Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
Rafe Scott had not refused the title. He had three legitimate children: Robert, his heir;
Herm, who was now Darkover's Senator; and Gisela, the youngest. He had several
other children, by various consorts and lovers, including a son, Raul, who was his
horse master, and another, Renald, who piloted the flyer Gisela had spoken of. At least,
this had been the case when Mikhail had visited them. For a moment, he had the
impulse to ask
Dom
Damon about Emelda, but he quashed it. This was neither the time
nor the place.
"You look none the worse for your adventures,"
Dom
Aldaran boomed, and Mikhail
realized that the man was probably losing his hearing.
"No, sir, none the worse. I am glad to see you." This was true, for Mikhail had always
liked the man. He was intelligent, curious, and, for a Darkovan, very progressive. This
would not win him friends on the Council, always assuming that Regis ever managed
to get them to accept an Aldaran of any stripe on it. Robert, as Mikhail remembered
him, was a sober man, rather dull, but more the sort of person who would fit into the
Council.
Dom
Damon clapped Mikhail on the shoulder, then reached for a glass of wine. He
sipped a little, then he noticed the little girls, who were clinging to Liriel as if they
feared they would be snatched away from her. He bent down and peered at them
nearsightedly.
Just then young Danilo Hastur, Regis's son, came into the dining room, looking
anxious at his tardiness. He looked around the room, and his eyes fell on Miralys.
Mikhail heard his sharp intake of breath, and watched with amusement as the young
man tugged his formal blue tunic straight and smoothed back his pale hair with a
nervous hand.
Regis Hastur watched as well, and an expression came over his face, as if he were
pleased with his son's reaction.
Lady Linnea left his side then, came toward her son, smoothed his hair again quite
needlessly, and led him over to meet the girls. She made introductions in a quiet voice.,
and Mira extended her free hand with her usual dignity while Valenta tried very hard
not to giggle.
Mikhail gave her a stern look; she was still his charge, and he wanted her to behave
well. Val twinkled at him, but sucked her cheeks in firmly, then lowered her eyes
demurely, as if to say that this was all rather silly, but she would try to keep her
countenance. What a marvel the child was, he thought. He only wished any of the boys
showed half the intelligence of their sisters, and once more regretted that an Elhalyn
queen would never be acceptable. It would be a good solution, but not one that he even
wanted to try to convince anyone of.
The company sorted itself out and proceeded to the table. Mikhail found himself seated
beside Gisela, with Francisco Ridenow on her other side, and braced himself for a long
and trying meal. He watched young Dani hold a chair for each of the Elhalyn girls,
showing his excellent manners even though he had eyes for no one in the room except
Mira. He seated himself between them. Liriel, never uncomfortable, took a chair on the
other side of Valenta, and gave Mikhail a small smile.
This could turn out more interesting than I expected.
Damn it, Lin
—
I don't want interesting!
Poor Mikhail!
He was unable to continue his mental conversation with his sister, for he realized
Gisela had spoken to him. Mikhail summoned all his wits—they seemed at the
moment few and scattered—brought his years of experience with husband-hunting
females to the fore, and managed an answer. Then he favored his uncle with a look of
censure, and had the pleasure of seeing Regis Hastur blush to the roots of his white
hair, as if he had been caught at trickery.
The soup was served, followed by crispy fish, a rabbithorn forcemeat in a tender
pastry, and several side dishes. Mikhail, his appetite returned, ate heartily, and Gisela,
mildly rebuffed by his apparent indifference, turned her sensuous attentions toward
Francisco Ridenow. By the time the dessert course was brought—honeycake with
dried fruits—he was back in a good humor, and enjoying himself.
When, at the end of the meal, Liriel rose and took the Elhalyn girls away with her, he
saw the stricken look on Dani Hastur's young face, as if the light had gone out of the
room. Gisela made a move to reclaim his attention, but Lady Linnea intercepted her
and drew her away. Mikhail sympathized with young Dani, and gave silent thanks to
Linnea. He was too tired to deal with Gisela any longer. More importantly, he saw
Regis Hastur nod, and he knew it was time for them to talk.
15
Regis kept a study on the same level as the smaller dining room. Mikhail followed
him, with Danilo Syrtis-Ardais walking a pace behind, guarding the back of Regis
Hastur as he had for more than two decades. Regis fully trusted no one except his
paxman and his wife, and Mikhail had never been completely alone with his uncle in
his life. He wondered if Regis ever chafed at being guarded all the time, and missed his
solitude? Or whether his inseparable relationship with Danilo had forged them into
merely two parts of the same whole.
Mikhail knew that this care with Regis' person dated back to the period when the
World Wreckers had been busily assassinating many members of the Comyn, even
going so far as to murder babies in their cradles. They had defeated these forces, but it
had left a scar, a kind of paranoia that Mikhail did not quite understand, for he had
been too young at the time to realize what was going on. But since he did not wish
anything to happen to his uncle, he was glad of Danilo's quiet presence.
Seating himself behind a large desk, Regis looked at his nephew. The room was a spare
one, where Mikhail had endured lectures on his duties and scoldings for his childish
indiscretions. He did not doubt that his uncle had chosen this site for their discussion
for the purpose of invoking these memories. Regis was not one to waste such an
opportunity.
While Danilo poured them each a goblet of firewine, Mikhail leaned back in his chair
and stretched out his long legs. He looked at the worn brown curtains that hung before
the window, at the carpet whose pattern was almost indistinguishable now, and at the
single decoration in the room, a portrait of Lady Linnea done some twenty years
before. She had a few more wrinkles around her blue eyes these days, and her face had
become heavier. She had been a very pretty girl, and now she was a grown woman, but
the eyes of that young girl remained with her.
Mikhail forced himself to relax, refusing to begin the conversation. He had spent much
of the journey planning what he would say to his uncle, scenarios that ranged from
furious to cold, but now, faced with the actuality, they all vanished from his mind. He
noticed Danilo observing him with barely concealed amusement, as if he knew it was a
waiting game, and wanted to see who would be the first to speak. They smiled at one
another as the paxman offered him a goblet.
After perhaps five minutes of silence, Regis, always a little restless, began to look
uncomfortable. He fidgeted with his glass, shifted in the high-backed chair, and looked
around the room, as if hoping to find some topic to begin with. "I am glad you are
back," he said at last.
Mikhail found he was determined not to give an inch. "And I am glad to be here. After
the trials of Halyn House, this seems like heaven to me."
"I did you an ill service, sending you there with so little support. But I did not really
understand the situation—I still don't."
"Priscilla Elhalyn was hardly going to tell you she was in the power of a hedge-witch."
"Tell me about her—what was her name—Esmerelda?"
"Emelda, and she claimed to be an Aldaran. I almost asked
Dom
Damon if he knew of
her, but good sense prevailed." From the look on his uncle's face, Mikhail was glad he
had restrained his lively curiosity. "Liriel says that she came to Tramontana for training
a few years back, and vanished under some sort of cloud. You would have to ask the
Keeper there for the details." It was odd to hear his own voice, calm and almost severe,
speaking these words. The anger which had burned in him for weeks had turned to ice,
it seemed. He did not want to shout at Regis—well, only a little.
"I shall. I should have been told, but I try to leave the running of the Towers to the
leroni. Mestra
Natasha felt no need to inform me. It disturbs me greatly to think that
there might be other untrained telepaths running around.
Laran
is rare, but not that rare, and it is now starting to pop up in the most unlikely
places."
Mikhail nodded. "That is hardly surprising, considering how often men of the Domains
share their favors with any comely female they can seduce."
"That is severe, Mikhail."
He gave a sharp snort. "If you want severe, discuss the topic with my cousin
Marguerida. She will explain to you more than you ever wished to know about the
evils of masculine . . . what does she call it ... privilege! It has almost made me
ashamed to be a man. But I warn you that you must be ready to lose the argument,
since she is a fierce debater and takes no prisoners."
Danilo turned away, and Mikhail could see his shoulders shake with laughter. "That
hardly strikes me as a suitable topic of conversation for you to be having with
Marguerida," Regis answered, trying to look serious, but failing.
"We talk about everything, which is one of the many things I treasure about her, Uncle
Regis. She is completely unafraid to tackle the most forbidden of subjects, to dissect
them, sort out the parts, and come to her own conclusions. I think, had things been
somewhat different, that my mother might have been the same, and that she dislikes
Marguerida because they are alike rather than for any other reasons."
"Yes, Javanne was always clever." He fell silent, musing, and sipped at his wine. "Tell
me more about Emelda," Regis said finally, unwilling to continue to talk about either
his sister or Marguerida Alton.
"When I arrived, she was wearing the clothing of a
leronis
—well, as much as she
could manage. The cloth was red by courtesy more than reality, and poorly dyed at
that. This struck me as ;odd, since household
leroni
are no longer common. But
everything about Priscilla's household was peculiar! It was a minor thing, and I had
critical problems to think about—broken windows, chimneys that did not draw, stables
that needed repair. I don't know if the children would have survived another winter in
that place— but since the
domna
was planning that they should accompany her, I don't
suppose she gave it any thought."
"Accompany her? Where was she going?" Regis leaned
forward in his chair, and Mikhail realized that Liriel had not given his uncle any
details.
"When Dyan Ardais and I went to Elhalyn Castle on a lark, about four years ago, she
had, in addition to a few elderly servants and the children, a bone-reader, and a
medium from the Dry Towns in residence." Mikhail paused, considering the oath he
had given to Priscilla. She was dead, as was Ysaba, and he was not sure how binding a
promise given to a ghost might be. Still, it bothered him to speak of the event. "We
even attended a séance where the shade of Derik Elhalyn may or may not have been
present."
"You never told me!"
"Dyan and I were sworn to secrecy, and I am not a man who breaks his word! Besides,
no one knew we had gone off to visit the Elhalyn, and I thought that if I mentioned the
trip, I might get into trouble. Truthfully, I think both of us wanted to forget the entire
thing. It was . . . unsettling."
"But you should have . . ."
"Uncle, I do not break my word." Mikhail was surprised by the steadiness of his voice,
and rather startled at the undertone of danger in it.
"I see." Regis looked thoughtful—and also a little troubled.
"At the time, it seemed like the harmless eccentricity of a lonely woman. I just put it
down to the general oddness of the Elhalyn line, since I do not really believe in ghosts
— even the ones at Armida." He smiled at himself, realizing that he had just said
something quite contradictory. "But on that occasion, there was mention made of
something called the Guardian. I remember that I would think about it from time to
time, and wonder what the devil it was. If I had been wiser, a great deal of tragedy
could have been avoided. I probably should have told you about the séance before I
departed—but I had given my word!"
"You seem to have learned the lesson of keeping your own council all too well,
Mikhail."
"I had a good teacher," he snapped back, glaring at Regis.
"He has you there," Danilo commented.
"You are enjoying my discomfiture rather a lot," Regis
retorted. Though he smiled at Danilo, his words barely concealed his mild outrage.