The Marann (26 page)

“Now you think like a member of the
ruling caste.” He allowed himself an open grin.

“Is she a spook?” Her face became
wary, and he sensed uncertainty in her—she wasn’t sure she wanted
to know.

“I am certain of it. She is more than
she appears to be. Much more than her Ambassador thinks her to
be.”

“Humans have a saying: love is blind.”
A sigh gusted from her lips. “I’m not learning fast enough. I’m
even giving myself away to humans.”

He laid a hand on one shoulder. “Have
no concern, beloved. She will never be able to guess the true
nature of the Jorann, nor of your transformation.”

“No, I don’t suppose she could.” She
lifted a hand halfway to her face and froze.

“What troubles you?”

“They’ll discover everything if they
pull me out.”

He went cold. Fixing his eyes on hers,
he straightened, suppressing a flinch as his wound spasmed. “Tell
me.”

“Before I left Tau Ceti station to
come here, they put a locater chip in my brain,” she said. “It’s
tiny, easy to insert, and impossible to remove. Central Command
puts them in anyone who sets foot on a nonhuman world as a safety
protocol. They can lock onto my chip and phase me out if something
should happen that they think threatens my safety.”

“Why did you not tell me of this?” He
considered anger and discarded it.

She spread her hands in apology. “It’s
been eight years. It was a short little procedure in the middle of
an eventful day. The layover on Tau Ceti station lasted all of
maybe thirty minutes. I’d forgotten it until just now.”

“It must be removed.”

“That’s impossible,” she said.
“Especially not after all this time. It’s worked its way into my
brainstem, and it’s booby-trapped.”

“We shall see.” He started to get up.
She helped him to stand and dusted bits of vegetation from his
robes. “Beloved—”

She glanced up at him, expectation in
her eyes.

“Trust me.”

She nodded, but doubt still colored
her presence.
Will she never trust me?
he thought.
Withdrawing back into himself, he leaned on her as they made their
way back into the keep.

<<>>

Marianne blinked and raised her
eyebrows when they entered the apothecaries’ quarters. The Sural
only twitched his lips. Several guards lay injured on the
examination beds—apparent victims of the games they played to keep
their reflexes sharp. Medicinal smells filled the air, and aides
and nurses clogged the room, carrying medical scanners and other
arcane equipment. The head apothecary was mixing one of her
infamous potions and couldn’t interrupt her work. The Sural went
into her private study to wait. Marianne followed, sensing a guard
even there.

“Must they be
everywhere
?” she
complained.

The Sural chuckled. “I have seldom
known a day without them.”

“And I never knew a day
with
them until I came here. There’s no privacy in this
place.”

“Ah.” He sighed. “Is that what holds
you back?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Well... maybe, partly. Mostly.
Well... yes.”

“You saw what happened when I sent the
guards out of range for you.”

She flinched. “This is
personal.”

“The guards would give their lives for
you, beloved,” he said. “What have you to hide from them? They love
you—why would they hurt you?”

“You tell me,” she challenged, just as
the apothecary walked in.

The healer bowed in respect and took
her seat behind the desk, waiting for the Sural to
speak.

“How much will the physiological
transformation occurring in the Marann’s brain increase the risk of
a medical procedure performed on it?” he asked.

Marianne made a mental note to ask the
Sural about that title.

“It would not be wise to tamper until
the transformation is complete, high one,” the apothecary
answered.

“How long?”

“Perhaps a year, perhaps more. Very
little of her brain is Tolari at present, but the rate of change
should accelerate over time.”

“We may not have a single
season.”

Marianne added, “We may not have ten
days.”

The apothecary’s brows furled, and she
radiated concern. “What does this regard?”

“Central Command had a locater chip
implanted on my brainstem while I was on Tau Ceti station, on my
way here from Earth,” Marianne answered. “It’s tiny and easy to
insert, but it’s rigged to destroy my brainstem if it’s tampered
with. And as long as it remains, the humans can phase me off the
planet whenever they decide to.”

She digested this. “I see your
concern,” she said. She paused to think, then pulled her medical
tablet from a pocket and studied it. The Sural allowed her time. “I
think it can be done, high ones, but not without risk.”

The Sural straightened. “Tell
me.”

“Accelerate her
transformation.”

Marianne blinked several times, taken
aback. “You can do that?”

“No,” the apothecary answered. “I
cannot. The Jorann would have to do it.”

The Sural gave a slow nod. “What are
the risks?”

“It will be painful,” she answered,
“extremely painful. Pain can kill a human, and at present the
Marann remains largely human. I cannot predict what it would do to
her.”

“Can the pain be
controlled?”

She stared past them as she thought
about it. “Possibly. It might be more practical to keep her
unconscious until her brain has completed the change. Seven,
perhaps eight days, if the Jorann consents. At that point, I can
repair anything they did to her. However—if she is phased off the
planet during the process, she could die.”

The Sural pulled out his tablet and
busied himself.

“What are you doing?” Marianne
asked.

“Disabling the phase platform on the
Alexander
,” he murmured. “I am uncertain how long it will
take them to acquire a replacement, but it will gain us
time.”

“You can do that? From your
tablet
?” She gaped.

He turned to her with a crooked grin.
“It is your decision, beloved.”

She took a deep breath and ignored the
sinking feeling in her midsection. “When do we start?”

<<>>

The journey to the Jorann’s cavern
took much longer than Marianne’s first trip—an entire afternoon,
since the Sural refused to stay behind and required frequent rests.
The head apothecary seemed displeased with him, but kept it to
herself, for the most part. Her medical authority extended over him
only so far.

“What did you tell the Ambassador’s
wife?” the Sural asked as he limped along.

Marianne blushed, and he radiated
delight. She could not understand what Tolari found so enthralling
about a blush. “I told her we were taking a romantic vacation and
would be out of communication for ten days or so.”

He chuckled. “Did she believe
you?”

“Maybe not. Spending time in an ice
cave isn’t Adeline’s idea of a romantic getaway. It’s not mine
either, for that matter, but I didn’t tell her that. She wished me
joy, and I blushed a lot. I might have pulled it off.”

He drew a deep breath and released it.
“We cannot rely on having enough time.”

Marianne shuddered. She didn’t want to
think about what was coming.

“You called me the Marann,” she said,
to change the subject. “The guards and servants have called me that
since I returned from my first visit to the Jorann. Does it
mean
something?”

“Your name is close to an Old Tolari
word.” He turned a smile on her. “In that language,
Jorann
means ‘First One.’
Marann
means ‘Second One.’ The servants
could not resist beginning to call you that amongst themselves, and
it spread. Do you not find it appropriate?”

She stared at her hands. “I don’t want
to lose my name the way Tolari high ones do.”

“Beloved, you
are
a Tolari high
one,” he said, “but you do not rule a province. There is no reason
for the Jorann to take away your name.”

They reached the stairs leading up to
the ice cave. “You will rest, high one,” the apothecary
ordered.

The Sural nodded and sat on the
staircase with a groan. “Willingly, apothecary.”

Marianne bit her lip to keep from
laughing as the apothecary forced the most powerful man on the
planet to sit on a staircase for a full twenty minutes before
allowing him to continue. She repeated the performance twice more
before they reached the top.

“Why do Tolari rulers lose their
names?” Marianne asked during their last stop on the stairs. “What
purpose does it serve?”

“The Jorann took my name from me when
she bonded me to my people.” He put a hand to his chest. “I can
feel them—I can see them, like stars shining on the surface of the
province. I am Suralia. If I had a name, I could not be Suralia.”
He smiled up at her. “Beloved, I do not even wish to be anything
else.”

“So that time I asked you what your
name was—”

“You asked him his name?” the
apothecary interrupted, her eyes huge.

“Well—yes.”

“And you did not banish her?” she
asked the Sural.

The blood ran out of Marianne’s face,
and her voice came out thin and high-pitched. “Is there anything
else I should be careful not to say?”

The Sural took her hands. “I will
never harm you or send you away, beloved,” he said. “Have no fear
of me.” He shot a vexed look at the apothecary.

“Forgive me, high one,” the healer
murmured, and turned to Marianne. “High one—it is not clear to us
why the ruling bond affects our leaders the way it does. If you ask
a bonded ruler his name, he will perceive it as a threat. It is
extraordinary that the Sural did nothing.”

“She could not have known.” He grated
the words. “I refuse to be a slave to my instincts.”

“Is there anything else like that I
need to know?” Marianne persisted.

The Sural shook his head. “I think you
already know not to approach an adult in the grip of a bonding
child,” he said. “That is the truly dangerous instinct we all
have.”

“Is that why Storaas pulled me away
when Kyza’s first bond with you dissolved?”

“Yes. Storaas knows better than anyone
how dangerous I can be.”

“High ones, we should finish our
journey,” the apothecary said.

As he stood, supported by the healer,
he shut his empathic barriers and disappeared from her senses.
Marianne blinked. It had not taken long to become accustomed to his
presence, and its absence unsettled her. He smiled down at her and
reached for a hand. As their fingers twined, she sensed a faint
echo of him.

The Jorann seemed to expect them when
they reached the cavern. Without issuing her challenge, she pointed
to the blankets at the foot of the dais. The Sural let go of
Marianne’s hand and limped forward, the apothecary hovering to one
side.

The healer’s words echoed through
Marianne’s head.
It will be painful, extremely painful.
She
forced her feet to move forward until she stood at the Sural’s
side, looking up at the Jorann.

Looking
up
. Though shorter than
the Sural, the woman towered over her, blonde braids in intricate
knots cascading around her shoulders to the floor. Marianne’s jaw
loosened. Either she had colored her hair, or her blessing did
impossible things. And if the color was natural, it raised
questions about her origins. She had said she was once human. Had
she been born on Earth? Why was she not, like her children,
black-haired and caramel-skinned?

“I see you have a problem,” the Jorann
said.

He bowed with difficulty. “Yes,
highest.”

“You are injured, grandson. Sit. All
of you sit.” Marianne and the apothecary helped the Sural down onto
the thick white blankets. The Jorann settled back on the edge of
her dais. “The Detral defied my orders in his actions against the
Marann. I want him brought to me.”

“Yes, highest.”

“And as for the request your
apothecary makes of me… Grandson, do you understand what you
ask?”

The Sural nodded. “We cannot allow the
humans to remove Marianne Woolsey from Tolar.”

“No, we cannot,” the Jorann agreed,
“but this is no light thing you ask, with no small amount of risk.
Do you see no way to delay them?”

“I lack even human skill to mask what
I feel,” Marianne said. “It’s one of the reasons they chose me for
this. And one of the humans on the ship is a skilled observer—a
spy, even, in the Sural’s opinion. I don’t think I’ve fooled her a
bit.”

The Jorann nodded, her face grim. “You
are quite sure that you are willing to go through this?”