Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
the possibility of the Aldarans returning to Comyn society.
The Hastur charm, "of which Regis had an unusual amount, was absent. Mikhail had
asked the questions he
wished—felt he needed—to have answered, and had gotten less than satisfactory
replies. His uncle had not offered any hints as to what he wished to accomplish, and, in
retrospect, Mikhail realized he had not been very supportive or even attentive. "You
will handle it well, Mikhail. I am sure of that. We will talk further when you return for
Midwinter. Take your time over the testing of the lads. There is no urgency."
The encounter had left Mikhail with the feeling that what he had been told to do was
not very important—and worse, that
he
was not either. He had ended up feeling exiled,
the way he had after Regis' son Danilo had been born, unwanted and something of a
bother. Intellectually he was sure this was not the case—then or now—but he was
honest enough with himself to admit that his feelings were more than a little injured.
The problem, as he saw it, was that Regis seemed to be trying to turn back the clock,
claiming that the restoration of the Elhalyn kingship was necessary, as was the Comyn
Council. At the same time, Regis insisted that these moves were not reactionary, but
were in the best interests of the future. It sounded plausible until Mikhail examined it
carefully.
He did not think for a moment that Regis did not have some plan, some scheme, in
mind. The only piece of real information he managed to pry out of his uncle was Regis'
conviction that Darkover must become truly united—that the Aldarans must become
part of the Comyn Council— and soon, too.
Since the Aldarans were mistrusted by the other Domains, Regis was having a very
hard time convincing the other members of the Comyn Council to agree to what little
of his plan he revealed. Mikhail's own parents were opposed to the idea, as were Lady
Marilla Aillard and her son Dyan Ardais.
Dom
Francisco Ridenow seemed to change
his mind every other day, and only Lew Alton supported the idea completely.
Mikhail did not have the reservations about the Aldarans that his parents did. He had
visited them years before, quite unknown to his mother and father. He was acquainted
with old
Dom
Damon, his son Robert, the heir, and Robert's twin, Hermes Aldaran,
who had recently taken over the
position of Darkover's representative to the Terran Senate from Lew Alton. And he
knew Gisela Aldaran, their sister, who had been a charming young woman at the time.
He had liked them, and knew perfectly well that they did not have horns and tails.
But prejudice against the family was old and ran deep. Darkovans had very long
memories, especially in matters of treachery, and the Aldarans had betrayed the
Council years before. It was all very well for Regis to say that bygones should be
forgotten, that it was time to heal old wounds. He had clearly not anticipated the
steadfast resistance he encountered to his propositions.
Mikhail was not sure even his uncle could manage to smooth things out, for all his
powers of persuasion. The more he pressed, the more he was opposed, particularly by
Mikhail's mother, Javanne Hastur. In a great many ways, his mother's behavior since
the meeting in the Crystal Chamber had been even more distressing than Regis'. She
had always been a headstrong woman, but the announcement of his Regency had
provoked in her some single-minded fury that he could not understand. She was no
longer the mother he knew, but a cold and distant stranger. There had been a few
moments when he had even allowed himself to wonder if she were completely sane.
Her mother had been an Elhalyn, after all, and they were known for their instability.
He did not entertain this terrible idea for any length of time because, since Regis
Hastur was her brother, he might find himself doubting his uncle for the same reasons.
That thought was too much to bear.
The wind blew a scatter of leaves across the trail, their color exactly the red of
Marguerida's hair. Mikhail decided he would rather moon over his beloved than try to
untangle more troubling matters.
Their parting at Arilinn Tower five days before had been hard, even though they had
both tried to put a brave face on it. She had retreated into the particular remoteness he
now knew she hid behind when she was upset. They had not spoken of their love, for
that would have been too painful. Instead, they had talked of unimportant matters,
using the inconsequential to conceal the feelings that threatened to overcome them
both.
Mikhail and Marguerida had gone to Arilinn just after
Midsummer, Marguerida to begin her studies of matrix science, and Mikhail to learn
what he needed to know to test the Elhalyn boys for
laran,
which had turned out to be
more complicated than he had imagined. It was a little ironic, bethought, that
Marguerida was trying to learn matrix science, when, in one sense, the crystals
themselves were anathema to her. Her first weeks there had brought on another siege
of threshold sickness, from the proximity of the matrix relays in the Tower. That, at
least, was the only explanation anyone could offer.
Much to the displeasure of
Mestra
Camilla MacRoss, who was in charge of the
beginning students at Arilinn, Marguerida had been allowed to live in one of the
several small houses that were kept for visitors, guests, and the families of those who
had come to the Tower for healing, instead of sleeping in the communal dormitories
with the others. It was an unheard of arrangement, and it had made things even more
difficult for Marguerida.
Mestra
MacRoss did not like any of her charges getting
special treatment, unless she herself granted them.
He smiled a little at the memory, for he knew
Mestra
Camilla from his own days at
Arilinn, years before. She had been old then, and was now ancient. No one, not even
Jeff Kerwin, the Keeper at Arilinn, dared suggest to her that she might consider retiring
from her position. She was very set in her ways and very strict, which was hardly
surprising, since those in her command were almost always youngsters, adolescents
coming into their
laran,
full of vitality, mischief and often powers which were not
completely under control.
From the outset, the two women had not hit it off.
Mestra
Camilla was very able at
dealing with teenagers, but Marguerida was an adult, and not a particularly malleable
one. Or rather, Mikhail reflected, his independent, self-directed cousin was quite
disciplined and even obedient in her own way, which was decidedly not to the liking of
the older woman. She asked too many questions, the ingrained habit of a decade of
academic training. She always wanted to know
why
things were done in a certain way,
even though he knew she had tried to restrain her lively curiosity. "Why" was not a
word of which Camilla MacRoss approved.
The other students at Arilinn had not improved the situa-
tion. They were all intent on demonstrating their abilities, eager to quit their student
status and move on to becoming mechanics or technicians, or even Keepers. Taking
their tone from both Camilla, and from Loren MacAndrews, the oldest of the students,
they treated Marguerida as an interloper. They resented her age, her experience, and
the speed with which she learned. And the fact that she was an Alton, and heiress to the
Alton Domain, did not sit well. The Alton Gift of forced rapport was a thing both
prized and feared, and for it to be possessed by a woman who had spent most of her
life off Darkover made everyone a little uneasy. They were uncertain that she would
behave properly—that she would use her Gift ethically.
Marguerida, who was stubborn to the bone, had responded with her quiet pride and
fierce determination. Ill as she was, she had refused to ask for special treatment. Jeff
had been forced to intervene. This had made things even worse between Marguerida
and Camilla, for it smacked of preferential treatment, since Jeff was kin. They had
retreated into careful formality, which merely concealed their mutual hostility rather
than lessening it.
Mikhail had been glad that he was there, although it had been difficult for both of
them, to be so near and have to treat one another with cold formality. The love they
had declared to one another before Midsummer was unchanged, but circumstances
prevented them from doing more than taking occasional walks together hi one of the
several gardens at Arilinn, or riding out on nice afternoons. They talked about
everything from what Marguerida perceived as ridiculous customs to the nature of
deities on Darkover and other worlds. He had always yearned to travel the stars, and
hearing about the planets she had visited was both wonderful and miserable. He envied
her travels and her education, yet he cherished every moment spent in her fascinating
company. At least his sister Liriel was still at Arilinn, and she was a true friend to
Marguerida. But Mikhail knew he would be missed, and was quietly glad of it.
Mikhail thought about Marguerida's stepmother, Diotima Ridenow-Alton, who was
very ill with something no one could quite understand, neither Terran medics nor
Darkovan healers. It seemed to be a form of cancer, but it
had not responded to any treatment. They had tried for weeks to halt the deterioration
of her now frail body. Then, after much argument, the decision had been reached to put
her into stasis, -until some new method could be discovered. It was, at best, a stopgap
measure.
His beloved had been more than distraught, for she loved Diotima, the only mother she
had ever really known. Between trying to live close to the powerful matrix screens, the
recurrence of the threshold illness, and deep sorrow about her stepmother, she had
alternated between being frantic with worry or depressed. While Marguerida had done
her best to pretend she was in good spirits and even laughed at his jokes, underneath it
all, he knew she was suffering. Only her fierce pride kept her from losing control—that
and her obstinacy.
The rush of water over the stones made him think of her laughter that was all too rare
these days, and the brisk touch of the breeze against his skin of Marguerida's sharp
tongue. He laughed aloud. The sound made his big bay, Charger, snort in response and
prick his ears. Behind" him, Mikhail could hear the pleasant jingle of the bridles of the
two Guardsmen, and he sensed they were wondering what caused his amusement. It
was too complicated to explain, even to men he knew as well as he did Daryll and
Mathias. Besides, he was not going to admit that he was turning into a lovesick
romantic when, at age twenty-eight, he should be well over such silly behavior. Next
thing he knew he would be writing poetry!
It had been a long time since he had had the company of members of the Guard, and he
was slightly uncomfortable about it. As a child, running free in Comyn Castle, there
was always a Guardsman nearby. He had seen them as men to give him piggyback
rides or tell him stories. He had not known then that there was good reason for their
vigilance, that assassins were about in the streets of Thendara, that they were
murdering children in their cradles.
But, after the World Wreckers had been defeated, and Regis Hastur, his uncle, had
found Lady Linnea and had their first child, he had been somewhat freed of their
presence. Not entirely, for he was still the official heir to Hastur. He had been fourteen
when Danilo Hastur was born, old enough to go first to Arilinn for some training,
then into the Cadet Guards for two years. It had not really registered at the time that it
indicated a change in his status, that he was no longer quite the favored child he had
been a few years earlier. It was not until he became paxman to young Dyan Ardais that
he had ceased to have members of the Guard in close proximity all the time, as befitted
his status as an adult. He had formed strong friendships during his time in the Guard,
and these had persisted, so that the men riding behind him were companions and
fellows at arms more than watchdogs.
All he wanted to do, he realized, was reach Halyn House as quickly as possible, test
the boys, find a suitable candidate for the kingship, and get free of the Regency. He did
not want to think what his life would be like if this did not come to pass. He stroked
the strong neck of the big bay with his free hand and found himself remembering the
last time, he had traveled this way.
Whose idea had it been, to ride off and visit the reclusive Priscilla Elhalyn—his or
Dyan's? Mikhail could not remember. All he was certain of was that it had been about
four years ago, and they had both been ripe for adventure. They had just gotten on their
horses and ridden off to the west on a lark, neither of them thinking very clearly. That