What made it even worse was that he understood their reasoning. He was more family-oriented than his older brothers, more suitable as a consort. If Majda needed an heir, she had to marry relatively soon, which left out his younger brothers. And more than anything, he understood the gift his parents wanted to give him, the chance to pursue his love of dance, something he could never do here on Lyshriol.
It didn't matter. He couldn't marry a female warrior. He couldn't do it. Just as men never danced on Lyshriol, so women never fought in battle. His stomach clenched. If he revealed how he felt about Lily, his parents would have her sent away, to remove a distraction that might interfere with his betrothal. He couldn't bear the thought.
He struggled for calm. "I don't want to marry."
Eldrinson spoke in the kindly voice Vyrl had trusted his entire life, but which gave him no mooring now. "It's all right. You will have time to get to know her, to feel more comfortable with this situation."
"Why can't Althor marry her?" Vyrl thought of his brother; at seventeen, Althor was preparing to go off-world to a military academy. "He wants that life. He would be perfect for her."
"You're the one she offered for."
"But why! Althor is older. So is Del-Kurj." In truth, Vyrl couldn't imagine anyone marrying his wild brother, Del-Kurj, but that didn't make this any easier.
Eldrinson's face turned thoughtful. "I can only guess as to Devon's motives in regards to Althor. Majda is a conservative matriarchy. I suspect Devon doesn't want a fighter pilot for a husband. As for Del-Kurj… " He made an angry wave with his hand. "Let's just say he has had a few indiscretions."
Few, Vyrl would have laughed if he hadn't been so upset. Del-Kurj already knew more about women than most grown men in Dalvador. He liked girls and they liked him, and he made no secret about it, despite the trouble it caused him. Del hadn't fathered any children yet, but if he kept up in the way he'd begun it would only be a matter of time.
Vyrl spoke in a low voice. "Does the Assembly want this betrothal, too?"
His father nodded. "Stronger ties between Majda and the Ruby Dynasty will cement alliances the Assembly sees as crucial to the stability of our government."
"I don't want to stabilize a government." He couldn't keep the pain out of his voice.
"Ah, Vyrl." Eldrinson's voice held deep regret. "I am terribly sorry this news is unwelcome. If it helps to know, your mother and I truly believe this can be a good match. Devon Majda will treat you well, with respect and honor."
"She's ancient"
His father's expression lightened. "If she is ancient, I fear to ask what that makes your mother and me." His smile faded. "We do have concerns about the age difference. But with modern techniques to delay aging, eventually you won't be so aware of it." Gently, he added, "You may come to love her, in time."
Vyrl could only shake his head. His dreams were slipping away, like the glitter from a ruptured bubble spreading on the wind.
2. The Silvered Plains
The circular chamber was high in a tower of the castle. Vyrl stood at the window looking out over the countryside. The three figures crossing the Dalvador Plains were too far away to see clearly, but he recognized his mother's streaming gold hair and his father's confident stride.
Beyond them, about a fifteen-minute walk from Dalvador, the starport made a cluster of whitewashed buildings with blue turreted roofs. It resembled a Dalvador hamlet — except for the gold-and-black spacecraft that crouched on the landing field like an intruder. The shuttle had come down from one of the battle cruisers that orbited Lyshriol. Vyrl had never thought much about the ships up there, beyond knowing they provided one of the best orbital defense systems in settled space. If only they could have defended him against the arrival of Brigadier General Devon Majda.
He wished he could fly away, beyond the suns in the lavender sky. The larger orb was eclipsing the smaller, like a great golden coin surrounded by a halo. To the east and south, farms drowsed in the sunlight, uncaring of interstellar politics. Nearer by, his parents and their guest reached the village. He lost sight of them as they walked in among the houses.
Vyrl bit his lip, his heart aching for Lily. He glanced toward her home, a round white house on a hill, surrounded by other houses. He hadn't dared talk to her in the past two days, since their afternoon together. He had never made it to the festival that night, having been grounded for his truancy. He missed her so much, as if someone had taken out his center and left him with a hole only she could fill.
Yesterday he had seen her while he was walking to his father's farm with Althor and Del-Kurj. She and some other girls had been carrying baskets of bubble fruit. Before he could even think, he had started toward her, his heart surging, his pulse racing. He had gone only a few steps when his brothers called him back.
He couldn't confide in them. Given that one of his brothers might have to marry Devon if he didn't, he doubted they would want Lily distracting him, but neither would they want to betray his trust. Rather than put them in that awkward position, he said nothing. They knew he was hiding his moods, but they respected his privacy and never pried, neither with word nor thought.
Disheartened, Vyrl turned from the window and sat on an elegant stone bench against the wall. He came here when he needed to soothe his agitation. His mother had once referred to this chamber as a "balm for his tempestuous soul." He wasn't sure what she meant, but he did like the austere beauty of this room, with its polished bluestone walls, domed ceiling, and a floor tiled in squares of blue and white stone.
Designs in bas-relief bordered the ceiling and floor, as if the chamber were a round gift box — with him as the present.
That last thought dispelled his tenuous serenity. With every fiber of his being protesting, he made himself stand up. He crossed to the arched door of the chamber, but he paused without opening it. Such a beautiful door. He could stay here all day admiring it. Really. He loved its vibrant color. Made with layers of blue-stalk from the Stained Glass Forest, it glowed like a mountain lake. His mother had told him about an off-world substance called "wood" that came in brown shades and didn't glow. He found it hard to imagine such dullness.
As much as he would have been happy to appreciate the door for the rest of the day, he could no longer procrastinate. So he left the chamber and descended the bluestone stairs that spiraled down the tower. He had dressed formally today, in blue trousers with a darker belt embossed in silver. Soft boots came to his knees. Gold-leaf designs bordered their top edges and also the cuffs and collar on his white, bell-sleeved shirt. Thongs laced up the front of the shirt.
At the second story of the castle, he exited the tower into a hall of lavender ash-stone. Wall sconces held purple-glass lamps lit with flames. He thought of stopping to turn on the superconducting light rods hidden in the ceiling, but he didn't pause. It would only delay the inevitable by a few moments, and besides, today he wanted no reminders of off-world technology — or off-world technocrats.
Far too soon, he reached the top of the stairs that went down to the Hearth Room. The great staircase curved around, this part hidden from view of the hall below. Vyrl stood on the landing, straining to hear. Voices came from below, his parents and a woman with a husky contralto. He clenched the banister, unable to continue. He couldn't go down. He couldn't.