MT. AMURA, NUALA
SIXTYDAY, LAUDS (MOONSET)
Braan hesitated at the partition. He knew it was traditional to be as noisy as possible when waking the members of the wedding party, but they had been up so late, and Liel slept so soundly. Oh, why not. They could not complain; he was alone and had nothing to pound on. The marriage of Ronüviel and Moran deserved some boisterous celebration.
“Up! Everybody up in there, hurry, hurry, it is a bannsday! You have been chosen; now you are called! Awake!” There was no sound. The guaard before the door did not move. Then the temporary partition folded back, and Teloa stood there, eyeing him balefully, completely bundled in a blanket, her hair a wreath of light,.
“I hope there is precedent for this,” she began, her words dripping ice water.
“He is being nice, Tay” came a sleepy voice from the darkness within. “When Libra got married, I woke up to a twenty-piece band! Go away, Braan, we shall be there.”
“We are meeting in the assembly room before we go to the garedoc. Arrez will have candle straws for you. Do not eat anything!” Braan added as a reminder. Teloa, still amazed over the twenty-piece band, closed the partition. Controlling his laughter, Braan slipped back up the passageway toward his room, his guaard a shadow at his back.
He was so involved in thoughts about the wedding that he nearly ran into Shinar as she staggered around a corner. The Atare took one look at her face and seized her arm. Looking wildly for the sanitation room, he ripped open the partition and dragged her to a portable commode.
“Get a healer!” Braan yelled at the roommate who had been awakened by Shinar’s movement. The woman disappeared.
“Atare, I am sorry—you should not,” Shinar gasped out between heaves.
“Be quiet and let your stomach settle,” he replied, nodding to another bunk mate who had brought a blanket. With the guaard’s help the two of them managed to force Shinar flat on her back in the aisle. In a few moments the first roommate returned, Elana behind her. The doctor looked pale for early rising, Braan noticed, but she was not only the final medical authority, she was mother as well. Even with the young adults bunking together by age and sex until proper family units could be constructed, parental rights remained.
The healer checked her daughter’s forehead as she pulled out her diagnostician’s monitor. Shinar still perspired, her expression wide-eyed but otherwise alert.
“Just my stomach, nothing else,” Shinar said, anticipating her mother’s questions. Elana played with the dials on her tiny computer, her face betraying nothing. The roommates stood in the doorway, visibly worried.
“Congratulations, you are going to be a mother.” The bunk mates responded with gasps of surprise and joy, even as puzzled expressions crossed their faces. “You two—I left the rest of my bag in the life shelter and I need my comp connector to punch in a milk requisition. Go!” The surprised young women took off down the corridor.
“Fortunate you are billeted so far from other rooms,” Braan observed dryly.
“Do you know the father?” Elana went on, lowering her voice despite the absence of Shinar’s friends. “If so, he should know before the whole city does.” Braan smiled faintly at Elana’s consideration, as much as at Shinar’s bewilderment. It clearly had not occurred to the adolescent that she was pregnant. “And how long have you been throwing up in the morning?”
“Not—how far along?”
“Perhaps thirty, fiftyday. Normally we would not say anything yet, but it is bound to get around. Everything does these days.”
“Lyte is the father.” Shinar sat up slowly. “I am all right, just a little green. It passes quickly. I thought I was just excited about the wedding.”
“It should pass in an eightday, if you are like I used to be. I rarely had discomfort after the first sixtyday, until right before the delivery. Atare, I—“ Elana turned to Braan.
“I honor the confidence, and there is no problem,” Braan said quickly.
Elana frowned. “I hope no problem.... I, too, am with child. A full hundredday gone, though it does not show through the robe. And it has been difficult this time, harder. I do not know if the difficulty is the new radiation, stress, my age—“ She brushed Shinar’s hair out of her face. “We must monitor you carefully. I fear only ... I fear what the radiation may have done to his genes.”
oOo
It was not a scare tactic, Braan realized as he ducked under the drape and walked down the narrow, winding private aisle to his room. Elana did not tell Shinar about the genetic danger to frighten her—the doctor wished to share all the consequences with a fellow healer. And her daughter took it well, almost abstractly, Braan thought. He doubted that the realization that she was carrying a totally new life had truly hit her. Two more of the people, praise Mendülay! He quickly pulled on the traditional embroidered ivory shirt and black pants. Setting the chain of office around his neck, Braan grabbed his black cape and dashed back up the aisle toward the assembly.
Almost everyone was there; they all had a specific role to play. The bride and groom each had three attendants, and to be asked was a great honor. Braan knew that Jaacav and Liel would be two of Roe’s companions and expected Liel to wear the flowers of the future candle, as the youngest woman usually did. But the color of Jaac’s blossoms marked her as the past candle. Who—? He scanned the gathering, and his gaze fell on Teloa, the orange petals of the present candle entwined in her hair. A feeling of surprise and pleasure washed over him, as well as a slight chastisement for being unobservant. He had come upon Roe and Teloa talking to each other many times—he had been unaware they had grown so close. Many friendships had both blossomed and withered in the last sixtyday.
Lyte entered the room unobtrusively. Braan studied him as the red firerose buds were arranged down one of the man’s shoulders. He looked very uncomfortable.
“You cannot mask before us anymore, can you?” Braan murmured. “The illness has weakened you.”
“Atare?” a guaard warrior asked.
“Nothing.” So Lyte was the past candle. His thoughts were interrupted by Elana, her lovely face beaming, bearing in her hand orange firerose blossoms. He realized she was speaking to him, explaining Shinar was to have been flower bearer but still felt unwell. Braan tried to give the scientist his full attention but knew he had failed when she gave his shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze in parting.
Interesting to see who was chosen for each candle. He remembered his own wedding ... not painfully; too much had occurred to think of anything without allowing a proper perspective. Not fireroses. What had been in season during his ceremony? Moran entered the room and also Braan’s thoughts. The Atare scrutinized his sister’s chosen. Almost grim, too solemn for one so handsome. He had chosen to wear the traditional ivory pants and shirt of the groom. Braan refocused and noticed Lyte wore a Nualan outfit identical to his own, except that he had on his formal military cape. What to do for Moran, what to do about Lyte? The blonde warrior was paying a lot of attention to Teloa ... Shinar and Lyte. The Atare hid a smile as Teloa laughingly avoided the second officer.
“Atare?” He turned slightly. Jared. In wedding attire, yellow fireroses of the future on his shoulder? He had been in the bed next to Moran’s while they were in the life shelter. What had gone on... ? Deveah’s Jared. The one good thing Deveah did in his life, helping to bring that boy into existence.
“Jared. You look much better than you did.”
“Yes, Atare. Thank you.” Jared flushed a bit, both confused and embarrassed. “The high priest asked me to give you this.” The boy handed him the stiff, woven tapered straws he was to use to light his candle.
A murmur at the door captured their attention. Standing, Braan was able to see the entrance of Ronüviel. They had found the family dress—he felt tears momentarily blind him, remembering the older sister who was the last one to wear that gown. A riot of ivory syluan, twinkling in the pre-dawn shadows. He knew he was stepping toward her, as the others did; to touch one with child who was to be wedded was a lucky thing. Moran had been warned and wisely held back. Braan found himself with a handful of hair and ivory lace. Roe suddenly whirled and embraced him.
“Lucky, indeed,” she said, chuckling, meeting his glance. She quickly, gently touched the corner of his eye with her thumb, stealing the tear; and—holding it to her lips, accepting the gift, be it joy or sorrow—she looked for Moran.
A great deal of pain seemed to fall visibly from the groom’s shoulders. Lyte stood nearby, his face fluctuating between confusion and impassiveness. Now the group cleared the way, and Ronüviel walked up to Moran. She moved gracefully, considering her condition; she looked near her time, but of course, that was because it was twins. Roe extended her fist to Moran. Moran understood her gesture and cupped his hand. She hovered above it and set the Stone of the Seri in the center of his palm. Liel laughed out loud as Moran folded his fingers, and the spell was broken, everyone full of cheers, congratulations and admonishments.
Ah, the stones. Dug out of the ground in their final faceted form except for polishing, they were an old tradition. A Ragäree of ancient times had begun the practice, giving one to her lover off-world so that when he arrived on Nuala without her, none would mistake who he was. They were still called serae stone. Their color was a deep burgundy wine, and they were as hard as diamonds. He had given Enid one. Normally Roe would have surprised Moran with it before the ceremony, but as always now, there had been no time.
“Atare, will you please?” Arrez indicated he should take his place in the procession. Braan stepped up next to Teloa, the proper distance behind Lyte, and took the woman’s elbow. She flushed crimson under her acquired tan.
“Do not worry, we shall keep you from making mistakes. Arrez explained it all to you, did he not?” Braan whispered, allowing her to take his arm. She nodded quickly. The line began to move.
Lyte and Jaacav led into the garedoc, packed to capacity with Nualans both Amuran and outlander. A carillon announced the hour of prime. Every single person held a candle except the wedding party. The blaze of light within the cavern was still greater than the dawning. Tay released Braan’s arm as she went to stand next to Jaac on the opposite side of the altar. Liel was the third of the trio. Such a range of emotion visible on their faces. The cynical look of Jaac as she eyed Lyte, who was across from her; Tay’s hesitant joy; Liel’s exuberant glow. Braan wondered if he, Lyte and the boy contrasted as much.
Moran and Ronüviel were last in, the wandering melody of a gattar covering the soft undercurrent of the gathering’s pleasure. It was a good idea, this wedding, Braan thought briefly, not sure that he should have dismissed the idea of a coronation. Then he was lost in the opening words of the ceremony.
“We gather, brethren, at the dawning of a new day, to witness an occasion as old as mankind and as young as morning. We come together to join in the eternal mystery and gift of our Lord High Mendülay—that joy of two who become one and yet remain two,” Arrez began. “I offer to you now Ronüviel and Moran. This woman and this man wish to enrich their separate existence by sharing a life and by bringing new life to our people. I ask you now—be witnesses.”
“We are witnesses,” the crowd responded.
“You stand before us, man and woman, bringing with you past and present, facing the future yet to come. You each bring three persons, representing your lives and our ancient godhead,” Arrez said directly to the pair. “Behold the first of the four great elements: fire. It purifies and purges body and soul; it lights and warms our being; it represents Mendülay within our hearts. Come.” The priest turned and walked to the eternal flame, which stood to one side of the altar. Lighting a woven taper, he carried the tiny flame to the great, dark, bowl-shaped fire basin and ignited the wood within with a touch. There was a pause as they waited for the fire to settle into steady flame. Then Ronüviel stretched out a hand to Moran, and they stood facing one another across the fire basin. Braan knew it was not purely for decoration that the sleeves of the wedding gown and shirt were slit, baring the lower arm when it was bent.
Now the light-bearers’ role came into play. Braan studied the concentration in Lyte’s face, wondering if the man was trying to translate each phrase or if he waited for Jaac’s movement to signal his own. Arrez was pronouncing the ode to the past life, Roe and Moran repeating it. When they finished speaking, Lyte and Jaac both moved to the eternal flame, separately lighting their woven plaits and going to the altar. Seven candles were set up upon it in an inverted V tier. Silently the two lit the candles at each end.
When they returned to their places, Arrez began the speech of the present, short and direct, the repeated last words signaling Braan’s movement: “All that I have been, all that I am and all that I shall be, Mendülay willing, I shall share with you.” Braan nodded fractionally to Tay, and they stepped out to light their straws. Liel and Jared followed them a few moments later, and when Braan finally ceased to study the firelight reflecting from Tay’s hair, he realized the elemental ceremony was continuing. Arrez was done with the discussion of air, the mighty wind of the spirit, and had moved on to soil, the source of all nourishment. Braan watched as the high priest sprinkled the symbolic dirt over their clasped hands and into the firepit, ritually purifying it. Now water was poured over the couple’s hands, steam rising into the heights of the cavern. Braan knew from experience that their arms were far enough above the basin to avoid the heat and boiling steam, but it looked dangerously convincing.
The elemental offerings were through. Arrez had silently, reverently set the most ancient symbols of union and sacrifice, both essential in a marriage, before the eternal flame. No words—the wheat and wine needed none. Then, releasing one hand, the couple walked to face the altar. Taking up the prepared woven plaits that were lying on the block, they each set the tip in their three candles, lit by those individuals closest to them. Together they lit the center candle. The company awaited the final words. Moran and Ronüviel turned back to face Arrez and the people. The priest raised his hands in blessing.
“Know that these words are among the most powerful in our language, and that they are spoken in the love of our Holy Mendülay. They bind in this world and all worlds, this life and all lives. It is finished, and it is begun. All people are one people; all times timeless; all loves one love; all gods, one God. You are One.” And when Arrez had spoken the last short sentence, A-tu Gare, a deafening roar broke out. Lyte and Tay were both startled, but Roe had spoken to Moran; they raised their clasped hands in a show of triumph as the assembly, as one, extinguished their candles and poured out to greet the dawn.
MT. AMURA
TIERCE
The normal wedding ritual called for a rest day full of feasting, games and song. Fortunately the weather cooperated and though cold, it was not unpleasant. The elders sat around firepits with wine glasses in hand, talking about the things that had remained since time immortal—the children, the neighbors, the harvest, the wedding. Sometimes new topics slipped in, such as the construction of the new city: Nuamura, as they were now saying it. The children chased and hid and teased, and although there was not food in plenty, the cake was the best in anyone’s memory. Musicians played a succession of lively tunes, the flat field at the bottom of Mt. Amura’s foothills becoming a massive dance floor. And Ronüviel told a new story.
Braan sat as entranced as any of them, listening to the tale unfold in his mind. He could see it now: the blazing ships, the fierce battle, the brilliant deception to get on board a pirate vessel. Roe told it better than Baskh had, and Baskh had been the one to live it. The new Atare occasionally tore himself away from his sister’s words to study the faces of his people. They were enchanted, engrossed—some shed a few tears. Time heals wounds and fades memories, Braan thought. Even those who had chafed under Baskh Atare’s rule were involved in the story. Of course, it was about something that had happened long ago, before Baskh ruled. The crushing of the pirate gold trade by a clever ruse—
A hand touched his arm. Braan glanced around.
It was Kavan. “I think you had better come.”
Caught by this intriguing message, Braan stood and followed him. The young man threaded his way back through the crowd, finally ending up at the hill where Arrez had decreed the eternal flame would stand, its socket sheltered in a shrine of piled rock. On the altarpiece before it lay a scroll. Braan reached over and picked it up.
A real scroll, made of feathered, scraped tazelle hide. It bore the black-and-gold tassel of the Dragoche clan. Braan slid off the band and slowly unrolled the message.
“Can you understand it?” Kavan asked.
Braan read the epistle twice, to try and glean every possible meaning from the statement. Then he rolled it shut. “It is basically a message of greeting to the Ragäree on her wedding day,” Braan said slowly. He started walking back to the crowd. “Wishing her and her child health and long life. They are waiting. And they have some connection with Corymb.”
“How so?”
“The Cied place these to be found. True, I had no coronation, but we never came across one acknowledging me as Amura’s new ruler. They do not; they wait to see who shall come out on top. I wonder how long they have been dealing with Corymb....” Braan stopped talking and looked at Kavan. “I think we are about to enter into a war of nerves. See if you can slap Kalith out of his solitude. If you think I can help, find me. Use Shinar. The next twohundredday will tell if our house is to survive. Corymb is coming back—soon.”
“Another thing; a ship comes. From the north, the skywatcher says,” Kavan added, his face now creased with worry.
Braan gripped his shoulder, not sure if he wished to strengthen his little brother or draw strength from him. “It is long overdue. Have them bring any messages to my quarters. I need some time alone. And ... if you get around to it, some of the spice cake, when Roe and Moran cut it.” Braan managed a faint smile, Kavan returning it.
NONE
It was out of a sound sleep that Braan awoke. Someone was pounding on the metal family seal Kavan had hung next to the private corridor entrance. In the distance he heard the lulling sound of the gathering. Braan sat up, steadying himself against dizziness. He had not realized he was so tired.
The Nova had brought mostly good news. Every 3AV tape showed the Nualans entrenching themselves for winter, storing up food and clothing. Some cities were in better shape than others, and the throne was being asked to negotiate the trade of goods among them. Words came from the border cities—the Cied had suffered during the attack, even with the protection of the shield. There were no bomb shelters in the ciedär. So far, offers of help from the coast were being refused. The strongest people of the hot city had survived, Gid reported and were rebuilding their homes above ground and below. More news: Tinyan was pregnant, and there was a possibility the child was his. Braan’s fingers tightened in his blanket at the thought. Gid would return to Amura, but first there was work to be done in Tolis.
“Great joy and long life, Gid,” Braan said aloud, contemplating the responsibility of another child. Asiai.... He fingered the 3AVs and the Cied scroll, aware that he would have to call a synod meeting the next day.
“Atare! Come quickly!” The voice was urgent. Braan dropped the 3AVs and rushed down the corridor toward the west entrance. It took but a few moments to reach the outside, and when Braan did, he was not really surprised by what he saw.
Standing on the footpath leading into the mountain, surrounded by family, hangers-on and admirers, was Corymb. Braan saw that Arrez was also there; he was standing on the outer fringes of the crowd. The priest looked annoyed, an unnatural, impassive expression on his face. Acutely aware of the guaard behind him, the Atare drew close enough to hear Dielaan’s voice.
“I have heard much of this. I am very concerned about the seed shortage—building within the mountain, you say? I wonder how it will hold up during quakes?”
“There is no seed shortage,” Arrez said curtly but pleasantly.
Corymb turned a mild set of black eyes to the high priest. “Oh? Perhaps I was misinformed. I was told our chemicals are gone; that does tend to make many of our farming skills useless. No shortage yet, but that does not mean no problems next fall.” The edge of authority in Corymb’s voice vanished. He smiled, extending his arms as if to embrace the crowd. “Come, friends—we have returned in time for the wedding feast of our Ragäree. I must pay my respects. I would have come to you sooner, but I did not think I was so important to the people’s welfare that it was necessary for me to report in. And my sister’s daughter, Odelle, has been ill. Please have her husband take her to the healers immediately, so she may be diagnosed.”
The note of concern in Corymb’s voice appeared to be genuine. And why not? Odelle was the youngest of five children, none of them boys. And the other four had either died in adolescence or were dead from the bombing, Braan seeing no sign of them in the gathering. This frail, black-eyed young woman was just another power pawn. If she did not bear a healthy son and daughter, able to carry on the Dielaan title, it passed to another branch of the family. Only one generation without male issue was allowed. It would be Justinian and Url’s branch. Corymb would kill to prevent the title from changing hands; of that Braan was certain. Kill how many? For the second time that day Braan found himself thinking of Corymb and the Cied. Was it coincidence that Corymb missed the temple services on the day the bombs fell?
By now the delighted crowd had noticed Braan, and they parted like grass in the wind, clearing a path for their Atare. Corymb straightened at the sight of him, his response a nod. “Atare.”
“Corymb Dielaan.”
“Greetings to you, and eternal peace upon your predecessor.”
“Little enough did he find while living,” Braan remarked. “We have a council tomorrow, to deal with the news from the north. The computer in the back of the first level holds transcripts of what you have missed, both discussion and vote. I think you will find them interesting.” Braan slipped his hands in his pockets, clutching the hard, metallic object he had carried since he had taken it from the Durite’s body.
“Thank you for your words, Atare,” Corymb answered, nodding and gesturing as Arrez stepped to his side. “I am glad to see we understand each other’s priorities and thoughts. Other than my dear Odelle’s condition, my people’s situation is foremost in my mind.”
Simple words. To repeat them later was to wonder that they once held power. “I understand, Corymb. Most assuredly I understand.” With that Braan removed the metal marker from his pocket and pressed it into Corymb’s hand, the Durite thong still attached to it. The Dielaan glanced down at the unfinished piece of trine gold, even as Braan turned and walked away. Only Arrez saw the older man’s face become momentarily rigid before he slipped on a mask of puzzlement, looking oddly after his Atare.
“Shall we go to the Ragäree, Corymb?” Arrez asked, gesturing with his hand. Smiling demurely, Corymb led the way as if he had trod it all his life.
Braan fought to control himself as he rushed back to finish the 3AVs, wondering cynically how Ronüviel would receive Corymb. In his hurry he almost ran down Teloa, who had been watching the arrival from the obscurity of the cavern’s mouth.
“How—how could you even look at that man!” she whispered, staring after Corymb.
“I am sorry, that is twice today I nearly—” Braan stopped when her words registered. He studied the woman, blazing in her fury for the insult given to the throne and to him, and then he laughed. Tay was startled out of her anger and whirled toward him. Braan seized her hand and bowed to press it to his lips.
“Atare?”
“Teloa, did I forget to tell you how beautiful you look and how well you assisted in the wedding? It was a delight to pair with you.” He straightened and met her gaze. “I thank you for your concern and request you continue with those pointed questions. They keep me thinking; with Gid gone, Roe and Arrez alone do that for me, and both are increasingly occupied with other demands. Only you seem to have the nerve to—“
“Atare, I—“
“I insist!” Braan rolled on, ignoring her flaming cheeks. “You see us as an off-worlder, even as you become more Nualan. It is an important duality. And if you fear to jump in, you are welcome to ask permission first! Duty calls me, lady. I must finish those 3Avs, and then I shall send them to you. We shall need a synopsis by tierce tomorrow; things will start early, I am afraid.” Not waiting for her response, Braan quickly entered the caverns. He paused inside to let his heartbeat slow, amazed at his response. Troubled dreams, and Teloa had been in them ... not as a simple scripter. Shaking his head to clear it of such thoughts, Braan returned to his room.
THE GATHERING
COMPLINE
Lyte’s head was simply too full of wine. He looked for, and found, a rock more sheltered than most and slid down beside it. That was a mistake; if he didn’t end up falling asleep it would be a miracle. Clutching the mug of hot saffra he’d been carrying, he took a careful sip. Too bad it wasn’t coffee, he could use some caffeine.
“There you are!” Lyte was startled, but fortunately did not dump the drink all over himself. Shinar—where had she been all day? He had actually taken time out of his wanderings to seek her, something he rarely did. Usually his women sought him. Maybe with Kal. If that man didn’t shape up soon, blast him; Shinar needed him. “You look preoccupied, shall I come back?” the woman went on, hesitating to sit.
“No, no, I was looking for you earlier.”
“Ah-huh. Try again.”
Lyte looked annoyed. “Stop sounding like Moran. You’d know if I lied, wouldn’t you? Yes, I spent a large portion of the day admiring several ladies, and some of them reciprocated. Just for the records, I also like intelligent, beautiful company as an alternative—” He stopped when he saw her smile. Lords, I’m losing my sense of humor. It bothered him when he knew he was telling the truth.
“I am sorry. I shall not say it again, not even teasing.” She settled down next to him, both careless and confident of their relationship, Lyte slipping an arm around her. Snuggling into their woolen ponchos, thankful for the warmth, they watched the stars begin to pop out.
“Good thing this is what Roe calls south, I’d hate for it to be any colder,” Lyte said. “I get frostbite when my liquor’s iced.”
Shinar hugged him. “Up around Atare city the snow is very deep this time of winter. Tolis also should have snow. I hope they are protected from the weather.”
“Are you feeling better?” He looked down at her as she twisted slightly in his arms to see his face.
“What made you say that?”
“I heard you were ill this morning.”
It was dark behind the rock; she could not see his face, but his voice was concerned. She relaxed—her friends had respected her right to tell him before any others. “It passes. It is not really illness.”
“How can you have a hangover before the party?”
Shinar laughed. “It is because I am pregnant. It will go on for awhile.”
“You’re pregnant?” He sounded puzzled, not surprised. “You should have said something, we could have, well—for your comfort—”
“I just found out.” Shinar suddenly realized that Lyte had made no connection.
“I didn’t think that could be kept a secret from the mother,” Lyte was continuing.
“Or the father. It is ours, Lyte. It is barely fiftyday along. I am not even positive I have felt it move yet; it may be my imagination.” She paused, remembering he was off-world—knowing that they handled these things differently. She was not prepared for the reaction.
Lyte literally went rigid, as if he was afraid to move. There was no sound for a moment. “Ours?” A whisper, the question incredulous.
“You understand what this means, do you not?”
“Roe ... mentioned your customs—”
“But do you remember?” Shinar insisted, turning to face him. “It is ‘Oh, that is great, another little person, be sure to get more rest, drink plenty of fluids and take your vitamins,’ and that is it for now. Do you see? No more, no less.” The young woman did not know what else to say. Lyte had not relaxed in the slightest. He was clearly cold sober, though.
Lyte set down his mug, aware that he had begun to shake. Too much wine, way too much wine. No, you heard correctly, a child. Ours, mine. Lords, what have I done? He shifted, the firelight silhouetting him, staring out into darkness.
“Of course, that does not mean I can carry it to term. The extra radiation has caused many to lose babies or not conceive at all.” She gripped his shoulder. “You do not like children.”
“No, it’s not—” He lowered his head to hide his confusion. He did not want ties here. What had he done? How could he leave, should he take her, would she go? She loved another man! She also loved him, “differently.”
“Lyte, you do not have to marry me. Or support the child financially. Or include it in a will, even! You have given it life. The only other thing you owe it is love and consideration.”
“I think the other would be easier.” He turned back to her. “Shinar, I am hoping to leave this planet as soon as possible, I don’t belong here, and I am not totally convinced Moran belongs here! This is not fair to you, or it, or—“
“How?” she said bluntly.
“What?”
“How do you intend to get off Nuala?”
Lyte paused. “A ship—”
“What ship? Where? Except for the three that had skeleton crews on board, none escaped the bombing. Do you think precious metals will be used to build star transports when we are simply struggling to survive? Be realistic. Only Nualan ships pass the barrier. Even if the Griffon and the others made it to free space; to return through enemy lines to Nuala, and then return again to the Axis? Even I can tell a better fantasy!”
“Shinar, I—“ Lyte’s voice had changed subtly.
“All that is required of you is a little emotional support for me and a little affection for the child when it is born. Do not tell me you are incapable of giving it. Unwilling, possibly; afraid, yes. Unable, not likely.” She stopped, finished with her speech.
“Shinar, I can only try....”
Something in his voice made her reach up and touch his face. She gasped in amazement to find tears—just tears, no catastrophic upheaval behind them. She pulled him close. “Lyte?”
“It’s all right. I’m all right, it’s just—“ There was no easy way to explain his confusion. He carefully embraced her, suddenly fearful he might hurt her.
“I will not break, silly.”
“I am very ... surprised,” he said, his tone almost sheepish. “I guess I feel ... old. It’s hard to pretend to be a kid when you have one of your own.” The last sentence was a whisper.
Shinar held him tightly, trying to comfort him, trying to understand his fear and confusion which she felt as keenly as the cold. “Come on, it has been a long day. I need sleep!” She released him and pulled him to his feet, grabbing his mug as she did so. “You will feel more confident in the morning. All you have to do tonight is keep me warm, and if you cannot manage it, my bed has a nice comforter on it.”
Lyte laughed weakly. “I’ve never spent the night with a woman in my arms without—Well, maybe I’d better learn.” He faced her, trying to dredge up a smile. “I get cold sometimes, too.”