The Marann (4 page)

“Follow me,” he said, his intonation
making it a respectful request to a superior.

Must be a servant
, she thought,
though she’d read a mention of servants wearing black. Maybe he was
a guard? She followed him, biting back questions, unsure if Tolari
etiquette allowed him to converse with a guest.

They wound their way up a smooth but
steep path. From behind him, she had a clear view of his hair,
which reached farther than she thought, down to the hem of his
robe. Other, simpler knots followed the elaborate braided knot at
regular intervals, and she wondered just how close to the ground
his hair would reach when brushed out straight. It was the longest
she’d ever seen, swinging back and forth across his back as he
strode up the path at a pace she had to work to match. She
considered herself fit, but back home she ran on flat terrain; no
one went to Iowa to find a good steep cliff. Hurrying up this path
in heels knocked the wind out of her.

When they reached the top, they were
still a fair distance from the stronghold entrance. The Tolari,
even after carrying her four heavy bags up the cliff at a brisk
pace, hadn’t broken a sweat. Marianne had, and her feet ached as
well. Her escort stopped and stood, patient and attentive, the
strong breeze whipping his hair and robes, while she caught her
breath.

She gave him a grateful smile through
her breathlessness, flicking her gaze to the hem of his robe as it
billowed. Trousers and slippers the same color—and perhaps the same
silky material—peeked from underneath. Those robes must have been
blowing around his legs while he was camouflaged near the shuttle.
Central Command really wanted to know how they managed to
disappear, clothing and all.

When her breathing had quieted a
little, he smiled and said, “This way,” gesturing toward the huge
stone doors leading into the stronghold keep. She followed him,
bracing herself for another stretch of trying to keep up with his
long strides, but he crossed the distance at an easier pace. She
smiled her gratitude and peered around the cliff top as they
walked, edging away from the sheer drop. The lack of a railing made
her sweat even more.

The doors opened as they
approached—pulled by camouflaged doorkeepers?—and they entered a
long, curved corridor of the same dark stone as the outside of the
keep. The man put her bags on the floor and winked out of
sight.

She stared for a moment at where he
had been. No sign of him remained. She looked around, wondering
what to do, her attention caught by colorful banners mounted along
the walls on each side of the corridor. As she moved toward the
nearest to get a closer look, a woman in a plain black robe
appeared before her.

Marianne blinked, but didn’t startle.
Maybe she could get used to this.

“The Sural requests your presence in
the audience room,” the woman said. “Follow me.”

Marianne followed her a short distance
down the hall and into a huge open room, rectangular in shape, with
the entrance on one of the short sides. Soft mats covered the
floor, leading to a raised dais at the far end. Another Tolari in
pale blue, with an imposing air of command about him, sat on his
heels on the dais, cradling a tiny infant and watching her. As she
approached, she recognized the man who had met her at the shuttle.
That was the Sural?
she thought in shock.
The Sural
himself
carried my bags?

An enigmatic smile curved his lips as
she reached the foot of the dais and he motioned her to sit. She
slipped out of her shoes and lowered herself to the floor matting,
relief rushing through her aching feet. Imitating the Sural’s pose,
she sat on her heels, waiting for him to speak.

Silence stretched. She swallowed and
took a deep breath, bringing to mind the rules of etiquette she’d
committed to memory. When Tolari met, the higher-ranking individual
spoke first. Farm girl that she was, she had no intention of
opening a conversation with the highest-ranking member of the
Tolari ruling caste, who sat on the dais studying her without
speaking.

“Expect long silences when conversing
with a Tolari high one,” Ambassador Russell had said during the
tour of the
Alexander
. “They like to think before they
speak. And they stare. You’ll just have to get used to their damned
staring.”

After what seemed like forever, he
nodded and spoke. “I am the Sural.” His pleasant baritone rang with
authority now.

“It is an honor, high one,” she
replied in Tolari, then waited, hoping she gave a good impression.
The Ambassador had been right about the staring. Was it rude to
return the stare? Or just expected? She met his eyes, and then
glanced away. He could have stepped right out of an antique
twentieth century cowboy movie—as one of the indigenous
natives—right down to the coppery skin and impassive expression.
Her eyes wandered to the bundle in his arms. That had to be his
daughter, but all she could see were blankets. She wished she could
get a closer look.

<<>>

Silent, the Sural studied the young
human woman. Not quite the correct response, he thought, but she
was nervous and awed. He extended his senses and touched her with a
gentle probe. Like the previous humans he had met, she did not
react, sense-blind and unaware.
Good.
He began to explore
with more freedom.

Surprise at what he found almost
lifted his eyebrows. After his experience with the previous two
candidates—both undercover operatives—he had not expected Earth’s
government to send him what he had asked for: a tutor for his
daughter. She also did not broadcast her emotions, as the previous
candidates had done. This woman held her presence still, as quiet
and reserved as any Suralian.
Lovely.

Beneath the reserve, she struggled to
hold down an anxiety connected to something deeper. His skin
prickling, he pushed toward it to the extent he could without
physical contact. It ran deep, that anxiety, but it was personal,
running far into the past, unconnected to her present situation.
She stirred, uncomfortable, sensing the intrusion but lacking the
ability to identify it. Chagrined at the unwarranted invasion, he
withdrew to her surface emotions; they dripped with apprehension.
Understandable.
He wondered if her government knew what they
had sent him.

Doubtful.

Withdrawing back into himself, he let
the silence stretch a little longer, keeping his face smooth while
he considered. He had studied her qualifications, and they
impressed him. She spoke seventeen Earth languages, including the
diplomatic languages of Earth and its five colony worlds—the ones
he wanted her to teach his daughter.

Satisfied now she was not another spy
for Central Command, he could not resist prolonging the interview
with the exotic, beautiful creature. Her eyes startled him and drew
his attention. He had seen blue eyes before—it seemed to be a
common color among humans, in his limited experience with them. The
group making first contact with him had included several blue-eyed
humans. None possessed eyes like this.

His gaze wandered across her face.
Humans seemed to come in every possible skin tone, along with many
other physical variations, such as slanted eyes or tightly-curled
hair. This human possessed, along with her striking eyes, quite
fair skin, with faint dots across the cheeks and the bridge of her
nose.

She was quiet now, drifting in her own
thoughts, exhibiting no sign of impatience.
Excellent.
He
sent a gentle probe into her anxiety again. A gentle longing for
the familiar laced through it, and he suppressed an urge to knit
his brows together. If she was not one with a thirst for new
experiences, why had she come? Something seemed to pain her, as
well. What she hid, however, would take time to uncover.

As he continued to probe, she glanced
over at him, her eyes coming to rest on his daughter. Curious
interest colored her emotional landscape, warm and maternal.
Good
. She radiated gentleness, and her responses had all
been quite satisfactory—from interest in the vegetation beneath her
feet to honest confusion when she realized who had carried her bags
for her, and now warm curiosity about his infant daughter. Her
qualifications and skills, according to Earth Central Command,
exceeded those of the spies he had rejected. Yes, this candidate
would do.

“I carried your bags from your craft
because I wished to observe you,” he said, to break the silence.
“Your government has sent me other candidates who were, shall we
say, not what they said they were.”

She blinked. “What else would they
be?”

“They were not trained as
tutors.”

“I’m not a tutor, either,” she said,
nervousness sparking through her. “I was trained to teach twenty or
thirty students at one time.”

The Sural nodded, and she relaxed a
bit. “This much was clear from the credentials your government sent
me. Have you other skills than the ones they mentioned?”

She gave a strange shrug, with both
shoulders. “They know everything about me.”

He gave her a brief smile and rose
without disturbing the sleeper in his arms, gliding down the dais
steps to lower his tall frame onto the mat beside her. “This is my
daughter, Kyza,” he said.

The human glanced at him, radiating
amusement. With some chagrin, he realized he had allowed his tone
to soften and express more than he had intended. She peered at the
tiny bundle and extended a tentative hand, stopping just short of
touching Kyza to look up again. When he nodded consent, she pulled
the blanket open to get a closer look.

His daughter was—and he did not think
he exhibited bias in this—beautiful, with long black eyelashes and
a shock of raven hair sticking out in all directions. She pursed
her tiny mouth, making sucking movements in her sleep. The human
drew a breath and murmured in English, “Oh, how
precious
!”

He raised an eyebrow. She rocked back
with a hand over her mouth.

“Forgive me,” she said in Tolari, “I
meant no offense.”

<<>>

Stupid, stupid, stupid,
Marianne thought.
I’m in the stronghold maybe ten minutes and
already I’m unforgivably rude.
Her gut twisted, and she fought
to keep her face smooth. The briefing on Tolari protocol back on
Earth had indicated it was an insult to address the Sural in any
language other than his own, unless he had chosen to speak the
other language first.

She stared at her hands, stomach in
freefall, and waited for him to send her away. For all that she had
not wanted to leave Earth in the first place, now that she had, she
was just as reluctant to return. Irritation at her own perversity
compressed her lips into a line. Perhaps she didn’t know what she
wanted, but she hadn’t spent the past three weeks schooling herself
to accept spending twenty-six years on Tolar to turn around and go
back after a few minutes. It startled her to realize that the idea
of going back to Earth and back to her life wasn’t a relief. There
were things on Earth she
didn’t
miss.

“Do not fear me,” the Sural said, his
gaze still on his daughter. He looked over at Marianne with a more
impassive expression. “You cannot insult me.”

She blinked and met his eyes, startled
again. He cocked an eyebrow. “Speak your thoughts—” She didn’t
understand the last word he used. “You will not offend
me.”

She searched for words. “That’s not
what I expected,” she said.

The Sural uttered a low chuckle. “And
what did you expect?”

“They told me Tolari rulers are easy
to offend,” she blurted out, surprised by her own
audacity.

He chuckled again, dark eyes
twinkling. “They?”

“Central Command. I’m not sure where
they got all their information about you.”

“Perhaps someone met the wrong Tolari
ruler,” he said, his face bland. “What else did they tell you to
expect?”

She floundered. “Well—it’s—Shouldn’t
you have guards and aides? We’re alone in here, and you’re sitting
here holding a
baby
, and—and—”

“And?”

She shrugged. “You act like I’m a real
person.”

“Are you not real?” Amusement tinted
his voice.

His reaction told her she hadn’t used
the right word in Tolari—but maybe they just didn’t have the
concept she wanted to express. Amusing the Sural, she decided, was
better than insulting him. She shrugged again, unable to suppress a
nervous smile.

He seemed to come to a decision.
“Here,” he said, laying the baby in her arms.

She sucked in a breath, hands shaking,
and cradled the child, who adjusted herself in her sleep and
uttered a charming little sigh. Marianne’s heart warmed, easing her
shakiness. She stroked Kyza’s cheek with a fingertip.

“Shi shang zhi you mama hao,
”
she sang, an old Chinese lullaby. Kyza opened dark eyes at the
sound and fixed Marianne’s face with an intense stare. “
You ma
de hai zi xiang ge bao.
”

“She likes you,” the Sural said,
interrupting the song.

Marianne smiled and rocked Kyza, slow
and gentle. “
Ya tozhe,
” she cooed at the baby, breaking into
a huge happy grin when Kyza flashed a brief smile. “She smiled at
me!” She turned her grin up at the Sural.