The Shape of Surrender

Tor’laen dreamed a dream that was not his own. It happened suddenly — he had been in the midst of a calm dream, a memory of endless days of training and drilling back on Ydan. Then, the world seemed to blur and shift around him, and he found himself in a garden.

It did not feel as if he were dreaming it himself. It felt more like…looking through a window, face pressed up against the glass, watching a vision unfold in front of him. A young Zakkili girl sat curled up among the carefully cultivated flowers and bushes, just at the edge of tears. Tor’laen didn’t know much about the Zakkili aging process, but she looked fairly young. Past the instability of toddlers and small children, but without the grace of a grown woman. If he were to compare her to a Ydani, he’d guess the girl would be somewhere around her twelfth solar cycle.

The girl looked up, and with a shock, Tor’laen recognized the purple eyes of his wife.

It was a younger version of Nalyra, clothed in a now grass-stained white dress, her hair cut short and wild-looking. A few leaves clung to her hair and clothes, as if she had just been pushing through bushes. The girl’s mouth didn’t move, but Nalyra’s voice came to him anyway, sounding higher and much less certain than he was used to.

“It’s not fair,” Nalyra’s voice said, as the miniature version of her gave a loud sniff. “Why did it have to be our mother that was chosen?”

It was as if the window he was looking through fell away, and Tor’laen stepped into the Crown Daughter’s dream.

The tiny Nalyra didn’t react, simply staring at the grass and bushes in front of her. Perhaps she couldn’t see him. This seemed like a memory, after all.

A rustling in the bushes announced an incoming visitor. A moment later, another small Zakkili girl pushed out of a bank of leaves, looking identical to the one sitting before Tor’laen.

“There you are, Lyra,” she said, moving closer.

“Go away, Kara.”

“No.” She sat down beside her sister with a slight hmph. “You weren’t there for lessons, so now we’re both in trouble. You know how Lady Vaeli is.”

“I don’t wanna go back.”

“Me neither.” The child version of Zikara shrugged. “But they’re gonna come find us.”

“Then let them storm around the stupid gardens looking for us. They can drag me back by my ears. I’m not going.”

Zikara sighed, then leaned into her sister.

Silence fell over the dream, until the echo of someone calling the girls’ names rang out, distorted as if through a malfunctioning communicator.

“Sorry for getting you in trouble, Kara,” Nalyra said quietly.

“I know, Lyra.”

A strong gust of wind seemed to tear through the garden, the bushes shaking and shuddering, but the two girls didn’t react. The gale grew stronger and stronger, reaching a fevered pitch, the winds buffeting Tor’laen and tearing at his uniform.

Just as he thought he might simply be blown away, the tiny Nalyra looked up, and made direct eye contact with him.

“It’s always so unfair.”

With that, the dream slipped away in a whirl of leaves and flower petals, the wind sounding like a keen of grief above it all.

Tor’laen sat on his cot, staring down at the floor of Nalyra’s cabin. The Crown Daughter was setting her hair, seated once more at the large desk in the room. Outside, the brilliant blue spirals of subspace cast flickering lights and patterns across the floor and walls, giving the whole room a kind of surreal feeling.

His gaze went to Nalyra a few times, the lingering image of her younger self overlapping with the fully grown Crown Daughter. There was something familiar in the way she was sitting, compared to the dream. That same curve of her back, that same slight rounding of her shoulders.

“Not very talkative this morning, consort,” Nalyra said without turning, threading a pin into her hair. Perhaps she sensed his gaze. “A bit hungover from dinner last night?”

Tor’laen shook his head.

“It’s not a problem, Nalyra.”

“Hmmm.”

Another pin went into her hair.

“Some complaint then? Some concern?”

“Nothing like that…” Tor’laen trailed off, considering how to word his question without sounding ridiculous. Perhaps the only way was to just be direct.

“Nalyra, is it possible to…” he grappled for the correct words. “Is it possible to enter someone’s dreams? With your Zakkili mental powers, I mean.”

The Crown Daughter’s hands stopped, a third pin halfway into her hair. She slowly turned to look at him.

“...why do you ask?”

Tor’laen rubbed the back of his neck, feeling oddly embarrassed.

“I think…I think I saw your dream last night. I think I entered your dream last night.”

Nalyra was completely still, her gaze fixed on him.

“Impossible,” she said quietly. “I am certain you simply had a dream involving me, yes?”

“I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “You and your sister, Zikara, were young. You were hiding in a garden, and your sister came looking for you. She said you would get in trouble with someone named Lady Vaeli, and-”

“Enough! Cease. I understand.” Nalyra looked suddenly frazzled. “That was my dream, yes. You are right.”

“Is that…is that something that happens often?”

“No. No it does not. It was probably…probably just the alcohol. My mental control must have loosened. Yes, that must be it.” Nalyra averted her eyes, dodging his gaze.

She was flustered, though doing a fairly good job of hiding it. But clearly, there was something more there.

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“Nalyra,” Something in his tone made her look at him again. “What is going on here? What aren’t you telling me?”

It was the first time he had demanded something from her since his surrender, but he didn’t intend to back down. If something was amiss, he needed to know.

“Tor’laen, I assure you…” Her cheeks were flushed red, as were her large ears. “It is nothing important. Or rather, there is nothing much to tell…”

She could order him from her cabin, or command his silence, perhaps. Somehow, though, he was confident that she would not. One more push.

“Nalyra. Tell me.”

She teetered on the edge for a long moment. Finally, she tapped a panel on her desk, and with a soft beep, the light over the cabin door came on, indicating that it was locked.

“I…you and I…we are, or we have…” She was clearly forcing herself. “We are Bridged.”

She said the word like it was some dramatic reveal. Tor’laen simply blinked at her.

“And that is…?”

“It’s a connection. Kind of involuntary? At least compared to normal, that is…” She stumbled through an explanation, her face still flushed.

He cocked his head slightly at her, still not understanding.

“Perhaps it’s better just to show you.” Nalyra shook her head. “This.”

It was like a barrier had fallen away between them. He could suddenly feel her uncertainty. His cheeks started to burn from her embarrassment. He was conflicted by her doubt.

He could only imagine that she could receive his feelings as well. His mind reeled.

“This…this is…?” Tor’laen shook his head, trying to clear his mind without success.

“A Bridge. A passage for emotions and thoughts to cross between two people. A window into each other, caused by psychic connection.”

“You did this?” Tor’laen demanded, rising to his feet. “You did this to me?”

“Not on purpose!” Nalyra also shot to her feet, drawing herself up.

“When? How?” The Ydani’s voice was deadly serious. “Can you undo it?”

Nalyra shook her head.

“I do not believe so. It is…permanent.”

Permanent. Another alteration to his mind that could not be reversed.

Tor’laen took a step forward, anger surging through him.

“Why?” Despite his rage, he kept his voice calm. Apparently she would be able to feel just how furious he was, anyway.

“As I said, I didn’t mean to!” Nalyra protested, hand flying to her chest. “It was back on Orphila, when I had to pull that assassin from your mind.”

That caused Tor’laen to pause, the memories flooding back. This time, they were rimmed with the Crown Daughter’s fear and panic.

“She had burrowed deep inside your thoughts. I had to go deeper to push her out.”

Understanding and anger waged war within the Ydani’s head. And surely Nalyra could feel every moment of it. His stomach turned at the idea.

Nalyra put a hand on her stomach, her face twisting slightly.

He was towering over her, he realized, and staring down at the woman. There wasn’t quite fear coming over their connection, but there was a stream of…uncertainty.

Tor’laen made himself back away and sit down on his cot. He purposefully deepened his breathing, forcing his thoughts to slow down. After a long moment, he spoke again, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“So we have had this…Bridge ever since that night on Orphila. Why did you not tell me?”

Before she could even respond, her emotions did it for her. A tidal wave of her embarrassment and shame rolled over him, enough to make his cheeks burn once more.

“I guess that answers that,” he muttered.

“It is…it is not a suitable topic for polite company,” Nalyra said quietly. “Bridges are…intimate. Rarely discussed, even privately. There are certain…implications to having one.”

“So you’ve been just…listening to my thoughts and emotions this whole time?” Tor’laen glanced up at her.

“By the Maker, no.” She shook her head, her sincerity flowing into him. “You would have been able to feel mine just as easily if I had. I’ve been…blocking it. Like this.”

She closed her eyes, and a few breaths later the flow of her emotions suddenly stopped, as if a hatch had just snapped shut between them.

“It’s not perfect, but it restricts what passes between us. Only strong feelings, things close to bleeding out already, will reach.”

The torrent of emotions had stopped, but now that he knew what to look for, Tor’laen could feel the slightest whisper of Nalyra’s embarrassment stretching between them.

“That’s…more acceptable,” he relented, his voice low.

Tor’laen’s mind was already turning, reassessing the strategic and tactical consequences of this…Bridge. It wasn’t as catastrophic as it had first seemed.

“You should have told me. It was inappropriate not to,” he grumbled, glancing at Nalyra again. His fury had mostly burned itself out, just leaving embers of resentment in the pit of his stomach.

“Excuse me?” The woman drew herself up, shoulders squared, an imperious look on her face. “I am a Crown Daughter. Your Crown Daughter. Your commander. I will tell you what I decide you need to know.”

It was a very convincing performance, but she was betrayed by their Bridge, a trickle of her regret and shame winding its way across.

He gave her a look, and she knew he knew. The Crown Daughter’s face settled into a small pout at the ineffectiveness of her royal mask, refusing to meet his gaze.

Slowly, purposefully, a small thread of her regret slipped into his mind, a silent request for forgiveness. He doubted she would have ever been able to openly say the words, but perhaps leaving them as simple emotions made it easier.

“I suppose it occurred when you were saving my life, and I yours. So I’ll do my best not to hold it against you,” Tor’laen relented. He hadn’t truly come to terms with it, but…for now he could forgive her. Mostly.

At least it had occurred with someone he trusted. Nalyra might be haughty, proud, stubborn…but she did not strike him as the type to spy on the insides of his skull for no reason. She had proven that through her actions.

And, though he kept the thought bottled very deep inside, wary of this newly-discovered connection, he could privately admit he was getting a bit attached to this little green tyrant.

“But, Tor’laen…” Nalyra’s voice caused him to look up at her again. “I won’t order you, not now, not this day. However, I must ask you not to speak of this to anyone. If word of this gets out…”

“What will happen?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I do not truly know. We are far out of the realm of normalcy. At the very least it will be a scandal. These things simply are not talked about, Tor’laen.”

“I understand. It’s not exactly something I have the desire to spread about.” The Ydani shook his head. “You will tell me if this Bridge of ours changes, right?”

“I will,” Nalyra promised. “And I will maintain this barrier. I assume I’m correct in guessing you do not wish us to share every little emotion with each other.”

“It’s…a bit much, yes.” Tor’laen gave her a wry smile. “Besides, a Crown Daughter must remain inscrutable, I would think.”

Nalyra breathed a bit easier at the joke.

“Then, let us put this messy business behind us. We are due to arrive at Kelran in less than a bell,” she said, checking the time on the desk’s console. The Crown Daughter turned to resume fixing her hair, the process still only half-done by Tor’laen’s estimate.

As she turned away, he briefly tried to feel around in his own head, searching for the Bridge. To see if he could…grasp it, or close it, or something similar. There was nothing. Only his own thoughts, and the slightest sense of connection. To her.

The Ydani started to don his uniform, preparing himself as well. As he slipped the finely made jacket on, one final touch of Nalyra’s mind gently brushed against his, tentative enough that he could have pushed it away had he chosen to. Warily, he let the tendril of thought enter his head.

Its meaning was simple and unmistakable.

Thank you.