The Marann by Sky Warrior Book Publishing

If he’d taught Suralia’s rulers for generations, he
must have taught the Sural. She tried to imagine the Sural as a boy
or as a young man, happy and outgoing perhaps, before he became the
somber man she knew. The thought struck her that she preferred the
Sural distant and emotionless—as he hadn’t been the day before,
when Kyza had camouflaged for him. That said something about
herself she wasn’t sure she liked.
    Storaas laid a gentle hand, gnarled
and papery, on her shoulder. Quiet reassurance spread through her.
She blinked and peered first at the hand, then at his
face.
    He removed the hand from her shoulder
with an unreadable look. “Forgive me, proctor,” he said with an
apologetic bow. “I did not mean to intrude.”
    <<>>
    “Forgive me, high one,” Storaas told
the Sural. “She is bewitching. I forgot myself. An old man’s
mistake.”
    The Sural sat at his desk in the open
study off the audience room. The old proctor had come to him of his
own accord and admitted he’d laid a hand on Marianne’s shoulder
against the Sural’s explicit orders that no one, no one ,
touched the human proctor.
    You need the Jorann’s blessing, old
friend, the Sural thought . You’re too old to grow
careless.
    Aloud, he asked, “What did you sense
in her?”
    “A deep pain, high one,” the old man
said. “She carries a profound wound. I have never seen the
like.”
    The Sural tapped his fingertips
together in front of him. “Tell me more.”
    “She does not fear me. I get a sense
that I remind her of someone who loved her, perhaps a father figure
of some kind, but I have not studied human family relationships
well enough to say.”
    “Excellent,” he murmured. “Is that
all?”
    “No, high one.”
    “And?”
    “And she fears you.”
    The Sural shook his head and allowed
himself to look grieved.
    In an amused tone, the old man
continued, “But she does find you—attractive.”
    The Sural raised an eyebrow. He had
never sensed any indication Marianne felt attracted to anyone, much
less to himself, but Storaas was renowned for his unusual
sensitivity and ability to read others. If he sensed it, it was
there.
    “She fears you because of it,” the old
man finished.
    He sat back. He had sensed anxiety in
abundance, but never fear. Had a fear he did not sense been the
reason he had so far failed to gain her trust?
    “That makes no sense,” he said. “Are
you certain?”
    “Nothing is certain , high one.
Perhaps fear is too strong a word. Anxiety may be a better one. But
yes, I am confident of my abilities.”
    “Astonishing.” He had sensed her
anxiety many times, always leading down into the deeper pain she
hid. “Did you sense what it is she hides?”
    Storaas spread his hands. “I cannot
say more without further study. I am no apothecary, and ignorance
of human psychology limits what I can tell you with any certainty.
And I do not expect the humans to share their psychological
information with us soon.”
    The Sural began tapping his fingertips
together again. He had no honorable method to gain access to the
humans’ data archives. Unless… in his role as leader of the ruling
caste, he had jurisdiction over Tolari space—and everything in it.
He sent a summons.
    Storaas stirred.
    “Speak,” said the Sural.
    “Do not approach her, high one. Let
her come to you.”
    “Explain.”
    “I cannot explain,” he said, spreading
his hands again in apology. “I knew it as soon as I touched her.
You must let her come to you. If you pursue her, you will frighten
her more.”
    The Sural pondered. He could do worse
than to trust the old man’s advice. “Very well,” he said. “I will
wait.”
    “It will be a long wait.”
    “I am a patient man.” He paused.
“Proctor, when suitable opportunities present themselves, read her
and report to me.”
    “Yes, high one.”
    A man in the dark brown robes of the
science caste entered the room and stood waiting for the Sural to
speak.
    “I want you to