Schism: Part One of Triad (52 page)

He squinted at her. “Why is that funny?”

Soz just smiled and shook her head. She couldn’t be certain who had come to see her, after all. She turned off the engine holos and went with him, out of the library and across campus. Inside their dorm, he led her to one of the smaller common areas. As they entered, Soz saw her visitor standing by a window across the room, gazing out at the gardens, a golden woman with lustrous hair down her back and a rose-hued dress clinging to her dancer’s body. Soz froze.

Jazar elbowed her. “Introduce me.”

Soz slanted him a look. “To my mother?”

His mouth fell open. “She’s your mother?”

“Yep.”

Red flushed his cheeks. “Oh.”

Soz smiled. “It’s all right, Jaz. You aren’t the first to react that way.”

Inside, her joy warred with uncertainty. What would her mother say to her?

At the sound of their voices, Roca turned around. Her face lit up. “Soz!”

At that moment, Soz forgot Althor, school, demerits, bots, her appalling social life, and this strange business about a tour on a battle cruiser.

Suddenly she was back in Dalvador, laughing with her family. Her mother brought suns and warmth. Soz wished she were small again and could run to her for comfort. She couldn’t, of course, but seeing Roca meant more than she knew how to say.

“My greetings, Mother.” She heard how formal she sounded, as if she had gone back to being thirteen, that year when she had hardly spoken to her parents, answering their inquiries about her life with grunts or one-word sentences, not for rudeness, but because she had needed to separate from them and stop depending so much on them when she felt so uncertain about life.

Soz went to her and then they were hugging. Hotness filled her eyes, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t consciously realized until this moment that she had questioned whether she would ever see her mother again.

Finally they let each other go. Soz smiled awkwardly, aware of Jazar standing back a few steps. Roca appraised her with a firm gaze. “You aren’t eating enough. And are you going to bed on time? You look so tired.”

Soz couldn’t help but laugh. “Mother, I’m eighteen. Not ten.”

Roca’s gold-tinted skin turned rosy. “I know mat.”

Soz beckoned to Jazar. ‘This is my friend Jaz.”

He came forward and bowed deeply to Roca. “My honor at your company, Your Majesty.”

Roca smiled at him. “And mine at yours. A friend of my daughter’s is a friend of mine.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He regarded Soz with a question in his gaze. She felt what he didn’t ask. Did she want him to leave?

Soz glanced at her mother, but Roca was guarded in both her mind and expressions. Almough Soz enjoyed Jazar’s company, she wanted to catch up on news in private—especially news of her father. Realizing how much she missed her mother made her father’s absence that much more painful.

Jazar picked up on her unspoken response. He spoke to Roca. “It is a pleasure to have met you ma’am.”

Roca inclined her head. “A pleasure shared.”

He turned to Soz. “I better go study. I’ve a test in Kyle space theory.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She sent him a mental glyph of gratitude. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sounds good.” He bowed to Roca and discreedy withdrew.

Roca was watching Soz with veiled amusement. “He’s charming.”

“He’s a rogue.”

“A handsome one.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Soz said, alarmed. “I’ll never hear the end of it”

Although Roca tried to smile, it seemed strained. “Ah, well.”

Soz’s mood dimmed. “Did you see Althor?”

“Yes.” The one word, so full of sorrow, told Soz more than any description of his condition. He hadn’t improved.

Roca spoke with difficulty. “Apparently the cortical region of his brain no longer shows any activity.”

Soz wanted to back away. “Surely they can do something.” She was talking too fast. “Didn’t I read somewhere that biomech surgeons on Metropoli developed a nanomed species that repairs neurons?”

Her mother answered gently. “We checked, Soshoni. Gods know, I wish it could be true. But at best, they could repair only a few, nowhere near enough to bring his brain alive.”

Soz didn’t want to hear. But she knew that even if a way had existed to heal Althor’s brain cells, the result wouldn’t have been her brother. His personality, his essence, his intellect, his memories—it would all be gone.

“His doctors asked if he had a living will,” Roca said. “I didn’t know of any.

Do you?”

A living will. Soz shook her head, hyperaware of me room, her hair brushing her cheek, the rustle of her uniform, the pulse in her neck. “I don’t think he had one.”

It was a moment before Roca spoke again. “They want to know if we wish to keep him on the machines.”

“Don’t take him off,” Soz said. “Please don’t.” A tear gathered in her eye.

“Don’t cry.” Roca looked as if she wanted to shelter Soz the same way she had in Soz’s childhood, offering the haven of her arms whenever scraped knees or imagined monsters darkened her child’s life. Roca pulled her close and hugged her, and somehow it all seemed a little better. To Soz, her mother’s beauty had nothing to do with her face or her form. It came from within, from a woman whose heart held such warmth for her family. But Soz couldn’t run to her now the way she had as a small child. Those days had passed.

Soz pulled back, unable to reveal her emotions for long. “It’s good to see you, Hoshma.”

“And you, Soshoni.” Her mother seemed subdued. “I’m not alone.”

“Did Denric come?” He was the only one she could imagine leaving Lyshriol.

Next year he would go to an offworld university. Maybe Aniece or Kelric, but they were so young.

“Not Denric.” Roca hesitated. “He’s in the other common room. He wasn’t sure if you wanted another visitor.”

Soz realized then who she meant. Eldrin. Saints, she was a terrible sister. He was staying up at the palace again, only a short ride by flyer, but with all her droid duty recently, she hadn’t kept in touch. She was embarrassed to admit why they had taken her off the honor roll and loaded her with demerits. Perhaps, knowing how she had left Lyshriol, he thought she didn’t want to see him.

“Yes, of course.” She pushed back the tendrils of hair curling about her face.

“I’d love to see him.”

Roca looked relieved, also a bit confused. As they went to the entrance of an adjacent common room, Soz thought about how she would apologize for being so out of touch. Perhaps she should just confess she had been cleaning bots. It would be mortifying, since he would ask why, but better he knew the truth than he thought she had been ignoring him.

They entered a wood-paneled room with antique bookcases and comfortable chairs. Eldrin was standing on the other side, looking at a holo that floated in front of the wall, a portrait of the previous Imperator, Jarac, Soz’s grandfather. Jarac could have been Kurj’s brother, they looked so alike, with their large size and gold coloring. Jarac had worn his hair longer, though, in a shaggy mane over his collar. In the portrait, Jarac’s inner lids were up, showing his gold eyes.

The portrait interested Soz far less than her brother. It worried her how tired Eldrin looked. When did that streak of silver appear in his hair? And why was he wearing spectacles—?

Soz drew in a sharp breath.

It wasn’t her brother.

It was her father.

28

Resolutionldrinson studied the portrait of his late father-in-law, trying to find the similarities everyone else saw between this man and Kurj. He had never known Jarac; the previous Imperator had died before they had a chance to meet, shortly after Eldrinson married Roca. On a superficial level, he saw a resemblance; Jarac and Kurj had similar coloring, features, and build. But the artist who had done this portrait had captured more elusive qualities, those Roca had often described to him, the gentleness within her towering father, the warlord who preferred peace to combat.

A sharp inhale came from behind him. Puzzled, he turned’—and went completely still.

Soz was standing across the room. The flow of time seemed to stop and freeze him in this moment, like a shimmer fly caught in amber. His daughter looked so much like herself, alive and well, her hair curling wildly around her face and her eyes as large as a startled rockhorn deer. Then he saw the dark circles under her eyes, how thin she had become, her stiff posture. She stood as if she wasn’t sure whether she should go to him or flee.

His voice caught. “My greetings, Soshoni.” He used the childhood nickname out of habit and his pleasure in seeing her, and men immediately regretted it.

This was no child facing him, but an adult whose life would be forged in the oncoming war.

She said nothing.

Eldrinson looked from his daughter to his wife, who stood next to her, but he saw no answers in Roca’s face. Puzzlement came from Roca’s mind and made him fear that she hadn’t warned Soz he had come.

“Father.” Soz gulped in a breath. “You’re—gods above— you’re standing.”

Up until that moment, he had been so tense, he had forgotten mat she didn’t know he could walk now. Leaning on his cane, he stepped toward her. He slid his cane forward and took another step, so slow, so hard, but none of that mattered when he saw his goal, his wife and daughter standing together. Soz was too thin, her face strained with fatigue, a smudge of dust on her cheek—a truly beautiful sight.

“Hoshpa.” Her eyes glistened. “You can see, too.”

Eldrinson took another step, leaning heavily on his cane. He wanted to answer, but he couldn’t speak with the exertion of coaxing his rebuilt limbs to obey his thoughts in this strange gravity. He had to do this right with Soz, or at least as right as he could manage, and that meant giving his full concentration to his words when he spoke with her.

Soz waited while he took step after slow step and rested in between with his weight on his cane. With her face so gaunt, her eyes seemed even larger man usual, too big for her face. It gave her a haunted quality. He suspected she had learned far more this past year and a half than math and military strategy, perhaps more than she ever wanted to learn.

Finally he reached her. His heart rilled with the sight until he couldn’t speak.

“Father?” Her voice was low, tentative.

He took a shaky breath. “I practiced what I would say to you for many hours during the trip here. Now it seems I have forgotten everything.”

She seemed afraid to smile, to greet him, to say anything at all. Eldrinson understood. He felt the same way. But he had to speak. “If you will forgive my clumsy words, which lurch and stumble as much as my legs—I—I hope—you will always want to come home.” He reached out his free hand to her. “You are always welcome, Soshoni.”

The tension drained out of her posture. She took his hand and he pulled her into a hug, dropping his cane. For an endless wonderful moment they stood that way, and he remembered all the times he had embraced her when she was younger. A sob caught in her throat, almost inaudible.

“Always welcome,” he whispered.

Soz drew back, slowly letting him go, taking care he didn’t fall. She picked up his cane and handed it to him, pushing those splendidly disarrayed curls out of her face. Roca stood back, smiling now, giving them space.

“How?” Soz asked, indicating his legs, then looking into his eyes. “The last I heard, you would never walk or see again.”

“Ah, well.” He shifted his weight, changing his grip on the cane from one hand to the other. “It seems my mind is rather strange. It doesn’t respond the way these ISC healers expect Their healing didn’t work. Not at first. Or at second or third, either.” He managed a smile, despite the growing ache in his legs.

“But I’m a stubborn old barbarian. Eventually it worked.”

“I’m so glad.” Soz rubbed tears off her cheek. “And you aren’t a barbarian.”

He tried to smile, but his legs were becoming oddly heavy, a peculiar sensation given how much lighter he otherwise felt here.

Roca spoke to Soz. “You look as if you’ve had a long day. Perhaps we should sit down?”

Soz’s cheeks reddened. “I’ve been cleaning robots.”

Eldrinson frowned. “What for? You came here to be a warrior.”

She gave a soft laugh full of embarrassment. “Ah, Hoshpa, they think I misbehave. Can you imagine such a thing? Me, misbehave.”

“Quite a concept, eh?” Eldrinson could imagine how unprepared DMA must have been for his whirlwind of a daughter. “Cleaning robots is good for the character, I’ve heard.”

“Then I must have great character,” Soz grumbled, sounding more like her usual self. He had long ago realized she had no idea how charming or funny she sounded. He didn’t dare tell her; she might take off his head.

The three of them went to one of the couches, slowly for him. Roca came up on his other side, but neither she nor Soz tried to take his arm or otherwise help. They were patient with his pride.

As they settled on the couch, it adjusted beneath them. It would have bothered Eldrinson until he realized its cushions were making his legs more comfortable. It was a relief to relax. He leaned his head back, letting the lively couch ease his muscles.

“Eldri?” Roca’s voice came through the haze of his fatigue. “Are you all right?”

“Just a little tired, that’s all.” He straightened up and turned to Soz, who had sat between him and Roca. “After I’ve rested, you must show us around this school that has so many robots to clean.”

Her lips quirked. “I’ll do that,” Her voice was stronger now and her eyes brimmed with welcome.

And love.

He had let that get away, this love for his family. He had lost his path. He had never realized he needed to map such a complicated route through the maze of his emotions. Even when

he had ridden to war with his sons, he had never genuinely faced their mortality. He had known they would probably survive minor battles, and he had been with them, to fight at their side, their back. Now, seeing Soz here, on a world of red skies, chrome cities, and soaring towers, he knew only relief that she was alive and healtiiy instead of lying in a hospital room.