“You mean the way they guard you all the time?”
“That. Arranging our marriages. Decreeing when and how we have children. Telling us where we live, how we work, where we go.”
Her eyes widened. “They do all that?”
“They try.” His voice hardened. “We resist.”
“I had never realized.”
Kurj blew against her ear. “Let us think of more agreeable things than the Assembly.”
Her lips curved in a tempting smile. “With pleasure.”
As she soothed him with her passion, Kurj began to think that perhaps, just perhaps, he could come to terms with the anger in his heart. He hoped so. For if it didn’t happen, he feared that someday he would lose control of the roiling darkness within him and destroy all that he loved.
24
The Buried Grotto
“He looks just like me,” Jarac decided.
Roca smiled as her father dangled a sparkling cube on a string. They were sitting on the floor, on a blanket, with Eldrin lying on his back between them. The six-month-old baby laughed, waving his hands at the cube as if it were the most extraordinary object ever created.
“I guess he does look like you,” Roca said. In truth, her young son resembled his father far more. Eldrin’s eyes were still blue, but they were turning violet and they had the rounder Lyshrioli shape. His hair was the same burgundy shade as his father’s hair. Roca longed to show him to Eldri, to see his joy.
She so missed her husband: his mischief, smile, scowl, the quirk of his eyebrow, his exasperation with Garlin, his athletic grace. She wondered how he fared, if his seizures had stopped, if he had rebuilt Windward. She feared if she tried to contact him, Kurj would find out she had violated their bargain. Then he would retaliate. Kurj wouldn’t kill a Ruby psion, but he would find other ways to hurt his stepfather. He might send his operatives to kidnap Eldri regardless of the uproar it could cause. She shuddered, pushing the thought from her mind.
Eldrin batted the swinging cube out of his grandfather’s hand, burbling with delight. He grasped the toy in his pudgy hand and rolled onto his stomach.
Jarac beamed at Roca. “He is intelligent, too. Smart, handsome, and strong. Definitely takes after my side.”
She smiled. “Maybe he will also inherit your modesty.”
Jarac laughed. “We can hope.”
His care soothed her heart. It meant a great deal to her that he visited Eldrin. She wished her mother would do the same. If Lahaylia would spend some time with Eldrin, surely she would love him. To Roca, it seemed especially important now, as her parents aged. Their outward youth was deceptive. They had lived longer than any other humans, and she knew they were tired. She couldn’t bear to think of their passing. If only her mother would accept Eldrin, she could see in him the promise of the dynasty she and Jarac had founded. Eldrin was a symbol of new life.
Jarac spoke kindly. “He is beautiful, Daughter. You have given us a gift greater than we ever expected.”
Her voice caught. “If only Mother felt that way.”
“Give her time.”
“Eldrin is her grandson. Why can’t she care for him like she does the rest of us?” For all her mother’s reserve, Roca had never doubted her mother loved them. It overflowed her emotions. But not for Eldrin. Never Eldrin.
Jarac poked the cube Eldrin was pawing, making the baby gurgle. “She does not know what she misses.”
“Do you think she will come around?” Roca asked.
“Perhaps.” Jarac wouldn’t look at her.
Roca averted her eyes, hiding the moisture that filled them. Her marriage had rent cracks in her family, leaving wounds that might never heal.
Eldri stood at his bedroom window, gazing at the starred night. Roca, are you out there? By the reckoning of the Skolians, she had been gone for six months, where one “month” was apparently about four octets of days. She had become part of him; since she had left, his heart had been bereft. He and Roca had melded in ways he didn’t understand; he knew only that when she left, she took pieces of him. He kept expecting the passage of time to make it more bearable, but nothing helped. Whatever this bond they shared, its loss went deeper than anything could ease.
It was an irony that his emotions should hurt now, when his body was finally becoming healthy. Incredibly, the doctors had found medicines that helped his convulsions without causing lethargy or nausea. He had experienced none of the big seizures and only a few of the small in the past five octets of days. For the first time in his life he could actually hope he might live like a normal man.
But that gift came at too high a price.
“Come home,” he whispered. “Roca, come home.”
“I urge you to reconsider,” Banner Highchief said. “Even if you don’t believe the Traders genuinely want peace.”
Kurj gritted his teeth. The Fleet Commander stood with him on the observation deck, resting her long arms on the dichromesh-glass rail. The transparent bubble surrounded them, as if they stood in space itself. The lights were off, so nothing dimmed the splendor of the stars. His heritage.
“They are trying to trap us,” Kurj told her.
“Possibly. It is still worth bargaining.”
His hand tightened on the rail. “They offer to ‘bargain’ for what they took from us. I will call off the invasion only for complete restoration of our territory. No half agreements.”
She leaned her considerable length against the rail. “They were mining asteroids in that region before we claimed it.”
“We had already set up operations.” He snorted. “So they were robbing us from the start. This is a reason to bargain?”
She thumped the rail. “I say we settle, let them have part of the territory and take the rest ourselves.”
“I will think on it.” Kurj had no intention of changing his mind, but if he appeared intractable, it could alienate her. She commanded the largest arm of ISC and had more authority than he wielded as the head of the J-Force. He preferred to stay on good terms with her. Someday, when he became Imperator, he would be her commanding officer. It behooved him to build a strong base now, one that would support him when he took over ISC.
His wrist comm buzzed and he raised his arm. “Skolia, here.”
“Sir, this is Lieutenant Opson. We’ve received a message from Skyfall. It’s the report from the medical team.”
Kurj tensed. Gods. Finally. “Send it to my home office immediately.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Good. Out.”
If Highchief had any inkling about the significance of what she had just heard, she gave nothing away. They left the observation bay and walked through the corridors that networked the Orbiter hull, discussing ISC matters. Although she shielded her thoughts, she couldn’t completely guard against him. His power lacked nuance, but he could pick up any leakage of emotions no matter how slight. He felt her wariness. She didn’t like their impasse over the invasion.
They parted at the magrail station. Kurj rode out into the Orbiter’s landscaped biosphere, the car hurtling down the mountains into the Ground hemisphere, past City and back up to Valley. He wanted to read the report on Eldrinson in private. With some maneuvering, Kurj had handpicked the doctor in the second team, and he felt reasonably confident about one of the psychologists, Tyra Meson. But Roca had influenced the Assembly on the selection of the other psychologist, a man named Cary Undell. The fellow was too cussed independent and he made no secret about his dislike of political intrigue. The last thing Kurj needed was a nonconformist asserting his opinions.
Kurj expected the team would have helped Valdoria’s epilepsy. He had given his word to Roca. But they knew their job. It would take only two of them to make their conclusions a majority decision. Then their report would verify Valdoria was incompetent to sign a contract with anyone, let alone a Ruby heir.
They had better make that determination. Otherwise, he would have to pursue more severe methods to achieve his goal.
br /> Roca crossed the plateau, which stood high in the mountains, near the horizon where Ground met Sky. The gravity was weaker up here. She felt it especially with the added height of her boots, which made her over six feet tall; each step she took seemed slow and longer than usual.
The cold air was crisp against her face, bracing her for the confrontation to come. On one side of the plateau, cliffs rose toward Sky; on the other, the plateau dropped down into foothills. In the distance, the translucent towers of City sparkled in golden light from the Sun Lamp.
A woman stood at the edge of the plateau gazing out at City, her hands clasped behind her back. Wind tugged her short, iron-gray hair. She had aged formidably well, her austere face lined just enough to add authority to her patrician features, including her high cheekbones, upward tilted eyes, and straight nose. She wore a dark blue tunic and dark trousers with a gold stripe up each leg. Only a discreet insignia on her shoulder indicated her stratospheric rank: General of the Pharaoh’s Army, commander of the legendary Skolian army, which claimed five thousand years of fealty to the Ruby Dynasty.
Vaj Majda, the Matriarch of Majda, waited for Roca.
As Roca came up to her, Majda turned. The general spoke with an impeccable formality that offered no welcome. “My honor at your presence, Your Highness.”
Roca inclined her head. “And mine at yours, General.”
Majda wasted no time. “My nephew sends you a message.”
Tensing, Roca gave the response dictated by protocol. “I would be pleased to hear it.”
Ice could have formed in Majda’s gaze. “Prince Dayj accepts the figurines you sent him.”
Roca’s shoulders sagged with her relief. Dayj’s acceptance of her apology was so cool, frost could have formed on it, and he had taken so long in responding, an ice age could have come and gone, but it was still an acceptance. If he had taken public offense at her marriage, the scandal would have reverberated throughout Skolia. His response left no doubt that relations between Majda and the Ruby Dynasty had suffered grave damage, but it didn’t preclude reconciliation between the two Houses.
“Please tell Prince Dayj that I appreciate his gracious message,” Roca said.
“I’m glad one of us does,” Majda said sourly.
Roca held back her impulse to make a retort. Although Majda had never acknowledged Roca’s apology in words or writing, she had taken ownership of the shipping company, which made her acceptance unambiguous.
Majda suddenly froze, looking past her. Puzzled, Roca turned—and stiffened. A tall woman was approaching them, her willowy carriage a graceful contrast to Majda’s steel posture. This newcomer had an exotic beauty rather than the austerity of Majda, but both she and the general evoked the ancient queens. The Ruby Pharaoh, it seemed, had discovered that her daughter and top general were meeting in secret.
Lahaylia joined them, standing such that Roca and Majda had to turn to face her, putting their backs to the drop-off from the plateau. A flyer soared far overhead, a speck against the immensity of Sky, undoubtedly the pharaoh’s bodyguards.
Majda bowed. “My honor at your presence, Pharaoh Lahaylia.”
Lahaylia inclined her head. “General. Daughter.”
Roca crossed her arms. “I didn’t realize you planned to meet us, Mother.”
Lahaylia lifted her hand, a simple gesture that conveyed a world of meaning, making it clear she relegated Roca’s words to lesser importance than her daughter intended. “The Assembly soon convenes. Rumors abound of discord within ISC.”
Majda met her gaze. “You will find no discord within the Pharaoh’s Army. We honor the Assembly vote.”
“So I have heard,” Lahaylia murmured. She glanced at Roca, then back at Majda. “So I would like to believe.”
“As you should,” Majda said.
Roca inwardly swore. Her mother had showed up because she believed her daughter sought to sway Majda into support for the negotiations. In truth, Roca had already tried exactly that. But she had made no headway; right now, Majda was hardly predisposed to consider any of her arguments.
Roca scowled at her mother. “And if we can settle this affair through peace rather than war? Still you would fight.”
“What affair?” Lahaylia arched an eyebrow. “Yours, perhaps?”
Pah. “I have no affairs, Mother.” Roca had married Eldri, and she intended it to remain that way. “I speak of the invasion.”
The pharaoh answered in her dusky voice. “Peace is a tenuous dream. It appears real to one generation and dissolves in the next. To ignore the survival of our children would be a crime greater than any perpetrated against us by the Eubians.”
That gave Roca pause. Thinking of her sons, she spoke in a quieter voice. “Yes, it would. But each generation, when it matures, must make its own choices.”
Majda frowned at her. “And its own mistakes?”
“Indeed.” Roca knew her eyes were glinting. “Including the mistakes made by those generations that have lived the longest.”
Lahaylia spoke dryly. “Wisdom has this peculiar tendency, Daughter. It tends to increase as one matures.”
Roca put her hand on her hip. “Vibrancy and innovation also have a peculiar tendency, Mother. They annoy people who don’t like change.”
Lahaylia’s lips quirked upward. “Ah, well, that is part of life.” Her smile faded. “But so is the determination in people to fight for what they believe is right.”
“And to stand firm in their resolve,” Majda said. She seemed intrigued to see an argument between the pharaoh and her heir.
Roca didn’t like the way the lines of support aligned here. Her mother and Kurj formed an inflexible bloc, one backed by Majda’s support. There seemed no hope for compromise. At the same time, she knew they didn’t like this schism any more than she did. They wouldn’t back down on the invasion, but another type of bargain might be possible.
“I have other options in Assembly,” Roca said.
“What options?” Lahaylia said. “The Assembly has voted for the invasion.”
Roca answered in the deceptively quiet voice she had learned from her mother. “Nothing is ever set.”
“And what of honor?” Majda demanded.
“Honor takes many forms,” Roca answered.
“So your son tells me,” Lahaylia said dryly.
“He says a lot of things.” Roca wished Kurj would quit doing it, at least when it came to her husband.
“He seeks to protect Skolian honor,” Lahaylia said.
Roca met her gaze. “I speak of personal honor.”
“Yours?” Majda’s sarcasm could have chilled ice.
Roca bit back the response she wanted to make: I honor my commitments, not betrothals others would force on me. Instead she said, “I deeply regret if my commitments have caused distress. But my vow to Eldrinson Valdoria is made. I stand by it.”
“In other words,” Lahaylia said, “if we quit opposing your ill-made marriage, you will quit opposing the invasion.”
Put that bluntly, it sounded even more unpalatable. But the invasion would proceed and she would resist a divorce regardless of any bargain. Better a distasteful agreement than this constant battle with her family. “If you accept Eldri, Kurj may moderate his objections.”
“I will never accept him,” Lahaylia said flatly.
Roca’s frustration welled. “Why the hell not?”
“Everything about him is objectionable: common birth, lack of education, age, lifestyle.”
Roca was acutely aware of Majda listening. But she had to speak. “He is one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”
“You ask too much,” Lahaylia said.
“What, it is too much to ask that my mother be happy for me?”
Lahaylia scowled. “You have duties. How you conduct yourself affects more than this family.”
“Eldri is a Ruby psion.”
“You didn’t have to marry him to bed him.”
“What, now you suggest I dishonor hi
m?”
Lahaylia snorted. “Nowadays women go about compromising men’s honor all the time and no one blinks. These purportedly despoiled fellows seem to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Besides, you wouldn’t have been the first Ruby heir to have a man on the side.”
Majda gave the pharaoh a sour look. “On the side of what, Your Highness? Her marriage to my nephew?” She spoke grudgingly, to Roca. “It is true that you have treated the Skyfall man with honor, as you did my nephew in your visits to him.”
In truth, Roca had never been attracted to Dayj, despite his good looks. It hadn’t been hard to keep her hands off him during their constrained visits. But she could hardly reveal that to Vaj Majda. “Whatever the price,” Roca said, “my marriage is made.”
“And you wish us to stop trying to unmake it,” Lahaylia said.
“Yes.” Roca’s gaze didn’t waver.
Majda spoke. “I will not set myself against Kurj Skolia.”
Damn. Majda knew perfectly well Kurj would never relent. “To cease an offense,” Roca said, “isn’t the same as setting yourself against an ally.”
“Make your peace with Kurj,” Lahaylia told her. “Then perhaps we can entertain this compromise.”
Roca swallowed. “There is no peace between us.”
Lahaylia’s face changed, revealing a sadness Roca suspected she had meant to hide. The pharaoh lifted her hand as if to reach out to her daughter, but then she lowered it, her restraint taking over. But she couldn’t hide the pain in her voice. “A child and parent shouldn’t be so at odds.”
“No,” Roca said softly. “They shouldn’t.”
But she saw no way to heal the wounds that divided them.
Anger suffused the Imperator’s home.
It vibrated through the stone mansion where Jarac lived, high on a hill of Valley. The house had many windows and spacious rooms to accommodate his large size, filling it with light and air. Given the perfect weather of the Orbiter, the windows needed no glass. The main entrance had no doors.