann is in shock,” Cena answered, “but we have
stopped her hemorrhaging. There is no danger to her life. I do not think we can
save the child.”

“Wake the Marann.”

“Yes, highest,” Cena said, and pressed an instrument against
Marianne’s neck.

Marianne stirred. She opened her eyes, saw the Jorann, and
looked vaguely puzzled before her eyes meandered away.

“You have been somewhat mishandled,” the Jorann told her. Marianne’s
eyes wandered back toward the Jorann’s face. “My children sometimes forget to
mention the important things.” She took a small cube from the box and held it
over Marianne’s lips. “Open,” she commanded, and dropped it into Marianne’s
mouth.

She fed her a second and third cube and closed the box. Then
she placed a hand on Marianne’s belly and closed her eyes, brows furled, lips
pressed into a thin line. “There you are, my tiny one,” she whispered. “Come
back. Feel our love. You will not go into the dark today.” She opened her eyes
and nodded toward the Sural. “Join me.”

He glanced at Marianne, then back to the Jorann, and nodded.
Lightly, he placed a hand next to the Jorann’s and sent his senses out, seeking
the little life, finding it, attempting to warm it. He caressed the spark, but
it rejected him. It wanted Marianne.

The Jorann took Marianne’s hand. “Now you,” she told her. “I
know you do not know how. You must try. Find your bond-partner and follow us.”

He held his breath as Marianne reached for him with her
senses and found the empathic flow. She floundered, uncertain at first, before
she grasped what she needed to do and followed it toward her child. The little
one seized onto her, brightening. Relief flooded through him.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Marianne murmured incoherently in English, comforting her
child, but soon exhausted what little energy she had and slipped back into
unconsciousness. The spark flickered. The Jorann, somehow grasping hold of his
senses, wove them around the minute life. It brightened again and steadied, a
tiny flame of need that burrowed into him and drew on his strength. He gave it
all it wanted. After a time, it let go and drifted away, content.

When he opened his eyes, the Jorann was gone.

The Sural made time to be present when his apothecary
released Marianne.

“The Jorann orders that you consume two each day, high one,”
Cena said, giving the crystal box in her hands a small shake.

Marianne nodded and slid off the bed, her legs wobbling. He
slipped an arm around her waist to hold her steady. As they made their slow way
out the door and through the main corridor, the apothecary rattled off a list
of medical orders. He committed it to memory. It seemed unlikely his exhausted
bond-partner would remember much, if any of it.

“High ones,” Cena said when she was finished. She bowed and
went back to her work.

He helped Marianne to a divan in her sitting room and took a
seat beside her, drawing her close. She nestled into him. “Beloved,” she
breathed into his shoulder.

“Beloved,” he said.

She drifted into sleep, not stirring through the long
afternoon. He was still holding her, reading reports on his tablet, when she
woke.

“Hi,” she said.

He smiled down at her, stifling a chuckle. Her mind must
still be confused with exhaustion to use that word. The simple English greeting
was a mild expletive in many Tolari dialects, including Suralian.

“Beloved,” he replied, pocketing his tablet. “It is past
time for the evening meal. Are you hungry?”

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, stretching.

He ordered a servant to bring food and drink. “How do you
feel?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Sleepy,” she replied. “I—” She frowned, glancing toward her
midsection.

He probed. Her daughter was discontented.

“You must commune with your child,” he said. “Do you
remember how?”

“I think so.” He felt her reaching into herself, but she was
tentative, uncertain.

“Follow me,” he said. He placed his hand on her belly, seeking
the tiny spark living there, sending warmth and love to it. She followed. The
little one clung to her, seeking comfort. Marianne cooed aloud, stroking her
belly with her hand as she caressed her daughter with her senses.

He smiled with relief. “Yes,” he whispered, letting his
senses hover around them. He watched the little spark calm and brighten. “She
has been starved. She will need to commune frequently for a time.”

Marianne nodded, eyes closed.

A short while later, he sensed the child let go of her
mother, content. Marianne opened her eyes and glanced at the trencher of food
and steaming carafe of tea the servants had placed on the low table in her
sitting room. He poured the tea and offered a mug to her.

“I hope I haven’t permanently hurt my daughter,” she said.
She chewed on her lower lip. “Sometimes when I was irritable, it was her, and I
was pushing her away.” Tears glittered in her eyes.

“She is strong, or she would not have survived as long as
she did,” he said. “If harm has been done, we all bear some responsibility. My
apothecary should have noticed –
I
should have noticed – you were not
bonding with your child and taught you to do so. However,” he added, taking a mug
of tea for himself and sipping at it, “it is best to focus on what needs to be
done for her now.”

She nodded and grabbed some food. He joined her, eating
heartily. He sensed her amusement growing as he consumed most of the food on
the trencher. He shrugged. “I am not a small man.”

“No,” she agreed, “you definitely aren’t. Well over two
meters.”

He laughed. “Humans must measure everything, including
people.”

“And Tolari don’t?”

“To what end?”

She shook her head. “I bless the happy chance that made me
average. Life on Earth is easier when you’re average.”

“You are not average, beloved. You are exceptional. And,” he
added, pulling her into his arms, “so very beautiful.”

She gave a soft snort and leaned into him, curling up with
her tea. He sensed her begin to grow drowsy.

“Perhaps you should go to your mat to rest,” he said.

“I can’t believe I’m sleepy again. I just woke up.”

“My apothecary said that you will sleep a great deal for some
days.”

“
Your
apothecary.” She frowned.

He looked down at her, cautious of the sudden shift in her
mood.

“I’ve been sharing your apothecary with you since—”

“—you tried to run off the edge of the plateau,” he finished.
“It was best to put you in her care. My health presents her with few concerns
in any case.”

“Why her?”

“She is the best I have, and you were initiating personal
conversations with her. It seemed wise to provide you with a friend as well as
an apothecary.”

Marianne’s mood shifted again with an almost audible slam. “‘Provide
me with a friend’?” She pulled away from him, eyes blazing. “Who are you to
‘provide me with a friend’? Don’t I get any choice in the matter?” She turned her
back on him, shaking with rage.

He stared at her, startled by her vehemence. He put a hand
on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. Perplexed and alarmed, he said, “I
thought it best. Do you not need friends? Do you not remember how afflicted you
were by the lack of them during your first few seasons on Tolar?”

“That was different,” she snapped.

“You seemed interested in talking with my apothecary.”

“How am I ever going to know if she really wanted to talk
with me?”

“If she had not, she would not have come to me for
permission to be familiar with you,” he replied. “I do not understand your
anger.”

“You’re controlling my whole life!”

“Should I not?”

“No!”

Surprise lifted his eyebrows. “I am the Sural,” he said. “It
is my duty to see to the needs of those under my protection. You needed a
friend. I gave her permission to try.”

Blood rushed to her face, giving her a charming glow. He
pushed down the delight it inspired in him. He dared not allow it to affect him
now.

“
You
asked her? Didn’t
she
get any say?”

“Beloved, you must be calm. Remember your child.”

Marianne took a deep breath and clamped her jaw. “Well
thank
you,” she said, her voice an angry hiss. “Now I’ll never know who really likes
me around here and who’s just being nice because you told them to be.”

She stood on shaky legs, glared, and hurled her mug at his
head. He snatched it out of the air almost without thinking, the hot tea
splashing onto the rug behind him. It only seemed to anger her more. She turned
and stalked unsteadily into her sleeping room, grabbing the door and slamming
it behind her. Muffled weeping followed. He sighed. Joining her now would only
make the situation worse.

* * *

Marianne awoke alone, the sun well above the eastern horizon.
She stared up at the ceiling, hurt blossoming in her chest and spreading
through her. Had the Sural joined her during the night? The last thing she
remembered was crying herself to sleep.

At least she didn’t have the nightmare...

This was all
his
fault. He manipulated her into
becoming Tolari; he manipulated others into pretending to be her friends; he
manipulated everyone and everything. For the rest of what promised to be a very
long life, she would never know who truly cared.

None of them, possibly. She wasn’t really Tolari. Not
really. Everything she thought and believed was different, and she would always
look human. She fought back tears as more pain seared through her heart.

And the Sural was staying away. She closed her eyes and sank
into misery.

A presence entered her sitting room: Cena, calm and serene. When
the guard let her into the sleeping room, the apothecary made no attempt to
conceal her alarm. “High one, have you eaten?”

“No,” Marianne answered, her voice toneless.

“Have you had anything at all to drink?”

“No.”

“This is not good, high one.”

“What do you care?”

Cena sat on her heels beside the mat. “Of course I care,”
she said. “I am your apothecary.”

Marianne threw her arms over her face. “Oh, is
that
all,” she whispered.

“I do not understand this change in you. Will you explain to
me what has happened?”

More hurt constricted her throat. She swallowed. “You don’t
have to pretend to be my friend anymore,
apothecary
. I know it was just
the Sural telling you to be nice to me for my own good.” The tears would no
longer be denied and started to leak around her arms.

Cena was silent for a moment, and then said, “I am only an
apothecary. You are a member of the ruling caste. I required permission to be
familiar with you.”

“Good God,” Marianne muttered in English. “He’s a worse
control freak than I thought.”

“High one, it is our way.”

“It’s not
my
way!” she exclaimed, and burst into sobs.
She rolled over to bury her face in the blankets. “I’ll never know,” she gulped
hard, “who really likes me.”

“I like you.”

“
Sure
you do.”

“Read me,” she offered. “I cannot lie to you. Take my hand.”

The words eased the hurt a little. Marianne took shaky
breaths, her face buried in the blankets.

“Do you believe I took no pleasure in our talks?” Cena
continued. “Do you believe I was only pretending to enjoy your company? For
tens of days? Take my hand, high one. Sense my friendship for yourself.”

She lifted her face to look over at the apothecary, who was
sitting beside the sleeping mat with one hand extended toward her. “No,” she
said, shaking her head. “I’m still not very good at all this. I can barely find
my daughter to commune with her.”

Cena laid a hand on her shoulder, and Marianne felt the
apothecary probing her. “She needs you now. Are you able to calm yourself
enough to comfort her?”

Marianne rolled onto her side and took several deep breaths.
She gave Cena a sidelong glance, wondering if she would really be a friend,
given the choice. She took another breath. Her daughter needed her now.

Still uncertain, she reached into herself. It was easier
this time, to her relief.
Maybe I’ll get the hang of this yet
. She
wrapped her senses around her discontented daughter and soothed her, while the soft
hum of Cena’s medical scanner filled the air.

“You are dehydrated,” Cena said. “Otherwise, you have not
harmed yourself or your daughter.”

When her daughter was content again, Marianne replied, “I’m
more trouble than I’m worth.”

“No, you are not, high one.”

She flipped onto her back and stared fixedly at the ceiling.
“How would you know?”

“Because the Sural gave himself to you.”

She scowled. “You have to say that, you’re his—”

“The Sural is the most powerful man on Tolar,” Cena
interrupted. “He has ruled us for 130 years – our years – more than 260 Earth
years, in terms that are more meaningful to you, but he remained alone until
you came. Do you think a man of his experience could be fooled by a woman as
young and naive as yourself for any length of time? If he believes you are
‘worth the trouble,’ what qualifies you to say he is mistaken?”

“Well ... but he ... he didn’t even
ask
—”

“No, he did not ask. He made a decision about your life
without consulting you. Do you know so little about men? It is a common failing
among them to do what they think is best without consulting anyone. The Sural
is accustomed to making decisions, to being the final voice on all matters. He
is accustomed to taking what seems to him to be the best course of action. It would
never occur to him that he needed to consult you before seeing to your needs.”