Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
feeling that he had been manipulated by his uncle into a completely untenable position.
The entire Regency was a sham, something Regis had cooked up to both distract
Javanne and other reactionaries from his plan to rejoin the Aldaran Domain with the
others.
Mikhail was not given to displays of temper very often.
But at that moment he wanted very much to explode, to
release his feeling of ill-usage and vent a rage he had been
ignoring for weeks. Only the watchful presence of the two
girls prevented him from kicking" the nearest wall, or pick
ing up the chair that his Guardsmen sat in during the night
and smashing it into kindling. He was forced to be satisfied
with a mental
Damn you, Regis,
and let it go.
»
It was bad enough that some little hedge-witch had been meddling in his mind, but that
he had been cleverly manipulated by his uncle as well seemed to be an enormous
betrayal. The more so, since he could not really think of a good reason for Regis to
have set him a task that was doomed from the onset. What was it going to prove, if he
did succeed in finding a son to occupy the throne? That he was good and loyal and
would do Regis' bidding? That needed no proof, and if his uncle doubted him, he
should have found another way to show it.
How much authority did he
really
have, and why had he not asked that question of his
uncle when he had the chance? Or had he, and been subtly put off? Could he go
against Priscilla's wishes and remove the children from Halyn House?
The problem, Mikhail decided after a moment, was that he did not think of the position
as one of power, just of obligation, a duty he wished to be relieved of as quickly as
possible. He had come there because Regis told him to, not because he wished to, or, in
truth, even sincerely cared whether another Elhalyn took the ceremonial throne of
Darkover. He had never known an Elhalyn king, as Regis and
Dom
Gabriel and the rest
of that generation had, and discovered, to his dismay, that he had virtually no emo-
tional investment in the prospect—except to escape taking on the task himself.
He sighed deeply, trapped in troubled thoughts as Liriel emerged from her room and
started down the corridor toward the bathroom. The two girls watched her, wide-eyed
with interest. She was garbed in a voluminous gray bed-robe, and she glanced at them
as well, passed by them, and entered the steaming room with the enormous tub.
"She's quite grand, isn't she?" Miralys' comment brought
him back to the present.
"Yes, she is. Grand is the perfect word to describe her. That's very clever of you, Mira."
The girl gave him a sparkling look, a flicker of pale lashes, and a smile that would light
a room. Mikhail knew that look, for he had seen it many times before, in other girls,
though none so young as this one, since he reached adulthood. The lass was halfway to
fancying herself in love with him, he thought, his heart sinking. At the same time he
was not surprised, for she had no other men to consider, unless one counted his
guardsmen. Mathias was too old to be of interest to the girls, but Daryll was a
handsome man, He was not a Hastur, however. Even here, he knew that made a
difference.
Mikhail dismissed that matter for the moment. "You girls had better go make
yourselves neat for supper. You don't want my sister to think you are hoydens, do
you?" It was a feeble ploy, but the best he could think of on the spur of the moment.
And clearly Mira saw right through it, because she gave him another glance through
lowered lashes. Val, watching this byplay, gave her sister a light punch on the shoulder.
"Come on, Mira! I need help with my hair, and you know that Wena is all thumbs."
Mikhail watched them scurry down the corridor toward the room they shared. He felt
depressed, but it soon passed away. With Liriel there to help him, he could perhaps
accomplish what Regis had sent him to do. It was a faint hope, but more hope than he
had experienced for days. Satisfied, he turned and went to put on a fresh tunic for
dinner.
11
Mikhail stood in front of the fireplace in the dining room, warming his hands, his back
to the table. It was still a cheerless room, but the one window had been repaired, so
there was no longer a draft which chilled the feet when the wind blew from the west,
and he himself had rubbed wax into the shabby table that ran down the center of the
room. The memory of that task lightened his mood a little. He drew his hands in front
of him, and looked at them. Since he had arrived, they had done things he never would
have imagined doing and they were scuffed and a little callused. But he liked that, the
feeling of being capable of turning his ten fingers to any job, whether it was rubbing
wax into a table, or pounding pegs into a window frame. When he thought about all the
work he had done, getting Halyn House in some order, he felt quietly pleased. The
black mood that came and went from his mind finally left him altogether.
Mikhail leaned an elbow on the mantle, starting to relax, and studied a collection of
small ornaments that stood along it. There were chervines carved from stone, and a
fine herd of wooden horses, the grain of the wood cleverly used to give the impression
of muscles or hide. He noticed there was dust around them and almost pulled out his
handkerchief to wipe it away. He chuckled at himself, then shook his head in wonder.
He was becoming quite domestic! First apologizing for the worn towels, and now this.
Mikhail turned away from the fireplace and watched old Duncan set out wooden
trenchers and implements. He could hear the pleasant murmur of masculine voices
from the kitchen, and hoped the presence of visitors might have inspired Ian, the cook,
to a greater effort than usual. How clever of Liriel to have brought both manservants
and
Guardsmen. He felt less vulnerable, and his mind seemed sharper. Now, if he could
just get a grip on his emotions. Swinging between despair and hope was exhausting.
He sniffed tentatively, then sighed. From the smells issuing from the nearby kitchens,
Ian had made no special efforts on Liriel's behalf. It would probably be their usual fare:
the same overcooked fowl and boiled grain, lacking any spices or herbs. Not that Liriel
would mind, he knew. She ate with a good appetite, no matter what.
Mikhail would have liked a rabbithorn stew, with some dried fruits in it, or a ragout of
chervine the way the cook at Armida made it. Failing that, he would have cheerfully
eaten fish, for the river abounded in them, even at this time of year. But Ian had a gift
for completely ruining any fish that arrived at Halyn House, as if he hated things which
swam. He either fried them so hard they could be used for doorstops, or boiled them so
much they lost both flavor and texture.
He thought longingly of the dining room at Armida, or the great one at Ardais, then
forced those images away. They reminded him too much of Marguerida, for he could
not think of those rooms without remembering the first meals he had eaten in her
presence. She had a way of consuming fish that was both elegant and efficient. Well,
she had grown up on an aquaeous world, so she had probably had a great deal of
practice.
There would be, he was certain, boiled leeks, swimming in a shiny bath of broth, and
hard rolls that could be used as projectiles, if Halyn House ever came under attack. He
wished he knew more about cooking, and laughed at himself. First linens and then
cookpots—what a fine figure of a man he was cutting.
Liriel swept into the dining room, with Mira on one arm
and Val on the other. She was laughing, and had clearly
started to make friends with the girls. A moment later
Emun appeared, holding Alain by the sleeve. The youngest
boy's hair was damp from a recent washing, and it clung
to his narrow forehead, making his thin face seem even
more anxious. His large eyes darted toward the shadows in
the corners of the room, as if he expected something to
jump out at him.
Alain's presence pleased him, for it was a rare occasion
that got the oldest Elhalyn out of his soiled clothing and into a room other than his
bedroom. Behind the boys, Mikhail saw Daryll; he knew that his young Guardsman
had taken to spending much of his free time with Alain, talking to him quietly or
telling him outrageous stories. At times, these tales had almost seemed to rouse Alain
from his stupor. When it began, Mikhail had thought that Daryll was merely bored, and
looking for some occupation other than sleeping or keeping watch outside his door,
mending broken walls or helping with the roof of the barn. Now he knew that Daryll
had a genuine affection for the poor lad, and was pleased that he had gotten Alain to
come down to supper.
Duncan was setting out platters of rolls when Vincent arrived, booming in his strong
voice and swaggering. He looked very handsome in the light of the candles set along
the table and in sconces on the walls, his blue eyes dancing. Vincent swept the room
with an arrogant glance, then walked up to Liriel, every inch the lord of the manor.
"I bid you welcome to Halyn House,
domna.
I am sorry I was not here when you
arrived—I had some business to attend to." He stood very close to Liriel, much nearer
than was polite.
Mikhail was shocked and more than a little annoyed, but Liriel just looked at the
young man calmly. "Thank you for your welcome," she answered courteously.
"And how do you find your chamber?"
It was hardly a seemly question, but Liriel only smiled. "It is quite unexceptional."
"I ask because I am sure you are accustomed to great luxury. We have none of that at
Halyn House, because, my mother says, it weakens the will."
"Luxury? My room at Tramontana is comfortable, but I would never call it luxurious."
Vincent appeared a little nonplussed at this reply. "I meant at Armida or ..."
"I'm afraid I rarely pay attention to such things. My, something smells good. Traveling
has given me an excellent appetite."
A coil of tension Mikhail had not realized he had in his chest relaxed. He had made a
good decision, asking Liriel for help. Her manners were superb, and almost nothing
rattled her. Not even an ill-mannered boy trying to flirt with her. Odd that he had never
noticed before.
By this time, Emun had gotten Alain seated at one end of the table, and put a napkin on
his lap. Mira tugged at Liriel's sleeve, but Vincent took her hand and drew her to a
chair, helping her into it, then took the one beside her. It was a highbacked seat, old, in
need of reglueing, and it creaked audibly under the weight of the technician. Mira
grabbed the place on the other side of Liriel, even though she normally sat as far from
Vincent as possible.
Mikhail revised his estimate of Miralys. She was just as fearful of her brother as the
rest of her siblings, but she concealed it better. Now she seemed determined to shelter
in the shadow of his sister, no matter what. There was a look on her face, determination
combined with adoration, that made her beauty even greater. Clearly she had decided
that Liriel was a valuable ally.
Mikhail watched Valenta and Emun take places across the table, and waited for the
appearance of Priscilla Elhalyn. He always did this, though she rarely came to the
evening meal. He hoped Liriel's arrival had sparked a proper regard for polite behavior.
When she did show up, he always seated her before taking his place at the table.
As Duncan came out of the kitchen with a platter of sorry-looking boiled fowl, their
legs disjointed and sagging, Emelda came in from the living room. She wore a blue
dress he had not seen before, and her rather skimpy hair was-pulled back and tidy for a
change. Her protuberant eyes passed over him uneasily.
"Domna
Priscilla is much too upset to join us," Emelda announced, "and has sent me
in her stead." With that, she marched to the head of the table, to the chair Priscilla
would have occupied, and sat down, looking smug. She set her hands beside her empty
plate and smiled at everyone.
Mikhail frowned. Emelda's sudden change of garb roused his suspicions. She was up
to something, for he had never seen her wear anything except the red of a Keeper since
his arrival. There was something in her manner that disturbed him, a tension he had
never seen in her previously. Perhaps Liriel's arrival had upset her. If so, he was
sincerely glad of it.
Then he wondered if Priscilla was actually upset, or if
she had been forced to remain in her noisome chamber. He had suspected for some
time that Emelda was drugging her mistress with various evil concoctions that he
smelled when he ventured into the rear of the house. Mikhail had not pursued his