19

Windward

As commander of the Ascendant battle cruiser, Corey Majda was the highest authority in the orbital defense system that guarded Lyshriol. Now, however, Majda had come down to the planet. She sat with Roca, Denric, and several ISC officers at a long table of blue glasswood. It stretched down the length of the dining hall in Castle Windward, the Valdoria retreat high in the Backbone Mountains. Rafters of green glasswood braced the high ceiling, and glasswood mosaics patterned the walls in mountain scenes. A fire roared in the giant hearth at the end of the hall, its flames taking on the color of its glasswood logs, blue, green, and gold.

Roca missed her other children. She wanted to draw them near during this time of grief, but they were taking care of matters in Dalvador while she stayed up here. The twins, Del-Kurj and Chaniece, were eldest now that both Eldrin and Althor had gone offworld. They would tend the house and look after the youngest children, Aniece and Kelric. They were also seeing to their father’s duties, with help from Vyrl and Lily. Eldri considered himself a singer and farmer only, but Roca understood what he didn’t acknowledge, that in his own unassuming way, he led the people of the plains. In his absence, his children would carry on for him.

Despite the importance of those tasks, they weren’t the true reason the children stayed in Dalvador. Their father refused to see anyone, especially those he loved. His insistence that ISC bring him here instead of to their starships hadn’t surprised Roca. Windward had always been his retreat, a place he preferred far more than the alien environment of ships in space. ISC had destroyed a substantial portion of Windward shortly after Roca’s marriage to Eldri, when they came to “rescue” her. Although they had rebuilt it to match the old castle exactly, Roca knew Eldri felt it was no longer the same. But he preferred a rebuilt castle to a battle cruiser in orbit, and ISC assured her they could care for him just as well here.

Roca looked around at the ISC doctors arrayed on both sides of the table. In their crisp green or blue uniforms, they seemed so out of place beneath the glasswood rafters and columns. They were taller than Lyshrioli men and women, more angular, darker in their hair and eyes, a sharp contrast the rustic, stained-glass hall.

“Surely you can do something for him.” Roca spoke to Jase Heathland, the senior doctor of the team here.

“We can rebuild his legs,” Jase said. “But they will be more biomech than natural. He will have to relearn their use, not only how to walk, but how to think about walking. The way they receive signals from his brain will no longer be the same.” He rubbed his chin, frowning as he thought, his narrow face tanned from his time walking in the plains under the Lyshrioli suns, an unusual effect since most Skolians protected their skin. Jase tended to prefer what he called a “natural” state, which was one reason Eldri could relate to him. The Bard avoided most ISC personnel, but he actually liked Jase.

Jase spoke carefully, as if negotiating a field of broken glass. “Councilor, I’m not sure his mind can adapt to the biomech system. The structure of his brain is unusual. It differs a great deal from humanoid norms. Even if we can get beyond that—” He spoke with gentle caution. “Ma’am, your husband must want to use his new legs. He can accomplish nothing if he doesn’t have the heart to try.”

Roca knew he was right. She had never seen Eldri like this before, so turned inward, so full of despair. He had shut her out of his life. She could watch him on monitors ISC had set up, but he refused to let her come to him, talk to him, even stand in the same room.

Roca spoke softly. “I know.” She had no more she could add.

The doctors discussed with her more equipment they needed to bring down to the castle, and how they would set it up. Colonel Corey Majda sat at the table, listening with an intent focus. Tall and dark, with regular features, she had the classic aquiline profile of a Raylican noblewoman. And so she should; the House of Majda was the most elevated of the nobility, second in status only to the Ruby Dynasty. Majda’s warrior queens had served the Ruby Pharaoh for five millennia.

As Matriarch of her House, Corey reigned over the Majda financial empire, which spanned many star systems and included some of the most lucrative businesses in the Skolian Imperialate. Her aunt was the one who actually ran their corporations; Corey was a career officer in the military. It wasn’t coincidence ISC had chosen her for this post. Not only did she serve as Eldri’s primary protector, in her position as commander of the orbital defense system, but she also represented the nobility and could present herself in that role to the Ruby Dynasty. A consummate officer, she would carry out her duties regardless, but on a personal level she could have taken insult that Eldri refused to acknowledge her presence. Instead she responded with sympathy and patience, earning Roca’s gratitude.

It relieved Roca, too, for Corey could have reacted much differently. This wasn’t the first time the Ruby Dynasty had given offense to Majda. Four years ago, Corey’s older sister Devon had been the Majda queen. The Assembly sought an alliance between the Ruby Dynasty and Majda for political reasons. After much negotiation, they reached a decision: Devon would marry a Ruby prince. She picked Vyrl. He had been fourteen when they told him of the betrothal—and two days later he had run off with Lily, a girl he had loved his entire life. The resulting mess caused an interstellar crisis. Then Devon shocked them all by abdicating her title to marry the man she loved, a commoner deemed unacceptable as her consort, a government clerk. Corey, her younger sister, had become queen.

Roca winced. In issues of the heart, Skolia had much to answer for with Majda. She herself had committed such an offense decades ago, during the negotiations for her betrothal to a Majda prince. Roca had married Eldri instead. It added insult to the injury that she chose a husband considered the antithesis of a proper Ruby consort. Roca would have abdicated for Eldri if necessary, but he was a Rhon psion, which meant he descended from the ancient Ruby Dynasty. Five millennia of isolation had separated his people from hers, so the connection was nebulous at best and some among the Assembly still considered him irredeemably inappropriate. That Roca loved him with all her heart mattered to none of them—except herself.

Now he refused to see her.

Denric was speaking to Corey, his Iotic words softened by the chime of his Lyshrioli vocal cords. “Can’t your doctors help my father’s sadness?”

Corey answered quietly. “If you mean, do we have treatments for depression, the answer is yes. But your father’s case is far more complex.” She glanced at Jase. “Dr. Heathland?”

Jase crossed his arms on the table, his green uniform dull against the lustrous blue glasswood. The circles under his eyes gave testament to his unending work on Eldrinson’s behalf this last day, since they had flown here from the Blue Dale caravan.

He spoke to both Roca and Denric. “How familiar are you with the genetic history of our ancestors, the first Raylicans?”

“I studied it at university,” Roca said. That had been half a century ago, though. “I have some medical knowledge stored in my spinal node, but I would have to sort through it for details.”

“I’ve learned some with my tutors,” Denric said. His mop of curly blond hair made him look younger than his sixteen years, but he had always been mature for his age. “I don’t know a lot of specifics.”

“It’s important to King Eldrinson’s situation,” Jase said. “The Ruby Empire colonists were stranded for almost five thousand years across many star systems. Most of those populations were genetically engineered, usually to adapt to their colony world and sometimes, like here—well, we don’t know why. And populations can shift even more during five millennia.”

“Well, yes,” Roca said. “But the same is true of our ancestors on Raylicon.”

“Yes.” Jase inclined his head to her. “The Raylicans were also separated for thousands years from the peoples of Earth, and had to adapt to living on another world. That alone would cause their population to select for distinct characteristics compared to our siblings on Earth. Our ancestors also learned genetic engineering. They must have been desperate. With such a small population, they didn’t have enough genetic diversity to remain viable. So they created that diversity themselves. The result of it all? Humans have split into a range of different classes.”

“How is that different from new races?” Denric asked.

Jase rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “The distinctions are greater. Some of the more diverse humanoid strains can no longer interbreed. It makes us different species. They aren’t Homo sapiens, technically.”

“But the peoples of Raylicon,” Roca said. “They’re the basis for what we call human, yes?”

Jase shifted his weight in his chair. “Actually, no, Your Highness. The people of Earth are the original humans. We call them Alpha class. Raylicans are Beta class.”

As an empath she could sense that he was uneasy telling her that, but she didn’t know why. The title he used gave her a good idea, though; as a Ruby heir she was a Highness and as consort to the “King of Skyfall” she was a Majesty. She actually had more power as an Assembly Councilor, but the romanticized legend of her marriage to Eldri had swamped out the more pragmatic aspects of her life. She wondered how Jase saw the royal family, if he hesitated to correct a simple mistake she made about genetics. It wouldn’t occur to her to resent his comment. Most military personnel knew the Ruby Dynasty primarily through Kurj, though. Her son expected the truth regardless of how unpalatable it might be, but his iron-hard personality could make officers reluctant to disagree with him.

Curiosity sparked in Denric’s gaze. “I’m not Beta. I remember that from genetics last year.”

Jase’s posture eased. “Yes. That’s right.”

“I’m Gamma class,” Roca said. She recalled that much.

“Yes.” The doctor nodded to her. “You, your father Jarac, your son Kurj, your sons Althor and Kelric, and perhaps your daughter Chaniece, though her DNA is more mixed. The metallic components in your bodies, the extra size and muscle density, and the neural structures that confer such great empathic strength but less mental dexterity than other empaths—it is all part of what we call Gamma.”

“It’s not common, though, is it?” Denric said. “Not if we don’t even all fit into it.”

“Beta is the most widely known strain.” Jase glanced at Majda. The colonel inclined her head, her upward tilted eyes as dark as ebony. To Denric, Jase said, “Most members of the noble Houses are Beta, as was your grandmother and the current Ruby Pharaoh.”

Roca could see where he was going. “And my husband?”

Jase brushed back a stray lock of his hair, which he wore in a cap of loose brown curls just short enough to satisfy regulations. “We know a lot more now than when you first came here, but we’ve a great deal to learn about the Lyshrioli. This world has at least two classes of humans we’ve never seen. Maybe three.”

She thought of the differences between her and Eldri. “Like the people of Dalvador and Rillia.”

“That’s right,” Jase said. “The most common class by far is the Rillians, which includes the people of Dalvador. The hinged, four-digit hands are probably the most obvious difference. And the unusual hair color, the different shades of purple and lavender.” He glanced at Denric. “You’re registered as Rillian class, with aspects of both Gamma and even some Blue Dale Archer. Your brothers Eldrin, Del-Kurj, and Vyrl are also Rillian, though Vyrl has a bit more Gamma.”

Denric held up his hand and flexed his fingers, all four of them and his sturdy thumb. Then he folded his hand lengthwise along the hinge, bringing his two smaller fingers flush against his larger index and middle fingers. “I was born with a vestigial thumb. The doctors made it whole.”

Roca remembered when she and Eldrinson had faced the decision: what would they do about their babies’ hands? They had no need to worry for most of the children. Eldrin had a normal Lyshrioli hand, with four fingers and a hinge. So did Del-Kurj and Shannon. Althor, Soz, Chaniece, Aniece, and Kelric had hands like hers, with four fingers, a thumb, and no hinge. But Denric and Vyrl had been born with partial thumbs and hinges, their hands a mix of the two types, functional as neither. For Vyrl, the hinge had been too deformed to reconstruct, so the doctors rebuilt his hand to the human norm, with four fingers and a thumb. For Denric, they fixed both his thumb and the hinge. It gave him advantages of both structures, though having a thumb made it harder to use the hinge.

“Your hands had problems because you aren’t pure Rillian,” Jase told him.

“You said I was like a Blue Dale Archer.” Denric set his hand back on the table, palm down. “But I don’t feel that way. Not like my brother Shannon.”

“Genetically you aren’t as close as Shannon,” Jase said. “But you do have some of the DNA.” He paused, his face thoughtful. “We know much less about the Archers than the Rillians. We have their DNA, but we’ve only just met living, full-blooded Archers. They have the same bone structure as everyone else here, but their skeletons are less massive, more airy. Their brains are markedly different from Rillians. Actually, from any other humans we’ve classified.”

Roca thought of Shannon, her distant, otherworldly son. “Archers go into trances easily, yes?”

“We think so,” Jase said. “They apparently have less analytic ability than most humans and more emotional capacity. They don’t seem to separate their emotions into individual moods. It all flows together for them.”

It fit with what Roca knew of Shannon. “They’re restless, too. They don’t like cities.”

“They don’t even seem comfortable about the other humans here,” Jase said.

Colonel Majda spoke. “You said Lyshriol had a third class.”

Jase rubbed his chin. “Possibly the women called Memories. We aren’t sure yet if they differ enough from the Rillians to qualify as a different class.”

“What about my husband?” Roca asked. She didn’t like to discuss her family’s private life and genetics in front of these officers, who were at best only acquaintances. Many of them were strangers she knew only by name and their dossiers. But she would do whatever was necessary to heal Eldri’s wounds, including those that went beyond his physical injuries.

“Your husband is primarily Rillian,” Jase said. “He also shows traits of the Blue Dale Archers, and the Memories, who may be even rarer than the Archers.”

Colonel Majda spoke quietly to Roca. “We’re learning to understand his medical condition even as the doctors treat him.”

“You’ve all been studying Eldri for years,” Roca said. Grousing about the ISC doctors and their tests was one of his favorite pastimes.

“This is true,” Jase said. “And we know a lot more than we did twenty years ago. But it takes more than two decades to understand even one new class of humans, let alone three.”

Roca tensed. “Are you saying you can’t treat my husband?”

Jase spoke with assurance. “We can treat him. But we must take extraordinary care. His brain has many differences. The situation is complicated because as a Rhon psion he also has more neural structures than other people. Add that to his epilepsy and the problems multiply. We don’t know how he will respond.”

At least Jase was honest with her. She had always appreciated that about him.

Roca turned a cool gaze on Majda. “And my son Shannon?”

The colonel had the decency to look uncomfortable. “My people must hold him at the port. But please be assured he has come to no harm.”

Roca wasn’t reassured. “When will you let him go?”

Majda met her gaze. “I’m sorry, Councilor Skolia. But he murdered a powerful man, one highly placed among the Trader aristocracy. We can’t ignore that.”

Roc stared at her in disbelief. “You’ve seen what that ‘highly placed’ monster did to my husband.”

Majda only said, “I’m sorry.”

Roca knew, logically, that they had to hold him. But all she could see was Shannon kneeling in the tent where the Archers had brought Eldrinson, tears running down his face as he spoke in jagged, heartbroken bursts to his dying father. She wanted to rage against Majda, against Vitarex Raziquon, against all the Traders who thought they had a right to torture people and destroy lives for their own pleasure, against a universe that would allow such atrocities. None of that would help her husband or son, but it took a conscious effort on her part to hold back the words that wanted to explode out of her.

“When may I see my son?” she asked.

“Anytime you wish.” Majda seemed relieved to give a positive answer. “As long as Prince Shannon remains in custody.”

In custody. That meant the port. Roca’s shoulders sagged. She would go to him, but she couldn’t leave Windward until she knew—until she believed—Eldri would live.

“Can I talk to Shannon through the web?” Roca asked. To reach the port from here required routing it through the ODS, which could be construed as using military systems for private use.

Mercifully, the colonel just said, “Of course.”

“Thank you.” It would mean a great deal to Shannon to hear about his father’s condition from her rather than strangers.

One of the officers, a woman in the gray-green uniform of a lieutenant in the Pharaoh’s Army, was studying a screen on her wrist gauntlet. She looked up at them. “Dr. Heathland, I’m getting a summons from King Eldrinson’s medical console.”

Jase tapped his own gauntlet. “Got it.”

“Is Eldri in trouble?” Roca asked.

“It isn’t a warning alarm, ma’am.” The young woman spoke with reassurance. “His Majesty just woke up.”

Jase rose to his feet. “I’ll go check.”

Roca stood up as well, followed by everyone else at the long table. She and Jase regarded each other across its width. They both knew Eldri had refused to see anyone but Jase.

“Walk with me to his suite,” Jase suggested. “We can take it from there.”

Roca nodded. “Thank you.”

They went to a stairway set against one wall. Four steps led up to a square landing; from there, the stairs turned at a right angle and ran up along the wall, bordered by a fine banister of carved emerald glasswood. Roca walked up them with Jase, remembering all the times she and Eldri had climbed these stairs, starting that first night they dined together in this hall, a meal of bubbles in more varieties than she could ever have imagined, from sweet to tangy to bitter. After rounds of wine, Eldri had taken her up here, to the landing at the top of the stairs. They had stood together gazing out at the hall where people mingled below, laughing beneath clusters of red and green bubbles that hung from glasswood rafters, the hall turned golden by hundreds of candles. That night, she had slept for the first time in Eldri’s arms. The memory made her ache. Would Eldri never stand here with her again?

Roca paused on the landing. She could see her son Denric at the table below, talking with Colonel Majda. She had wondered, since the disaster of Vyrl’s betrothal to Devon Majda, if Corey would offer for Denric. The Assembly still wanted the Majda Matriarch to marry a Ruby prince, but they had mercifully backed off after the last fiasco, willing to let matters take a more natural course. Denric would be a good choice for Corey, but Roca hoped nothing came of it in the near future. She couldn’t bear to have another of her children leave now.

As Corey spoke into the comm on her gauntlet, Denric rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. Roca knew she might soon do the same if her gathering tears began to fall. She didn’t want to cry, not with all these people here, but she didn’t know how much longer she could hold back.

Jase spoke quietly. “Councilor?”

Startled, Roca turned to him. “My apologies.”

Sympathy showed in his face. He opened the door for her, a purple glasswood portal that seemed to glow from within. It didn’t surprise Roca that Eldri had retreated here. The beauty of Windward soothed. Lyshriol had no wood, but its stained-glass trees were lovelier to her than all the conventional forests on other terraformed worlds. The trees here had probably been an experiment; the Raylican people of the ancient Ruby Empire hadn’t had much genetic material to work with in creating life for their new worlds, only a few plants and animals from Earth, along with increasingly misty histories of their ancestral home world.

They followed a corridor where glasswood mosaics graced the bluestone walls with scenes of the mountains. A few showed stylized birds in the sky—except Lyshriol had no birds. Roca suspected they depicted ships that had brought the colonists here. Windward was old, immensely old. The original colonists had probably carved this castle out of the mountains. The Lyshrioli people now had nothing resembling the technology they would need to achieve such a feat or build it to endure for thousands of years.

Roca paused at a wall niche with the statue of a female Archer sculpted out of lavender stone. Dressed in a tunic that came to midthigh, she held a large bow in her four-fingered, hinged hand. Beautiful and leanly muscled, she epitomized the ideal of female power valued during the Ruby Empire, which had been a matriarchy.

Over the millennia, the culture here had shifted. The same genetic anomaly that produced the phenomenal Memories among Lyshrioli women had also included fatal recessives. Thousands of years ago, it had become more pronounced and decimated the female population, leaving women far outnumbered by men. The culture evolved patriarchal aspects then, including the idea that only men went to war. They couldn’t risk losing their few childbearing women in combat. Eventually the population reestablished a balance among men and women. The fatal mutations associated with the Memory traits had disappeared, either because all the women who carried it died out or because the gene pool shifted. Few women carried the Memory genes now, but those who did no longer died.

Roca touched the statue of the Archer. Sauscony. They had named their second daughter for this Lyshrioli goddess of war. Had she known how prophetic that name would become, would she have chosen another? No. Nothing would change her daughter’s nature, nor would she have wanted to see her wild, brilliant daughter constrained.

Jase spoke softly. “Ma’am?”

“I’m sorry. I must seem distracted today.” She went with him down the hall, to a stone archway framed with engravings of bubbles. A curtain hung in the entrance, sparkling strings of iridescent beads. Beyond it waited the suite she and Eldrinson shared here at Windward. Except they no longer shared it. Now she slept in another suite down the hall.

Jase pulled aside the beaded strings, making them clink and rattle together, inviting her to enter. She walked into the circular foyer with a cushioned bench running around its wall. Engraved stone moldings bordered the ceiling. Across the foyer, next to a purple glasswood door, a man sat at a console that hadn’t been there before today. Neither she nor Eldri would have tolerated such obvious ISC tech at Windward. Now Roca was deeply grateful they could bring down what they needed to care for him here instead of taking him to the battle cruiser Ascendant, that gigantic military city orbiting Lyshriol. It would have destroyed his spirit.

The lieutenant at the console wore a jumpsuit similar to Jase’s uniform, with the same insignia on his chest, a green vine curling around a silver staff, all superimposed on a blue sun, the symbol medical practitioners used in all branches of ISC.

Jase went over to him. “How is he?”

The officer saluted him. “Quiet, sir. He dozes, I think.”

Jase glanced at Roca, hesitating. She knew why. Would Eldri know if she went inside his room? He had forbidden her, but he slept now.

“I don’t think a few moments will hurt,” Jase said.

“Thank you,” she said softly. Then she opened the door.

Eldrinson drifted in a sea of warmth, his mind like flotsam on his consciousness. He could almost ignore the pain that tugged at his legs. It had become distant, bearable, an irritant. He had slept today sometime after the doctors crowded around him in the Archer’s tent. He hoped no one else would talk with him now. He had nothing to say. They had taken away most of his pain. It was enough. He needed nothing else.

He became aware of breathing. His mind glided while he listened. Eventually he said, Who’s there?

No answer.

It took Eldrinson a while to realize he hadn’t spoken. He opened his mouth, closed it, then wet his lips. “Who is there?”

A voice came from nearby. “Dr. Heathland, Your Majesty.”

So he was Majesty today. When they referred to him as Roca’s consort, he was Highness. Perhaps someday they would make up their minds.

Heathland. The port doctor. He could live with that. He rather liked Jase, though he rarely admitted it. It would ruin his reputation as being impossible for Skolian doctors, which might encourage them to spend more time poking and prodding him.

A fire crackled. The fragrance of burning glasswood scented in the air. The room felt warm, but not overly so. For the first time in days he didn’t shiver. That fire was to his left, which was where the hearth would be if he was lying in the bed of his suite at Windward. This mattress felt familiar, the way it sagged a bit. He recognized the fresh, clean smell of the quilt. Relief spread through him, so intense his eyes felt hot. It hadn’t been a hallucination. He truly was at Windward.

“How do you feel?” a man asked. He was right next to the bed now.

“Heathland?” Eldrinson asked.

“Yes, it’s me.” He rested his palm on Eldrinson’s forehead. “Your fever has receded.”

“I had a fever?” Eldrinson had noticed little else but the pain.

“Very much so.” Jase’s voice soothed. But something bothered Eldrinson, interfering with the mindless oblivion he longed to reach. Someone was here. Her presence hurt.

“Roca?” he asked. “Is that you?” He couldn’t bear for her to see him this way, a crippled shell of the man who had loved, protected, and raised a family with her.

Her words came from across the room. “It is me.”

“You must go. I will not see you.” It was true literally as well as figuratively.

“Eldri—”

“Go!” He pushed up on his elbow, his face turned in her direction. New pain sparked in his legs. “Leave me.” He heard the doctor breathing, but the man didn’t interfere.

Roca spoke quietly. “Very well. I will be downstairs if you change your mind.”

The door opened, then closed.

Eldrinson almost cried out for her to return. He bit back the impulse and lay back down. Part of him wanted nothing more than for her to lie with him, to hold him in her arms, to give him her beloved comfort. But the thought of her touching his shattered limbs made him ill.

For a while he listened to the doctor breathe. In, out. In, out. Eventually he said, “How long will you stand there?”

“Not too long,” Heathland said. “I’m scanning your body.”

“I feel nothing.” Usually they laid one of those infernal tapes on his neck.

“I can take readings without touching you. They aren’t as detailed, though.”

“What do your readings tell you?”

Silence followed his question.

“Doctor Heathland?”

Jase spoke quietly. “The bones of your legs are pulverized. You also have a massive infection.”

“Oh.” Eldrinson had already known he lost the limbs. Still, it was harder to hear than he expected. “Will you amputate?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Essentially?”

“We can rebuild them, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t call me that.” He felt about as majestic at a slig-slug worming its way through the bole of a glasswood tubule.

“What would you like me to call you?” Jase asked.

“Eldrinson.”

“All right.” His gentle voice never changed.

After a moment, Eldrinson said, “How can you rebuild my legs?”

“Do you know what biomech means?”

“No.” He had heard the word, though.

“It is a medical technology.” The doctor laid a smooth strip against his neck.

Eldrinson grimaced. Jase had decided to use the holotape after all. He resisted the urge to pull it away. “My son Althor uses that word. Biomech.”

“Jagernauts have it in their bodies.”

“I am no Jagernaut.”

“This is true. But we can give you biomech similar to theirs. It will control the structural components we use to rebuild your skeleton.”

Eldrinson tried to get his mind around the words. They wanted to give him mechbot legs, like the small creatures that cleaned his house when he wasn’t looking. “That is revolting.”

Another silence. Emotions leaked past Jase’s mental barriers. Eldrinson’s response had startled him.

“Why is it revolting?” Jase asked.

“I am not a machine.”

“Your new legs would look no different than the old.”

Eldrinson didn’t believe him. “Would I walk like before?”

“I don’t know.”

That gave him pause. He had expected reassurances. Healers were notorious for telling you less than you wanted to know, and with more sugar than the news warranted. He wished they would realize how aggravating it was for them hold back the truth when an empath could tell they were pretending. He should have remembered Jase had never been that type. It was another reason Eldrinson liked him.

“Why don’t you know?” Eldrinson asked.

“We aren’t sure if your body will accept the changes.”

“Oh.” He wanted to ask more, but fatigue weighed on him. The pain in his legs was increasing and he had exhausted himself, though he had done little more than lie in bed.

“Are you thirsty?” Jase asked.

Thirsty? Actually, very much so, now that he thought of it.

“Yes,” he said.

A clink came from the nightstand. Then Jase set a glasswood tumbler into his hand. Lifting his head, Eldrinson drank the water with relief. When he finished, he let his head fall back on the pillows. Jase took the glass from his hand.

The pain in his legs was growing. Softly he said, “I hurt.”

“I can increase your medication.”

“Medication?” Eldrinson heard the strain in his voice.

“We injected you with a nanomed species that dispenses a painkiller into your body. Each med carries a picochip. Via a remote, we can tell those chips to increase the dosage they release.”

Eldrinson wondered if the words made sense. Twenty years ago it would have sounded like gibberish, and right now it wasn’t much better. It was hard to think when he hurt so much. “Can you make the pain go away?”

“I think so.”

“Do that. Please.”

“All right.” Tapping noises came from the nightstand. “You should notice a change soon.”

“Good.” Eldrinson whispered the word.

Then he lay there, enduring it. He didn’t notice a change. The agony went on and on.

Gradually, though, he began to feel detached from the pain. After a while it hardly bothered him at all.

“Eldrinson?” Jase asked. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” He felt sleepy. “Can’t see you, though.”

“We can help that, too.”

His mind began to drift. “Robot eyes? Click, click, Eldri, you’re blinking.”

“Eldri?” Now Jase sounded confused.

“Yes?” Eldrinson asked.

“Oh. I see. It is your nickname.”

“Only Roca may use it.” Eldrinson yawned. “And Garlin.”

“Garlin?”

“My cousin. He has a farm outside Rishollina now. You would have called him my regent, when I was young.” His eyes closed, though it made no difference to what he saw. Or didn’t see. “He raised me.”

“Ah,” Jase said.

Eldrinson slipped into the welcome oblivion of sleep, where he wouldn’t face the horror of what they wanted to do to his legs and eyes.