Vyrl’s face burned. He had known her for years. She and Lily were always giggling together, often at him, though he had never understood why they found him so amusing. Now she wouldn’t even acknowledge him. After the news about his betrothal had spread in the village, his friends no longer seemed comfortable with him. Did they look away because he had become different, his title made real, the son of a mysterious queen who came from above the sky?
No one else had realized yet he was on the stairs, so he remained still, watching. His mother looked every bit her Ruby Dynasty heredity. Tall and statuesque, in a soft blue jumpsuit, she stood by the fireplace with a posture of quiet confidence. Gold hair curled around her face, cascaded over her shoulders and arms, and poured down her back. His father stood next to her, one elbow on the mantel as he spoke to their guest.
Devon Majda.
Vyrl couldn’t stop staring at the general. She wore a trim uniform, green with gold on the cuffs, and polished knee-boots that made her taller than his parents. Her black hair hung glossy and straight to her shoulders, framing a face of austere, aristocratic perfection, from her aquiline nose to her dark, upward-tilted eyes. With her long limbs and athletic build, she projected a sense of energy. An aura of power surrounded her, as if she took her rank and heredity for granted. Indeed, she should; only one other family had more status or wealth than Majda—the Ruby Dynasty.
Vyrl didn’t care about ancient empires, modern politics, or wealth. He just wanted his own family and a farm. Unfortunately, that probably had a lot to do with why Devon had chosen him to sire her heirs. Thinking of what went into that siring, he flushed, certain his face was turning bright red. Given the differences in their ages, he hadn’t expected to find her so attractive. But she still seemed old to him. He couldn’t imagine her as his wife.
Glancing toward the stairs, his mother caught sight of him. With a smile, she raised her hand, beckoning. Devon idly glanced his way, then did a double take, her gaze widening. A surge of appreciation overflowed her mind; she apparently liked what she saw. Acutely aware of them watching, he came down the stairs. He grew even more self-conscious as he crossed the long room to the hearth.
When he reached them, Devon bowed deeply from the waist. As she straightened, Vyrl nodded with the formality his title required. Raising his head, he found himself looking straight into her eyes. It startled him. He was used to the girls in Dalvador, who came only to his shoulder, if that much. He took after his mother’s people, with their greater height.
Devon spoke in Iotic, the language of the nobility. “My honor at your presence, Your Highness.”
Although here in Dalvador he rarely needed to follow the protocol of the Imperial Court, Vyrl had learned its ways. He answered in flawless Iotic. “And mine at yours, General Majda.” He wondered if he sounded as awkward as he felt.
She smiled, her expression formal but not unfriendly. “Devon, please.”
“Devon.” He tried to smile back, though the expression felt stiff on his face. “Please call me Vyrl.”
She repeated his name in her Iotic accent, making it sound like Vahrialle, which was, he supposed, the proper pronunciation. All his friends drawled Verle in the rural Dalvador dialect.
They talked for a bit, a stilted conversation. He could think of almost nothing to say. Standing with his parents while he met the woman that half the galaxy expected him to impregnate was about the most mortifying experience he could imagine.
His father was watching them closely. To Devon, he said, “Perhaps you would like to take a walk? Vyrl can show you the countryside.”
“I would like that,” Devon said.
Vyrl’s shoulders relaxed. The idea of being alone with her didn’t ease his agitation, but at least his parents wouldn’t be watching. Although his mother smiled at him, he felt the sadness she tried to hide. Her heart had ached that same way when Eldrin had left home and when Althor had received his acceptance to the off-world military academy.
I never wanted you to look at me that way, Vyrl thought to her. I’ve always wanted to stay on Lyshriol. But he couldn’t say it out loud, not in front of General Majda.
Walking with Devon across the plains made Vyrl twitch inside. Just two days ago he had run free here and held Lily in his arms. It tore at him to return to this place with a stranger, but he did his best to hide his sense of loss. He could almost hear his brother Del-Kurj deriding him: Enough of your melodramatic adolescent angst! As if what Vyrl felt for Lily couldn’t be serious, or as if Del-Kurj was so much more incredibly mature. Vyrl could tell his parents also believed he was too young to fall in love. None of that mattered. He knew what he felt for Lily was genuine.
Devon walked at his side, her dark hair ruffled by the wind. She spoke politely. “This is beautiful countryside.”
“I’ve always thought so.” Vyrl glanced around at the nodding grasses that brushed their hips and the lavender sky with its blue puffs of cloud. He wanted to add, I love it with every part of my being. I can’t leave. But he remained silent.
“Two suns.” She peered at the sky, shielding her eyes with her hand. “It’s an unstable configuration, you know.”
“The suns?” He had thought the problem was with the planet. Contradicting her would hardly be tactful though.
She lowered her hand. “I meant this world, Lyshriol. Its orbit is unstable. The binary star system perturbs it.”
“Oh. Yes.” Vyrl pushed back the curls blowing across his face. “My tutor says astronomical engineers from the Ruby Empire moved Lyshriol here and terraformed it for human colonists. They had technologies we’ve yet to recover.”
“Yes. They did a good job.” She smiled, her aristocratic face warmed by the sunlight. “It’s very pretty.”
Vyrl had never thought of the land that sustained his people and his dreams as “pretty.” At a loss for an appropriate response, he remained silent.
They strolled toward a distant herd of lyrine grazing on bubble stalks. He stopped about a hundred meters away, reluctant to disturb them. “Those are my father’s livestock.”
Devon studied the herd. “They’re genetically engineered from horses, aren’t they?”
“That’s what we think.” Biology was one of the few subjects he actually liked. “But if that’s true, they’ve become very different animals.”
She laughed softly. “I must admit, I’ve never seen pastel blue horses before. And those horns of theirs are charming. They act like prisms, yes?”
“Well, yes, I guess so.” He had always liked the way sunlight refracted in rainbow flashes through the translucent horns of the lyrine. Their hooves produced the same effect, making it look as if they struck sparks of color from the ground when they ran in sunlight. It had never seemed unusual to him, but perhaps it was more so than he realized. Or maybe she was simply trying to make conversation.
He motioned at several boulders that crested the grass, which spread around them like an ocean of reeds. “Would you like to sit?”
“Yes, thank you.”
They settled side by side on the largest boulder, which was shaped like a huge table. Devon continued to gaze over the plains. The wind whipped back her hair, accenting the classic bone structure of her face. To Vyrl, she seemed out of place here, a technocrat with an impeccable pedigree transplanted to a rustic setting that offered her no challenge. He had a hard time reading her mood. When he tried, he ran into the mental wall she used to shield her mind. Nor could he relax his defenses around her. With Lily, his barriers had dissolved without his even realizing it, but now his mind felt as closed as a fortress.
Devon spoke gently. “You’re different than I expected.”
“Different?” He blinked. “How?”
“Quieter.” She considered him. “More polished.”
Although he said, “Thank you,” her words didn’t feel like a compliment. He followed the manners his parents had taught him. That he lived a rural, simple life didn’t make him crude.
Devon le
aned back on her hand. “What do you like to do, Vyrl, when you aren’t in school?”
“Come out here.” He motioned at a nearby field of nodding stalks, each weighed down with orbs as large as a fist. “We’re going to harvest the bagger-bubbles soon.” He smiled, warming to the thought. “I’ll work with Althor and Del, razing the stalks.”
“Cutting plants, you mean?” She seemed bemused.
Cutting plants seemed a prosaic way to describe the joy of working with the land and the riches it produced. He wasn’t sure, though, if Devon would understand his stumbling attempts to explain feelings he couldn’t fully describe even to himself, so he only said, “Yes. Cutting plants.”
“Ah.”
They sat for a while. When the silence became strained, Vyrl asked, “Are you on vacation now?”
“I suppose you could call it that. I’ve five days leave, measured in Lyshriol time.” She sat forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “The dates for the Metropoli summit have been moved up. That’s why I had to reschedule this trip. I have to give a presentation there about the ground-based defense systems for Metropoli.”
“Oh.” Vyrl had no real idea what she meant. “It sounds important.”
Devon grimaced. “Committee meetings always sound important. The more elevated the description, the less we get done.” She shook her head. “I see no point in stockpiling more weapons on Metropoli. The planet is already as well guarded as we can make it. But its economy will benefit from the industry. Metropoli has a big population, ten billion, so it holds many votes within the Assembly.” Wryly, she added, “Hence my presentation.”
He tried to look interested. “I hope it works out.”
“I’m sure it will.” She didn’t sound convinced. He was picking up traces of her thoughts now. She didn’t expect the summit to achieve anything useful. He wondered why they bothered with meetings if they didn’t think it would help.
After another silence, Devon cleared her throat. She wouldn’t look at him, just kept staring across the plains. “The Assembly sent me many files about you.”
Vyrl stiffened. What was the Assembly doing with files about him? “Where did they get them?”
She glanced at him. “They have dossiers on every member of your family. Surely you knew that.”
His face was growing hot. “No.”
“Oh.” Now she looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound intrusive.”
“You didn’t.” That wasn’t true, but it wasn’t her fault he hadn’t known the Assembly kept a dossier on him. Although it made sense, it had simply never occurred to him.
“I’ve also spoken at length to your parents.” She stared hard at the lyrine herd again, avoiding his gaze.
Vyrl wondered what she was trying to say. “They didn’t tell me much about the negotiations.”
She finally turned to him. “They are terribly proud of you, you know.”
“They are?” As far as Vyrl could tell, his truancy and procrastination annoyed them no end.
“Yes. Very much.” Now she looked self-conscious. “They’ve made it clear that if I don’t treat you well, I will answer to them.”
Vyrl winced. That sounded like his parents. “I’m sorry. They say things like that sometimes.”
To his surprise, Devon gave an affectionate laugh. “I imagine they do.” Her smile faded. “They also made assurances, discreetly of course.”
Vyrl waited for her to clarify that mystifying statement. When she didn’t, he said, “What do you mean?”
Devon cleared her throat. “There are, ah, certain expectations for the consort of Majda.” She squinted at him, her cheeks tinged with red now. “Parents may have idealized views of their children that aren’t, well, uh…realistic.”
Vyrl had no idea what she meant, and he didn’t think he wanted to know. But he couldn’t restrain his curiosity. “What kind of views?”
“They might assume a certain…innocence…” Her blush deepened as her words trailed off.
“Oh.” Now Vyrl understood. He knew exactly what she meant. He spoke stiffly. “My parents know me well.” There. Now that he had humiliated himself with his lack of sexual experience, maybe she would leave it alone.
Mercifully, she just went back to watching the lyrine. Apparently his father had been right about at least one reason why Devon hadn’t offered for Del-Kurj. Vyrl suspected Del’s brash lack of discretion was the problem more than his actual experience; if the noble Houses had truly required male virginity on the wedding night, they probably would have died out by now for lack of mates.
He focused on Devon—and one of her memories jumped into his mind, a scene so vivid that it escaped her barriers. A tall man of about thirty-five, with dark hair and eyes, stood with his hands spread out from his sides, laughing as he pretended confusion about something, as if he were teasing the person watching him. Vyrl felt Devon’s rush of love, followed by a sense of loss, the kind that came from separation, a loneliness so deep it made him ache.
Saints almighty. What an insensitive clod his parents had birthed. Here he was bemoaning his own miserable fate, and it had never occurred to him that this arrangement might be ruining her life, too. Why would she want to court a half-grown stranger when she had a lover her own age whom she would probably be far happier to make her consort, if politics, heredity, and duty hadn’t interfered?
Devon turned to him with a strained smile. When she touched his cheek, a tingle went through Vyrl, but it only made him think of Lily. Before he could stop himself, he whispered, “It’s not fair.”
“I know.” She didn’t even need to ask what he meant. “But this is how it works for those like you and me.” Then she slid her hand behind his head and drew him forward.
Vyrl hadn’t expected her to kiss him. When her lips touched his, it jolted him, but from surprise rather than desire. The kiss was just, well…lips pressing his. No heart. No passion. Nothing.
After a moment she drew back and gave him a rueful smile. “Perhaps it takes the sparks a while, heh?”
He wanted to crawl under the rocks. “My apologies if I disappointed you.”
“Ah, Vyrl, no, I didn’t mean that.” She sounded as if she wanted to hide under a few boulders herself. “I’m sorry. I’m bungling this terribly.”
“No. Don’t say that.” He struggled to smile. “It’s all right.”
So they sat on their rock, gazing at the plains, trying somehow, someway, to find a common ground.
3
BENEATH THE LAVENDER MOON
Gusts of wind tried to knock Vyrl off the castle wall. In the light of the two moons, which were both in the sky tonight, he climbed down from his window, hanging on to cracks in the stone. Despite the wind, sweat dribbled down his neck. He had on too many clothes, not only those he had worn earlier today when he met Devon but also a sweater and thicker boots. He had rolled up his cloak and tied it onto his pack, which he wore on his back. Altogether it made him hot, heavy, and clumsy. Even worse, it would make it harder to run if anyone saw him.
Finally his feet touched ground. He hunkered by the wall, hiding behind a cluster of bubble stalks in the garden. Then he checked his palmtop. The silvery sheet unrolled in his hand and lit up with holos, showing the house security system. Nothing had changed since he had turned off the alarms that guarded his room. It hadn’t been difficult; the system was meant to keep prowlers out, not hold him inside.
Vyrl reset the system to hide his activities, then tucked the palmtop back into his pack and stood up, scanning the area.
He took off at a steady lope, headed for the starport.
Vyrl clung to the windowsill, praying he didn’t fall and smash himself on the gravel two stories below. A night-triller sang in the distance, its musical call echoed by another triller farther away.
“Come on,” he muttered, scraping his fingernails over the recalcitrant window. “Open, you bog-boil.”
With a protesting screech, the window abruptly swung in
ward. Vyrl froze. Gods, he was going to look stupid if someone caught him hanging here on the wall of a private home in the middle of the night. It had taken him longer than he expected to finish his business at the starport; it meant he hadn’t reached here until well after midnight had passed in Lyshriol’s twenty-eight hour day.
Mercifully, no one seemed to be out. This late at night, few people wandered these high, twisting lanes of Dalvador. No one came storming out of the house, and no one yelled from any other house to find out what was going on.
When the trillers began singing again, Vyrl breathed out in relief. He nudged the window wide open, grateful it made no more noise, and peered into the shadows beyond.
Moonlight silvered the room below. The cozy chamber looked as he remembered it, though years had passed since he had last been here. The bed was just below him, but even the screeching window hadn’t awakened its occupant. Vyrl grinned. Lily had always slept like a rock; he had long suspected it had something to do with her rock-headed stubborn nature.
He let himself down into the room, gripping the sill as he slid lower. Then his feet touched the bed. Exhaling, he knelt next to the slumbering Lily, his head bent while he caught his breath. She murmured, turning restlessly. This time the surge in his pulse had nothing to do with a fear of being caught. He wanted to touch her, but he held back, having no idea how she would react when she discovered him kneeling in her bed.
Lily rolled onto her back and sighed, her eyes slowly opening. For a long moment she simply stared at him, her gaze fogged with sleep. Then she said, “Vyrl?” She sounded as drowsy as she looked, warm and snuggled in her nest of blankets. The embroidered flowers on her white nightgown gleamed in the moonlight.
“It’s me,” Vyrl said. For some reason the temperature in the room seemed to be rising. How different Lily made him feel, compared to the enigmatic, cool General Majda.
Her lips curved in the teasing smile she always used with him. “You’re a terribly misbehaved fellow, to climb in my window. I must yell and make a great fuss.”