Watching him, Kamoj felt a sense of helplessness. Her only experience with anyone who drank this much was Korl Plowsbane. Would Vyrl become that way, decimated and dulled, with no family or friends, only the bottle he loved above all else? She had no idea what to do. She had seen how angry he became if Dazza even mentioned it.
He walked across the cave, his boots scuffing up swirls of iridescent dust. The generator hummed, making its nano-meds to carry the dust out of the air, so it wouldn’t kill her husband.
Vyrl turned to her. “That day at the river—you have no idea. I was so close to going after you. Just one bodyguard you had, to my four stagmen.” He raised his hand, palm up. “‘But no,’ I thought. ‘Do you want her to hate you? What of honor? Decency? All that.’ So I courted you. Or I thought I courted you.” He took another swallow of rum. Lowering the bottle, he spoke with self-disgust. “Seems I raped you anyway.”
“That’s not true.” How could he be so empathic and not see that she liked him? She had never wanted Jax to touch her, but after Vyrl’s gentleness last night even the thought of Ironbridge revolted her.
“I knew, damn it!” Vyrl said. “I knew you wanted me to stop last night. You even cried it in your mind.” He sat on a hip-high boulder and took another swallow of rum. “Self-delusion is remarkable, isn’t it? I convinced myself you wanted me.”
“You weren’t deluding yourself,” she said.
“You think you have to tell me that. Because I bought you.” He let the empty bottle slide out of his hand. It hit a half-buried rock and broke into pieces. Watching her, he said, “You aren’t bound to me, Kamoj. You’re free. I’ll have the Ascendant move our base to some other place. We’ll tell your people—hell, tell them what? That I went back to my own ‘land’ and will send for you. Then we’ll send word I’ve been killed. That way you’ll be free of me without being humiliated.”
“Killed?” She couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“Imperial law recognizes unions made in the colonies, even the rediscovered ones like this. That means we’re married by my law as well as yours.” He spoke awkwardly. “I’ll have someone arrange divorce papers.”
How could he speak her language, yet say so much she didn’t understand? Enough made sense, though. He meant to dissolve their merger. The realization stabbed like broken glass. With news of Vyrl’s “death,” Jax could claim the widow. Ironbridge would get everything: Argali, the redone palace, Morlin, all of it.
Kamoj went over to him and toed aside the broken bottle. Shyly, she put her arms around his waist. “Stay with me.”
His arms went around her. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I know.” She hesitated. “Unless you want to go.”
“Gods, no.” His hand moved over her hair. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Even after last night?”
“Especially after last night.” She tried to recapture her feeling from then, so he would too. Rubbing her cheek on his chest, she inhaled his scent. Then she reached for him with her hand, seeking to give to him what he had given her. As she held him, he brushed his lips over the crown of her head and stroked his palm down her back, over her curls. After awhile, he pulled off the scarf she used for a belt and helped her fold it around him. Tensing with his release, he exhaled, then he murmured words from an old Argali harvest song: “‘So soft is her touch on grain full with nectar… ‘”
Smiling, Kamoj looked up at him. As he relaxed against her, his eyelids drooped. Their metal lashes made a glittering contrast to the dark circles under his eyes.
“Let’s lie down,” she said. “I’m tired.” She wasn’t actually, but Vyrl obviously needed to sleep. Why he fought so hard against it she had no idea, but perhaps he would do for her what he wouldn’t do for himself.
“All right.” He straightened his clothes, then stood up and swung off his cloak. It swirled through the air and settled on the ground. As Kamoj sat on it, he watched her like a greenglass mesmerized by night lamps on a coach. “So pretty… your dress. That color. What d’you call it? Rose? ‘S nice the way you fill it out—” He suddenly turned red. “Ai. I’m rambling. What an idiot you married.”
Kamoj couldn’t help but smile at his boyish expression. “No, you aren’t. Don’t ever say that.” She patted the ground. “You lie down. I’ll rub your head.”
“Won’t argue with that.” He lay down and put his head in her lap. As she massaged his temples, his eyes closed. Within moments his breathing had settled into the steady rumble of sleep.
Watching Vyrl sleep, Kamoj wondered how to understand him. He spoke like a highborn man, dressed like a farmer, carried a title, had a laborer’s callouses, moved like a dancer, and had a stagman’s gift with greenglasses. The silver in his hair and the lines around his eyes suggested he had reached his forties, yet he had the powerful physique and vigor of a younger man. His wide-open emotions and beguiling flashes of mischief made him seem almost boyish.
Beneath all that, though, buried also under his mood swings, his drinking, and his tormented dreams, she sensed a slumbering satisfaction with life that came from well-advanced years, not for everyone, but for some. He obviously wasn’t happy now, yet for some reason she believed she picked up a deeper contentment, the kind it took a lifetime to form. Was she imagining it?
“Vyrl, what are you?” she murmured. Elderly, middle-aged, or young? Prince or farmer? Athlete or stagman? Drunkard or wise man? Or all of that? Brushing back his hair, she decided she would simply try to accept him for himself.
After a while she moved out from under his head and lay down beside him. Outside a quetzal called and another answered. Branches creaked in the wind. She could imagine the woods, ancient trees nodding together, their heads lifted high above the ground. If she were a bird, she could rise out of the forest and see it rolling in wave upon iridescent wave through the mountains, beneath the limitless violet plain of the sky.
VI. Sword And Ballbow. Perturbations
A shudder racked Vyrl’s body, waking Kamoj. Deep in his dreams, he made a strangled noise, his face clenched. She pushed up on her elbow and massaged his head until he calmed.
When he was resting well again, she went outside and stood watching the forest. Morning had passed, bringing them into early afternoon. Overhead an “engine” rumbled. She wondered if it knew Vyrl was here.
When she returned to the cave, she found him sitting up. Although fatigue still lined his face, he looked more rested.
“Is there anyone out there?” he asked.
“I heard an engine. I didn’t see anyone, though.” She sat cross-legged in front of him. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What are you a prince of?”
He shrugged. “Nothing, really. I’m just a citizen of the Skolian Imperialate. It’s about nine hundred worlds governed by an assembly of elected counselors.”
“You are not a prince?”
“I’ve the title. But it doesn’t mean much.” He considered her. “Tell me what you know of Balumil’s history.”
She thought of the stories she had learned as a child. “Long ago the Current gave light and warmth to our houses. And voices.” Like Morlin, she realized. Vyrl had given the Quartz Palace back its voice. “Sailors brought the people here on ships that flew above the sky.”
“That fits.”
His response surprised her. She would have expected him to smile at their fanciful tales. “How does it fit?”
He rubbed his neck, working out the kinks that came from sleeping on the ground. “The ancient Ruby Empire established this colony. That’s why I know your language.”