The Marann (19 page)

“Father!” she called out as his gaze
fell on her. She slipped from the chair and started to run toward
him, but stopped when her knees wobbled. With a few long strides,
he crossed the space between them and swept her up into a warm
hug.

“Will I get all better?” she asked,
rubbing her forehead against his cheek.

“So say the apothecaries,” he said as
he set her back down, smiling. He radiated a pride that went
straight through her, straightening her back, swelling her heart,
and firming her resolve to be worthy of Suralia.

Servants began to appear with trays of
food, readying the refectory for the morning meal. Satisfied with
her father’s answer to her question, she grabbed a piece of fruit
from one of the trays and returned to her place at the high
table.

“I have something to discuss with you,
dear one,” the Sural announced as he began to eat.

Dear one.
He had just given her
the familiar salutation of a high one. Kyza focused her full
attention on him, eyes wide.

He smiled, eyes twinkling. “You passed
the great trial.”

“The great trial?” Kyza exclaimed.
“That was the great trial?”

“Even so.”

“I thought I was supposed to be
older.”

“You pushed your training ahead of
schedule,” he said, disapproval lacing his tone, “by a
year.”

“Is that why Proctor Storaas always
tells me to be patient?”

“One reason,” he replied. “You must
listen to him in the future. There is enthusiasm, and there is
recklessness. You must have the one and not the other. It was
almost your undoing. You came close to death.”

“Forgive me, Father.”

He gave her the smile he used when he
wanted to reassure her. She grinned back at him. “It is past now,
daughter. The apothecaries confirm you will make a full recovery. I
do expect you to continue your physical conditioning, but from
today, you will have no further trials, only practice—rigorous
practice. You must see the Jorann, and then I will declare you heir
to Suralia.”

Kyza bounced out of her chair and into
her father’s lap, hugging him tight. He gave her a squeeze and
tapped her nose with a long, strong finger, his smile luminous with
pride. Her heart wanted to fly.

“You begin your more academic studies
today,” he said. “You will spend as many long hours studying as you
did in your physical training. Are you up to the task?” He quirked
a smile. “I can replace you if you are not.”

She giggled, then sobered. “I will
make you proud of me, Father.”

“You could not make me prouder—” her
father interrupted his reply. She winked out of sight and slipped
from his lap to return to her chair.

“Marianne comes,” he said, his eyes
fixed on one of the guards, a trace of disapproval in his gaze. The
guard had been in her line of sight and hadn’t flickered—and he
should have. She climbed into her chair and dropped her camouflage
just before her human tutor appeared in the doorway.

Marianne was clad like a Tolari, in a
loose robe of pale Suralia blue—the only color she could wear since
she belonged to no caste. The clothing she had brought from Earth
was not durable and had worn thin, so she had begun to wear Tolari
robes more and more often. It pleased her father to see her in
them, and sometimes she thought he had forbidden the humans to
phase down more human clothing for that very reason.

Marianne smiled at Kyza as she chose
morning foods safe for her to eat. She still smelled of the
fragrance she had used during the previous evening, although it
seemed she had tried to scrub the scent from her skin. The Sural
gestured to a servant and gave a quiet order for her quarters to be
disinfected and deodorized. Again.

Unaware of all this, Marianne took her
usual seat across the high table, to her father’s left—the place
reserved for a bond-partner, if her father had had one. It was
funny to see a human sit there, unaware of what it meant. Kyza
almost grinned, but her father reached along their bond and helped
her suppress it.

“You are glad to see Kyza,” the Sural
said. In English.

Marianne nodded, recognizing the
compliment he gave by using her language rather than his own. “I’m
always glad to see Kyza,” she answered. “But you know I couldn’t
help being worried.”

“Worry is
counterproductive.”

She shrugged and focused on the
food.

The Sural studied her for a time. Then
he broke into a crooked smile and continued, “Then you will wish to
continue tutoring my heir.”

Heir!
Marianne thought.
The
great trial!
When she’d heard Kyza had almost died, she thought
it had to be. The Sural had maintained a forbidding silence while
Kyza lay near death, so she hadn’t dared to ask.

“So that
was
the great trial!”
she exclaimed. She beamed a smile at Kyza. “You passed
it!”

Kyza grinned around a mouthful of
food.

“Even so,” the Sural said. “As a
consequence of Kyza’s accomplishment, the Jorann has requested her
presence. She has also requested,” he paused for effect,
“yours.”

Marianne stopped chewing and met the
Sural’s gaze, eyes wide. The grain roll’s spicy afterburn hit, and
she snatched up her mug to gulp some tea. The Sural grinned and
took a huge bite of his roll, eating with a hearty appetite. The
man consumed vast amounts of food. She had no idea how he could
stay so lean. He emitted a snort. He enjoyed this, Marianne
thought. She glanced at Kyza. The child’s face glowed.

She turned her attention back to her
meal, thinking. There weren’t many reasons why the Jorann would
request someone’s presence, and most involved a status change,
whether up, down, or sideways. The reason to send for Kyza was
obvious, but Marianne wasn’t Tolari—she had no family and no status
to raise, lower, or change. Unless—unless they had some ritual to
give her status. She looked up at the Sural again. His smile turned
enigmatic. She’d come to think he should patent that
smile.

“Yes, we do have a way to give you
status,” he said. “It is necessary now. Kyza has become a member of
the ruling caste, and we have no law to allow for an individual
without status to tutor a high one.”

“High one, of course I—”

He lifted a hand, and she stopped. “Do
not consent before you give it thought. I will give you time to
speak with your Admiral.”

“Of course—but... why?”

“You must become Tolari,” he answered.
“To have status, you must become a daughter of Suralia. Do you know
what it means to become Suralian?”

Marianne thought about it and couldn’t
remember hearing him say anything on the topic. She shook her head.
“No, high one.”

“As you are, you are nothing to my
enemies,” he replied. “They have no interest in harming you. If you
become a daughter of Suralia, you will become a prize, something
they might think they can use to dishonor me. They will try to
capture you just as they would try to capture my daughter. And you
are in far more danger from them—in truth—because you are
untrained. A Tolari child could capture you.”

Marianne gave a rueful smile. There
were humans the Tolari would find difficult to sneak up on—spooks,
intelligence operatives, what-have-you—but she wasn’t one of them.
She put down her food and met his eyes.

“Understand before you consent,” the
Sural went on, “I must require you, as I require every Suralian, to
pledge your life to mine. Can you do that?”

She let out a breath. Pledging her
life to the Sural’s meant she would have to walk into the dark if
he died in dishonor. She couldn’t imagine the Sural would ever
allow anyone or anything to sully his honor, but the pledge carried
a serious obligation. She would have to commit suicide.

It’s been two thousand
years since the last time a ruler died in dishonor.

“There are... ways,” she said. “I’m
not trained or equipped for it, but we do have ways to kill
ourselves even faster than a Tolari can.”

The Sural nodded. “Good. Then I can
give you permission to consent if it is what you
decide.”

Marianne blinked. It seemed circular
that the Sural had to give permission for her to consent to
something he had asked her to do. Infinite loop, see loop,
infinite. She studied the grain roll in her hand. This was
important to the Sural, she thought. Why?

“Marianne,” he said. She jerked her
head up—he seldom used her name. “Could you be content to spend the
rest of your life here?”

“You mean—stay on Tolar after my
assignment is complete?” she asked.

“Yes.” His eyes were fixed on hers,
but she couldn’t interpret his expression.

“Never go home?” Her mind refused to
absorb the idea.

“You will be Tolari,” he said. “You
will be a daughter of Suralia. My province will also be your home.
Perhaps you will never want to leave, once you are one of
us.”

“What if I become Tolari and decide to
leave anyway?”

“You would be free to leave. I will
not coerce or compel you in this matter, proctor. Freedom gives
value to your choice, and nothing else.” He paused. “But I hope you
will stay.”

“And if I decide against becoming
Tolari?” she asked. “Will you order me to leave Tolar?”

He gave her a small, patient smile.
“No, proctor, I would not order you to leave Tolar, nor would I
order you to leave Suralia. I have said this before. You are
welcome to stay here, in my stronghold, as long as I hold it, as
long as you like—until your natural death, if that is your wish.
You could even travel anywhere you wish on Tolar. But I could not
permit you to tutor Kyza.”

“Meaning I would have no purpose
here.”

“Unfortunately. Would you be content
here with no purpose to serve other than gathering information for
your Admiral up in the ship?” His mouth twitched.

Marianne laughed at the reference to
her implicit role as an untrained spook for Central
Command.

“No, I wouldn’t—you’re right.” She
sobered again, her mind drifting into thoughts of pledging her life
to the Sural’s. “I would have to go up to the ship—I’m sure I would
require some sort of surgical implant.”

He shook his head. “No.”

That stopped her. “High
one?”

“Having been given this choice, you
may not even leave the stronghold until you give me your answer. If
you leave, I cannot allow you to return.” He met her eyes. “That is
not the outcome I prefer.”

“Will you allow a medical team to
phase down, then?”

“No.”

“But—”

“My apothecaries can perform any
procedure you require, given the necessary equipment and
information.”

“I begin to see why you require me to
consult with my people.”

“Yes,” the Sural replied. “Your
Admiral will want to think about this.”

He will indeed,
Marianne
thought
. He will indeed.

<<>>

Her Admiral did
not
like what
Marianne was telling him.

“What does he want with it?” he asked,
in Danish, his mother’s language. “Is the Sural just trying to
weasel more information on human anatomy and physiology from
us?”

Marianne understood Danish but didn’t
speak it well enough to reply. She shook her head. “I don’t think
that’s the case, sir,” she said. She spoke Hungarian. Admiral
Howard didn’t speak
or
understand Hungarian, but his
computer provided an English translation of her words. “He can’t
allow me to leave the stronghold after giving me the opportunity to
join his people.”

“You know I can’t send the Tolari such
sensitive information without clearing it with Central Command
first, especially not in advance of a full exchange of cultural and
scientific information.”

“I know that, sir, but this is too
good an opportunity to pass up,” she said. “Just think about what I
could learn once I’m considered one of them. And I would still have
no restrictions on what I could put in a written
report.”

She was right, of course. He suspected
Central Command would give the go ahead, but he still couldn’t
authorize it on his own authority. He dropped back into English,
which he knew the invisible listeners could understand. “I’ll get
back to you in a few days.”

Marianne followed suit. “That’s all I
ask, sir,” she answered in the same language. “Woolsey
out.”

The monitor went blank. The Admiral
got up and stared out the viewport at the planet below, considering
ways to approach Central Command with the request. Five minutes
later, he glanced at the wall clock. His secretary’s duty shift
ended soon. He punched the comms button on his desk.

“Yes sir?” came the secretary’s
voice.

“Get me Ambassador Russell and his
wife.”

<<>>

“Damn, John, we have a fantastic
opportunity here,” Smithton said. The Admiral and the Ambassador
sipped whiskey by the viewport while their wives clattered and
chattered in the kitchen. Delicious smells wafted into the
Admiral’s sitting room.