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  A Tolari man burst into view before her. She started, unprepared for this first demonstration of camouflage. The bags slipped from arms and shoulders as she jumped back, a small cry escaping her lips. The man bowed with arms spread to the side and palms forward. Despite her alarm, she recognized the posture as apologetic, according to Central Command’s material on Tolari etiquette.

  “Forgive me,” he said in Tolari. His voice was a pleasant baritone, his dark eyes friendly. He towered over her—he stood at least two meters tall—spare and dressed in a pale blue robe covered with white embroidery. Straight black hair fell well below his knees, gathered at the back of his neck with an elaborate knot. “I mean you no harm.”

  Taking a deep breath to gather her wits, she tried some Tolari on him. “My name is Marianne Woolsey,” she said, extending a hand. The man just stared at it, his eyes flashing with... something. Curiosity perhaps? An awkward pause stretched before she remembered Tolari didn’t shake hands—they bowed. She withdrew her hand and did her best to imitate the man’s apologetic bow.

  “Are you here from stronghold?” she asked, mispronouncing it. Then, trying to get the inflection correct, she added, “Did the Sural send you?”

  The man nodded and made an exaggerated gesture toward the cliff face. Then he picked up her bags with easy strength.

  “Follow me,” he said, his intonation making it a respectful request to a superior.

  Must be a servant, she thought, though she’d read a mention of servants wearing black. Maybe he was a guard? She followed him, biting back questions, unsure if Tolari etiquette allowed him to converse with a guest.

  They wound their way up a smooth but steep path. From behind him, she had a clear view of his hair, which reached farther than she thought, down to the hem of his robe. Other, simpler knots followed the elaborate braided knot at regular intervals, and she wondered just how close to the ground his hair would reach when brushed out straight. It was the longest she’d ever seen, swinging back and forth across his back as he strode up the path at a pace she had to work to match. She considered herself fit, but back home she ran on flat terrain; no one went to Iowa to find a good steep cliff. Hurrying up this path in heels knocked the wind out of her.

  When they reached the top, they were still a fair distance from the stronghold entrance. The Tolari, even after carrying her four heavy bags up the cliff at a brisk pace, hadn’t broken a sweat. Marianne had, and her feet ached as well. Her escort stopped and stood, patient and attentive, the strong breeze whipping his hair and robes, while she caught her breath.

  She gave him a grateful smile through her breathlessness, flicking her gaze to the hem of his robe as it billowed. Trousers and slippers the same color—and perhaps the same silky material—peeked from underneath. Those robes must have been blowing around his legs while he was camouflaged near the shuttle. Central Command really wanted to know how they managed to disappear, clothing and all.

  When her breathing had quieted a little, he smiled and said, “This way,” gesturing toward the huge stone doors leading into the stronghold keep. She followed him, bracing herself for another stretch of trying to keep up with his long strides, but he crossed the distance at an easier pace. She smiled her gratitude and peered around the cliff top as they walked, edging away from the sheer drop. The lack of a railing made her sweat even more.

  The doors opened as they approached—pulled by camouflaged doorkeepers?—and they entered a long, curved corridor of the same dark stone as the outside of the keep. The man put her bags on the floor and winked out of sight.

  She stared for a moment at where he had been. No sign of him remained. She looked around, wondering what to do, her attention caught by colorful banners mounted along the walls on each side of the corridor. As she moved toward the nearest to get a closer look, a woman in a plain black robe appeared before her.

  Marianne blinked, but didn’t startle. Maybe she could get used to this.

  “The Sural requests your presence in the audience room,” the woman said. “Follow me.”

  Marianne followed her a short distance down the hall and into a huge open room, rectangular in shape, with the entrance on one of the short sides. Soft mats covered the floor, leading to a raised dais at the far end. Another Tolari in pale blue, with an imposing air of command about him, sat on his heels on the dais, cradling a tiny infant and watching her. As she approached, she recognized the man who had met her at the shuttle. That was the Sural? she thought in shock. The Sural himself carried my bags?

  An enigmatic smile curved his lips as she reached the foot of the dais and he motioned her to sit. She slipped out of her shoes and lowered herself to the floor matting, relief rushing through her aching feet. Imitating the Sural’s pose, she sat on her heels, waiting for him to speak.

  Silence stretched. She swallowed and took a deep breath, bringing to mind the rules of etiquette she’d committed to memory. When Tolari met, the higher-ranking individual spoke first. Farm girl that she was, she had no intention of opening a conversation with the highest-ranking member of the Tolari ruling caste, who sat on the dais studying her without speaking.

  “Expect long silences when conversing with a Tolari high one,” Ambassador Russell had said during the tour of the Alexander. “They like to think before they speak. And they stare. You’ll just have to get used to their damned staring.”

  After what seemed like forever, he nodded and spoke. “I am the Sural.” His pleasant baritone rang with authority now.

  “It is an honor, high one,” she replied in Tolari, then waited, hoping she gave a good impression. The Ambassador had been right about the staring. Was it rude to return the stare? Or just expected? She met his eyes, and then glanced away. He could have stepped right out of an antique twentieth century cowboy movie—as one of the indigenous natives—right down to the coppery skin and impassive expression. Her eyes wandered to the bundle in his arms. That had to be his daughter, but all she could see were blankets. She wished she could get a closer look.

  <<>>

  Silent, the Sural studied the young human woman. Not quite the correct response, he thought, but she was nervous and awed. He extended his senses and touched her with a gentle probe. Like the previous humans he had met, she did not react, sense-blind and unaware. Good. He began to explore with more freedom.

  Surprise at what he found almost lifted his eyebrows. After his experience with the previous two candidates—both undercover operatives—he had not expected Earth’s government to send him what he had asked for: a tutor for his daughter. She also did not broadcast her emotions, as the previous candidates had done. This woman held her presence still, as quiet and reserved as any Suralian. Lovely.

  Beneath the reserve, she struggled to hold down an anxiety connected to something deeper. His skin prickling, he pushed toward it to the extent he could without physical contact. It ran deep, that anxiety, but it was personal, running far into the past, unconnected to her present situation. She stirred, uncomfortable, sensing the intrusion but lacking the ability to identify it. Chagrined at the unwarranted invasion, he withdrew to her surface emotions; they dripped with apprehension. Understandable. He wondered if her government knew what they had sent him.

  Doubtful.

  Withdrawing back into himself, he let the silence stretch a little longer, keeping his face smooth while he considered. He had studied her qualifications, and they impressed him. She spoke seventeen Earth languages, including the diplomatic languages of Earth and its five colony worlds—the ones he wanted her to teach his daughter.

  Satisfied now she was not another spy for Central Command, he could not resist prolonging the interview with the exotic, beautiful creature. Her eyes startled him and drew his attention. He had seen blue eyes before—it seemed to be a common color among humans, in his limited experience with them. The group making first contact with him had included several blue-eyed humans. None possessed eyes like this.

  His gaze wandered across her face. Human
s seemed to come in every possible skin tone, along with many other physical variations, such as slanted eyes or tightly-curled hair. This human possessed, along with her striking eyes, quite fair skin, with faint dots across the cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

  She was quiet now, drifting in her own thoughts, exhibiting no sign of impatience. Excellent. He sent a gentle probe into her anxiety again. A gentle longing for the familiar laced through it, and he suppressed an urge to knit his brows together. If she was not one with a thirst for new experiences, why had she come? Something seemed to pain her, as well. What she hid, however, would take time to uncover.

  As he continued to probe, she glanced over at him, her eyes coming to rest on his daughter. Curious interest colored her emotional landscape, warm and maternal. Good. She radiated gentleness, and her responses had all been quite satisfactory—from interest in the vegetation beneath her feet to honest confusion when she realized who had carried her bags for her, and now warm curiosity about his infant daughter. Her qualifications and skills, according to Earth Central Command, exceeded those of the spies he had rejected. Yes, this candidate would do.

  “I carried your bags from your craft because I wished to observe you,” he said, to break the silence. “Your government has sent me other candidates who were, shall we say, not what they said they were.”

  She blinked. “What else would they be?”

  “They were not trained as tutors.”

  “I’m not a tutor, either,” she said, nervousness sparking through her. “I was trained to teach twenty or thirty students at one time.”

  The Sural nodded, and she relaxed a bit. “This much was clear from the credentials your government sent me. Have you other skills than the ones they mentioned?”

  She gave a strange shrug, with both shoulders. “They know everything about me.”

  He gave her a brief smile and rose without disturbing the sleeper in his arms, gliding down the dais steps to lower his tall frame onto the mat beside her. “This is my daughter, Kyza,” he said.

  The human glanced at him, radiating amusement. With some chagrin, he realized he had allowed his tone to soften and express more than he had intended. She peered at the tiny bundle and extended a tentative hand, stopping just short of touching Kyza to look up again. When he nodded consent, she pulled the blanket open to get a closer look.

  His daughter was—and he did not think he exhibited bias in this—beautiful, with long black eyelashes and a shock of raven hair sticking out in all directions. She pursed her tiny mouth, making sucking movements in her sleep. The human drew a breath and murmured in English, “Oh, how precious!”

  He raised an eyebrow. She rocked back with a hand over her mouth.

  “Forgive me,” she said in Tolari, “I meant no offense.”

  <<>>

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, Marianne thought. I’m in the stronghold maybe ten minutes and already I’m unforgivably rude. Her gut twisted, and she fought to keep her face smooth. The briefing on Tolari protocol back on Earth had indicated it was an insult to address the Sural in any language other than his own, unless he had chosen to speak the other language first.

  She stared at her hands, stomach in freefall, and waited for him to send her away. For all that she had not wanted to leave Earth in the first place, now that she had, she was just as reluctant to return. Irritation at her own perversity compressed her lips into a line. Perhaps she didn’t know what she wanted, but she hadn’t spent the past three weeks schooling herself to accept spending twenty-six years on Tolar to turn around and go back after a few minutes. It startled her to realize that the idea of going back to Earth and back to her life wasn’t a relief. There were things on Earth she didn’t miss.

  “Do not fear me,” the Sural said, his gaze still on his daughter. He looked over at Marianne with a more impassive expression. “You cannot insult me.”

  She blinked and met his eyes, startled again. He cocked an eyebrow. “Speak your thoughts—” She didn’t understand the last word he used. “You will not offend me.”

  She searched for words. “That’s not what I expected,” she said.

  The Sural uttered a low chuckle. “And what did you expect?”

  “They told me Tolari rulers are easy to offend,” she blurted out, surprised by her own audacity.

  He chuckled again, dark eyes twinkling. “They?”

  “Central Command. I’m not sure where they got all their information about you.”

  “Perhaps someone met the wrong Tolari ruler,” he said, his face bland. “What else did they tell you to expect?”

  She floundered. “Well—it’s—Shouldn’t you have guards and aides? We’re alone in here, and you’re sitting here holding a baby, and—and—”

  “And?”

  She shrugged. “You act like I’m a real person.”

  “Are you not real?” Amusement tinted his voice.

  His reaction told her she hadn’t used the right word in Tolari—but maybe they just didn’t have the concept she wanted to express. Amusing the Sural, she decided, was better than insulting him. She shrugged again, unable to suppress a nervous smile.

  He seemed to come to a decision. “Here,” he said, laying the baby in her arms.

  She sucked in a breath, hands shaking, and cradled the child, who adjusted herself in her sleep and uttered a charming little sigh. Marianne’s heart warmed, easing her shakiness. She stroked Kyza’s cheek with a fingertip.

  “Shi shang zhi you mama hao,” she sang, an old Chinese lullaby. Kyza opened dark eyes at the sound and fixed Marianne’s face with an intense stare. “You ma de hai zi xiang ge bao.”

  “She likes you,” the Sural said, interrupting the song.

  Marianne smiled and rocked Kyza, slow and gentle. “Ya tozhe,” she cooed at the baby, breaking into a huge happy grin when Kyza flashed a brief smile. “She smiled at me!” She turned her grin up at the Sural.

  “You may stay,” he said.

  A huge wave of relief crashed through her, and she almost kissed the baby. She stopped herself, not sure if it was appropriate. “You honor me, high one,” she said. She beamed a smile at Kyza. The infant still stared at her with dark, slanted—

  She gasped and jerked her head up to meet the Sural’s eyes. “The shuttle pilot?”

  “He has been informed that he may leave.”

  She heaved a sigh and nodded, smiling, then turned her attention back to the warm little bundle in her arms. Kyza made an unhappy noise and began to stir.

  “She is hungry.” The Sural made a gesture, and a yellow-robed woman appeared, holding out her arms to Marianne. Marianne placed the baby in the woman’s arms and turned back to the Sural as the woman left the room. His eyes were fixed on her, face impassive and unreadable. Another gesture, and a black-robed woman appeared.

  “Show the new tutor to her quarters,” he ordered. “See to her comfort, and show her how to use the controls in the—” Marianne didn’t understand the word.

  “Yes, high one,” the woman said with a deep bow.

  He turned back to Marianne. “Those in black robes are servants,” he told her. “You may ask them for any assistance you need. Call out and one will come.”

  Then he disappeared into thin air. Again, Marianne stared at the space where he’d been. He’d disappeared without a trace—no ripple in the air, nothing. The black-robed woman beckoned to her. She stood to follow and slipped her feet back into her shoes.

  Her quarters lay in the stronghold’s guest wing, a short walk down the curved corridor. It resembled a suite in an expensive hotel. The door from the hall opened into a spacious sitting room, where the servants had already placed her bags. Bookshelves and artwork lined the walls. One corner held a desk positioned to look out the windows onto unfamiliar trees and flowers. On the desk sat a small, exquisite crystal sculpture of what resembled a bird with four feet rather than two. Ahead of her, the sitting room led onto a covered veranda overlooking a garden or park of some kind.


  To the left was the door to the bedroom. Sleeping room, she corrected herself in Tolari, as she glanced at the bed-sized mat in the center of the rectangular space. In one corner lay the area for which she hadn’t understood the Tolari word—a bathing area. The servant led her into it. Walls of the same dark gray stone as the rest of the stronghold, polished to a high gloss, gleamed on all four sides, but the floor looked pebbly and seemed to grip the soles of her shoes. Carved steps led down into a bath large enough to hold two people. Levers and spouts protruded from one end. Once Marianne knew how to use the simple but elegant mechanisms to control the water flow and temperature, the servant left her in peace.

  Heated water! Marianne shook her head in wonder. Central Command had told her the Tolari didn’t have running water or plumbing. This was both, and it wasn’t crude by any definition—low tech, perhaps, but not the simple basins and water pitchers the briefings had led her to expect.

  She gazed around her. A door at one end of the sleeping room opened onto the veranda, where it had an exit into the gardens. She wanted to explore—it looked beautiful out there—but she wasn’t sure yet just how much freedom she had, or if it was even safe. Rather than indulge her curiosity, she set about putting her clothes away in the drawers and closets the servant had shown her in the sleeping room. Then, feeling a little whiffy from her exercise on the cliff, she decided to give the bathing area a try.

  She played with the levers until the water warmed as much as it would, which wasn’t as warm as she would have liked, but it didn’t give her a chill. The quick rinse washed away some of her fatigue along with the sweat. She donned fresh clothes and contemplated the stale clothing she had just removed. Central Command had given her no information on how the Tolari did their laundry, and she had no idea what to do with it. As she pondered, the black-robed woman appeared in front her again. She started.

  It might be harder to get used to this camouflage thing than she thought.

  “Forgive me,” the woman said with an apologetic bow. She waited for Marianne to catch her breath. “I will take your robes for cleaning.”