Skyfall by Catherine Asaro

Bard,” Roca said. “It means you lead, yes?”
    Eldri’s forehead furrowed. “I sing. I keep our history.”
    “These people treat you as their leader.”
    “Not leader. Judge.” He rubbed the lyrine’s nose. “They bring me disputes. I try to settle them. Garlin did it until a few years ago. He still advises me.”
    Dryly Roca said, “I’m sure he does.”
    “Why do you say it like that?”
    “He troubles me. Why does he dislike me so?”
    Eldri hesitated. “I am not sure. He wanted me to take you back to the port right away.” His face reddened. “He says I let my loins think for me.”
    “Your loins?” When her node provided the translation, she blushed. “Never mind.”
    His laugh tickled her ears. “Perhaps we should go back to my room and investigate what he means.”
    Much as she would have liked to, she couldn’t banter with him now. “Eldri, we must return to the port. The snow has stopped. We should leave as soon as possible.”
    “Garlin says to stay. And he is wise.”
    She scowled at him. “Garlin wants you to think he is wiser than you. That way, he retains power.”
    “You say I should not trust Garlin.” He leaned closer, his lips near her ear. “He says I should not trust you.”
    Roca sighed and moved into his arms, though their heavy jackets kept them from coming too close. “I have to go back.”
    “I do not understand why it is so important.”
    She searched for the right words. “If I do not vote, my people may have a war. A terrible war. Many would die. Millions. Perhaps billions.”
    He pulled back and regarded her uncertainly. “I do not understand ‘millions’ or ‘billions.’ ”
    “Think of how many people live in Dalvador and the Rillian Values.”
    “Very, very many.”
    “Yes. Very. Now imagine five times as many as that.” She wasn’t sure if he could; she had no idea what mathematics he knew.
    He only paused for a moment. “All right.”
    “That is a million people.” Her breath made plumes in the air. “Double, triple, quadruple that number and you still won’t have all the people who might die. Do you begin to see?”
    He blanched. “It is too many.”
    “Yes. Too many.”
    “And you can stop this?”
    “I think so. But I must be there. Otherwise my son will vote to go to war.”
    “Your son?” His embrace turned rigid. “Where is his father?”
    Softly Roca said, “He died.”
    “Ai, Roca, I am sorry.” Relief also came from his mind.
    “It happened many years ago.”
    “Is the boy all right? I didn’t mean to keep you from him. I had no idea.”
    “He is no boy.” Roca thought of her indomitable firstborn. “He is a man, grown and strong.”
    Eldri’s forehead furrowed. “You are not old enough to have a son that age.”
    So. Here it came. She had to tell him sooner or later. “I am older than I look, older than Garlin, even.”
    He gave her an uncertain smile. “You play with me.”
    Roca shook her head. Then, remembering he might not recognize the gesture, she added, “My people age differently than yours.”
    He looked doubtful. “This son, he is a warrior?”
    “A warlord. A great one.” She shivered, though her jacket kept out the cold. “I love my son, Eldri, but he also terrifies me. I must return home before it is too late.”
    “It sounds so strange.”
    “Please help me.”
    He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Garlin says it may snow again.”
    “It isn’t snowing now.”
    “I do not comprehend all you say.” He held her shoulders. “I understand only what I see and touch. But I know you speak truly when you talk about this desperation you feel.”
    Her voice caught. “I wish it could be otherwise.”
    “If you leave now, you must come back.” Longing filled his voice. “We have so much to discover about each other.”
    She took his hands, afraid she was giving him hope where none existed. “I will try.”
    He took a deep breath. “Very well. We shall go.”
     
    The first flakes fell when