not extend to consorting with a Traveling lass. While that might have been
acceptable in another, he knew that as his father's heir, it would never be.
What a scandal!
I wonder who he is?
"Who are you yelling at, Illona?" The girl turned and looked into the dim
interior of the wagon at the older woman lying on a narrow bed.
"Oh, just one of the Guards, Aunt Loret."
"You keep away from them, lassie. And don't go being forward, unless you want to
be mistook for a whore."
"Yes, Auntie."
He caught the edges of her curiosity and found himself amused. Then, as if
annoyed at being ignored, his bleak mood returned. What in Zandru's coldest hell
was the matter with him! He had felt completely miserable for weeks, even before
Regis had died-restless and, worse, profoundly angry. He resented everything and
everyone most of the time, keeping his emotions under an iron grip that left him
exhausted and furious. Why couldn't he be easygoing, like Rory? He was too
serious and dull. Well, not dull, exactly. He just never got into trouble, and
much to his disgust, Nico, discovered that he wanted to.
If only there was someone he could talk to without fear of feeling naked and
vulnerable. His father had asked him on several occasions if he wanted to talk.
Busy as he was, he always tried to make himself available for discussions, but
Nico knew that this was impossible for him. How could Mikhail understand the
silent rebellion that simmered in his belly and wracked his mind? He knew that
his father would listen, because he always had, but he was certain that Mikhail
would be distressed if he ever knew how unhappy Domenic was. Surely Mikhail had
never felt like this! It did not matter how unhappy he was, he was still the
heir, and he had obligations. Disgusting word! He had to put aside his own hazy
yearnings and buckle down. He couldn't burden his father with his own childish
problems-especially now!
The sense of those duties was a heavy weight to bear. And he would never be free
of them, so long as he drew breath. That made it even worse. He was trapped and
alone, a prisoner of his heritage . . . and his peculiar laran, which no one
seemed to be able to understand, and which made quite a number of people
uncomfortable, made it all much worse. Even Lew Alton, whom Nico, adored, could
not help him. Besides, how could someone as old as his grandfather even begin to
understand what troubled him? He could not really explain his feelings to
himself, so how could he explain them to someone else?
By the time the shift was over, Nico, was deep in the doldrums. He yanked the
thong out of his hair, left his post and returned to the Castle, climbing the
long stairs from the entry to the upper floors. He knew he should be hungry, but
he wasn't. All he wanted to do was find a closet and get into it, shut out the
world and the oppressive sense of his own obligations. He simply had no business
feeling so unhappy, but he could not shake it away.
As Nico approached the family apartments, he heard a shrill shriek, followed by
the sound of something smashing. Alanna, in one of her tempers. And no one could
calm her down except him. For once he did not wish to play peacemaker, even for
his beloved Alanna. He just wanted to be left alone, in the vain hope that he
could find some solution to the inner fury which plagued him day and night.
Then a bubble of amusement seized him. He and Alanna were really a perfect
match-she was rarely in a good humor and he always pretended that he was. Nico
envied her the freedom of her tantrums. Her mother, Ariel, had spoiled her badly
when she was small, then surrendered her reluctantly into the charge of her
brother when the girl became completely unmanageable. Even the instructors at
Arilinn had been unable to discipline her beyond certain basics.
When he entered the apartment, Alanna was standing in the center of the sitting
room, scowling. There was a smashed teapot at her feet, and a stain of spilled
liquid on the carpet. Her hands were clenched into fists, and her shoulders
hunched beneath the fine linen of her blouse. She fairly bristled with energy,
seemingly radiating from every cell of her slender form. It was an all too
familiar and increasingly frequent sight these days.
"Are you single-handedly trying to support Lady Marilla's pottery works, Alanna?
That is the fourth teapot you have broken this month." He looked at the shards
at her feet. "I rather liked that one, too." Maybe he could jolly her out of her
mood, and help his own at the same time.
"The sixth, actually." Her beautiful voice was thick with tension. "It is better
to smash pottery than people, isn't it?"
"If you absolutely must destroy things, than I suppose that innocent cups and
pots are best, breda. But for the sake of the carpets, you might at least wait
until the vessel is empty. What's the matter now?" He spoke jovially, trying to
tease her into a better mood, but his own patience was worn and frayed, and he
wished himself in some other place-any other place!
"I can't breathe! Everyone is walking on tippytoe, trying to be solemn. It makes
my head hurt." She spoke with great drama, but there was no question that she
was genuinely suffering. Alanna had inherited much of her mother's anxious
disposition which, combined with her volatile temper, was an unholy mixture. He
thought it a great pity that she could not become an actress, then wondered
where that remarkable idea had come from. Daughters of Domain families, or even
lesser ones, such as the Alars, were not free to join the Players Guild, or any
other.
Alanna had voiced this complaint before, and no one, not even his mother, who
was a powerful healer, had been able to discover the source of the girl's
discomfort. It was very real, however. There was no doubt of that. "Perhaps we
should order a gross of crockery for you to throw, chiya."
"I feel like I am going to burst, Nico! Bang! Into a million bits!"
"I can see that." He was not unfamiliar with that sensation, for he often felt
it himself, though not as strongly as his foster-sister. Perhaps it would be
good for him to break a few cups himself, just to relieve the inner turmoil. No,
that would not help. What Domenic wanted was to break the rules, and that he
dared not do.
"Was it something specific, Alanna, or just the general atmosphere of hushed
solemnity that provoked you?"
The girl unclenched her hands at last and shrugged. "I was playing the clavier,
and my fingers seemed all thumbs, and that made me furious. But it is more. I
feel . . . like I am coming apart. As if there are two of me, or perhaps more.
And each wants something different." She lowered her head after this admission,
and began to cry quietly.
Nico put an arm around her shoulder and leaned her proud head down a bit. She
felt warm in his light embrace, but she smelled of rage, a distinct odor which
was unmistakable and rather unpleasant. Alanna was stiff, her muscles taut, as
if she held herself in by will alone. Even as she wept, there was no lessening
of the tension.
His mother came into the sitting
room, looking very tired. She paused and looked
at the two of them, and a slight shadow seemed to cross her fine features. It
was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but Nico suspected that Marguerida knew
something of his feelings for his foster-sister and that they worried her.
No need to fuss, Mother.
I can't help it. You are my firstborn. There was more, something deep in her
mind which perturbed her, but he could not guess what it might be.
I mean that you need not worry about me letting my feelings for Alanna get out
of hand.
No, you are much too disciplined for that-even though the temptation must be
frightful. Sometimes, Nico, I almost wish you were just a little bit less
restrained.
What do you mean? Do you want me to be more like Rory?
Certainly not! One hellion is all I can manage. I only want you to be yourself.
And I cannot quite escape the feeling that you are holding yourself in check-you
are too abnormally good!
Should I start seducing the maids, or go drinking with some of the Guardsmen?
I would prefer it if you did not. It would cause talk, and we don't need that.
But I wish you would kick over the traces, just once. You never surprise me,
Nico, and I wish you did.
What a disappointment I must be, so stuffy and sober.
Never a disappointment, son! I suppose I have too much of my father in me, and
am a covert rebel. Don't you ever want to do something outrageous?
Often. But I know my duties. Domenic felt Alanna stir against him, and was
relieved for the distraction. He did not want his mother to discover how much he
resented his duties. She had enough to think about, what with the death of Regis
Hastur, and Alanna being impossible more often than not. She never complained,
but he knew she chafed under her obligations, that no matter how much she loved
him, his siblings, and his father, she wanted to devote more of her energy to
her musical compositions and less to being a wife and mother.
She had never neglected him or his brother and sister, not to mention fostering
Donal and Alanna. She had listened patiently when he boasted of his small
accomplishments-the training of his beloved hawks or learning to take his horse
over a hurdle. Marguerida had sat up with him when he had a bout of fever,
refusing to let a servant press wet cloths to his hot brow, but insisting on
caring for him herself. He was loved-well-loved-and he knew it.
At the same time Domenic knew that she had often been torn between her own
ambitions and her duties. She did not like to sit in Council meetings, listening
to disputes and smoothing ruffled feathers. She hated having to take a carriage
everywhere, that she could no longer walk through the streets of Thendara even
with an escort, as she had before he was born. Sometimes, he knew, she went down
to one of the Castle courtyards in the middle of the night and paced across the
cobblestones, just to release herself from the tension of a kindly confinement.
It had been thirty-five years since the World Wreckers had been on Darkover,
murdering children in their cradles. Nothing that had happened since then was so
threatening to the families of the Domains, but an attitude of alertness, of
wary watchfulness, had taken possession of Regis as he had aged. They were
embattled, although no foe had yet presented itself. Still, if some of the
things he had overheard from his parents and Grandfather Lew were accurate, they
might find themselves being very glad of their paranoia. The only problem, as
far as Nico was concerned, was that it meant he could not go where he pleased,
as his father had been able to do when he was younger. Right now, that chafed
him more and more, and he almost shared Alanna's feeling of being unable to
breathe.
The desire to get away rose in his throat, and he swallowed it. There was no
good thinking about it. He was stuck in Comyn Castle for the foreseeable future,
and he must resign himself to that. And he must not complain of his captivity
either, or envy Rory his relative freedom. Bile soured his mouth.
Alanna straightened up, pulling away, and he could feel her distress. She
glanced at the mess on the floor, her mobile face becoming stiff and
expressionless. "I am going to go take a bath."
"That should relax you," Marguerida replied placidly.
Alanna's face turned into a mask of barely suppressed fury. "Nothing will relax
me, nothing except . . . I can't even think of anything. I hate it here!" With
that she turned and left the room.
"As dearly as I love that child, Nico, there are times when I despair. I tell
myself that it is just adolescent hormones running amuck, but truthfully, I
don't believe that for a second. I don't foresee Alanna settling down into
marriage-the very idea is too fantastic-and she does not belong in a Tower, even
with all her gifts. There is no place for a girl like Alanna on Darkover."
Marguerida frowned and her shoulders sagged. "Nor anywhere else I can think of."
A girl like Alanna. It was a strange thing for his mother to say, and not for
the first time he wondered if there were something about his foster-sister that
Marguerida knew and he did not. Domenic wanted very much to comfort his mother,
but he could not think of anything to say that would help. He was glad she did
not think that marriage and children were a solution to his cousin's ills,
unlike many of the other women in the Castle. And living in a Tower would drive
his nervous cousin stark raving mad. It almost had when she had been at Arilinn.
She did not seem to belong anywhere, really. "Maybe she will grow out of . . .
whatever it is. And me, too."
"You will, I believe. But Alanna is another matter. My sense is that as she gets
older, her talents will become even more difficult to manage." She gave a little
sigh. "Long ago, when I was first on Darkover, I had an experience of the
Aldaran Gift. Your aunt Ariel was pregnant with Alanna, and it was the day your
cousin Domenic was injured in that terrible carriage accident. It was one of the
worst days of my life, and I have always tried to persuade myself that the
vision I had was more the result of my own frayed emotions than anything real.
But I remember thinking at the time that she should be called 'Deirdre,' not
Alanna."
"Why?" So, she did know something she had never told him. Domenic realized that
his mother was worn down from the demands of the past several days, that she had
lowered her guard a little, and it gave him a peculiar feeling as he waited for
an answer. After a second he decided that he was being spoken to as an adult,
not a child, and he was not really sure he was ready for that.
"Because it means 'the troubler.' It was a fancy of mine, and I never told
anyone. I knew that Alanna was going to be difficult, even before she was born.
And I have never felt comfortable with that. Do you know what set her off?"
"She said she felt smothered, but she also told me that she felt as if there
were . . . two people inside her, fighting with each other. If I did not know
better, I would suspect she had been overshadowed, Mother."
Marguerida shuddered. "If I never h
ear that term again, it will be too soon,
son. But you are right-she has not been. I would know, I think . . . I hope."
"I am sorry that Alanna and I are being so much trouble. You look very tired,
Mother. Headachey?"
"Just a bit. And you are not any trouble, Nico. Never that. But the desire to
take to my bed with a sopping kerchief full of lavender on my brow is very
attractive. The preparations for Regis' funeral are perfectly exhausting, and
Lady Linnea is so sad it nearly breaks my heart. If it were not for Danilo
Syrtis-Ardais, I think I would collapse completely." She gave a soft laugh.
"Share the joke, please." He did not want to put an end to this particular
conversation just yet.
"I was just thinking how the first time I ever set eyes on Danilo, I nearly
fainted from terror. I had been on Darkover less than a week, and I had no
knowledge of catalyst telepathy or anything like it. I just felt he was a danger
to me, an inexplicable foe. The Alton Gift was starting to manifest, and I was
doing everything in my power to deny it-telling myself I was imagining things,
or going crazy, or both. I wanted nothing to do with him, and now I don't think
I could manage without him. It struck me funny-that's all."
"Is there anything I can do to help, Mother?"
"Not really. The casket has been ordered, and the hangings. We would have used
those from Danvan's funeral, but the moths had been at them, and they were
tatters. Just another detail to occupy my mind. It keeps me from thinking about
other things, like Alanna, or the fact that your father and mine are closeted
with Hermes Aldaran, trying to hammer out some policy without even a clue as to
what the Federation might decide to do. And your grandparents have just arrived
from Armida, so I wish to be several places at once."
"There isn't a laran for that," he said kindly, ignoring the chill that the
mention of his grandmother aroused in him. She could not do him any real
mischief, could she?
Marguerida chuckled. "Just as well. Can you imagine the chaos if we were
bi-locational?"
"Oh, I don't know. You could be taking a nap while attending a Council meeting."
"I don't need any special talent to do that. I've had any number of snoozes
during some of the more boring parts, and been rudely aroused when the shouting