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
But if he didn't appear soon, his parents would send someone for him. So he fortified his resolve and descended. Halfway down he came around the curve of the staircase; stopping there, he looked out over the Hearth Room. His parents and an unfamiliar woman were standing at the far end, near the hearth, unaware of him, sipping from ruby goblets. A girl with gold curls had just served them, judging by her empty silver tray. As she walked down the hall, she glanced up. Seeing Vyrl, she started, her mouth opening. Then she averted her gaze and hurried on her way, leaving the room.
Vyrl's face burned. He had known her for years. She and Lily were always giggling together, often at him, though he had never understood why they found him so amusing.
Now she wouldn't even acknowledge him. After the news about his betrothal had spread in the village, his friends no longer seemed comfortable with him. Did they look away because he had become different, his title made real, the son of a mysterious queen who came from above the sky?
No one else had realized yet he was on the stairs, so he remained still, watching. His mother looked every bit her Ruby Dynasty heredity. Tall and statuesque, in a soft blue jumpsuit, she stood by the fireplace with a posture of quiet confidence. Gold hair curled around her face, cascaded over her shoulders and arms, and poured down her back. His father stood next to her, one elbow on the mantel as he spoke to their guest.
Devon Majda.
Vyrl couldn't stop staring at the general. She wore a trim uniform, green with gold on the cuffs, and polished knee-boots that made her taller than his parents. Her black hair hung glossy and straight to her shoulders, framing a face of austere, aristocratic perfection, from her aquiline nose to her dark, upward-tilted eyes. With her long limbs and athletic build, she projected a sense of energy. An aura of power surrounded her, as if she took her rank and heredity for granted. Indeed, she should; only one other family had more status or wealth than Majda — the Ruby Dynasty.
Vyrl didn't care about ancient empires, modern politics, or wealth. He just wanted his own family and a farm. Unfortunately, that probably had a lot to do with why Devon had chosen him to sire her heirs. Thinking of what went into that siring, he flushed, certain his face was turning bright red. Given the differences in their ages, he hadn't expected to find her so attractive. But she still seemed old to him. He couldn't imagine her as his wife.
Glancing toward the stairs, his mother caught sight of him. With a smile, she raised her hand, beckoning. Devon idly glanced his way, then did a double take, her gaze widening. A surge of appreciation overflowed her mind; she apparently liked what she saw. Acutely aware of them watching, he came down the stairs. He grew even more self-conscious as he crossed the long room to the hearth.
When he reached them, Devon bowed deeply from the waist. As she straightened, Vyrl nodded with the formality his title required. Raising his head, he found himself looking straight into her eyes. It startled him. He was used to the girls in Dalvador, who came only to his shoulder, if that much. He took after his mother's people, with their greater height.
Devon spoke in Iotic, the language of the nobility. 'My honor at your presence, Your Highness.'
Although here in Dalvador he rarely needed to follow the protocol of the Imperial Court, Vyrl had learned its ways. He answered in flawless Iotic. 'And mine at yours, General Majda.' He wondered if he sounded as awkward as he felt.
She smiled, her expression formal but not unfriendly. 'Devon, please.'
'Devon.' He tried to smile back, though the expression felt stiff on his face. 'Please call me Vyrl.'
She repeated his name in her Iotic accent, making it sound like
They talked for a bit, a stilted conversation. He could think of almost nothing to say. Standing with his parents while he met the woman that half the galaxy expected him to impregnate was about the most mortifying experience he could imagine.
His father was watching them closely. To Devon, he said, 'Perhaps you would like to take a walk? Vyrl can show you the countryside.'
'I would like that,' Devon said.
Vyrl's shoulders relaxed. The idea of being alone with her didn't ease his agitation, but at least his parents wouldn't be watching. Although his mother smiled at him, he felt the sadness she tried to hide. Her heart had ached that same way when Eldrin had left home and when Althor had received his acceptance to the off-world military academy.
Walking with Devon across the plains made Vyrl twitch inside. Just two days ago he had run free here and held Lily in his arms. It tore at him to return to this place with a stranger, but he did his best to hide his sense of loss. He could almost hear his brother Del-Kurj deriding him:
Devon walked at his side, her dark hair ruffled by the wind. She spoke politely. 'This is beautiful countryside.'
'I've always thought so.' Vyrl glanced around at the nodding grasses that brushed their hips and the lavender sky with its blue puffs of cloud. He wanted to add,
'Two suns.' She peered at the sky, shielding her eyes with her hand. 'It's an unstable configuration, you know.'
'The suns?' He had thought the problem was with the planet. Contradicting her would hardly be tactful though.
She lowered her hand. 'I meant this world, Lyshriol. Its orbit is unstable. The binary star system perturbs it.'
'Oh. Yes.' Vyrl pushed back the curls blowing across his face. 'My tutor says astronomical engineers from
