Traitor's Sun

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